Travel Diary – Day Eight

Aug. 30, 7:45 AM – Another foggy morning. Can’t see Mt. Ranier. This is the La Quinta in Seattle again, so we’ll be going to the Denny’s next door for breakfast. The difference in motels is almost amusing. This lobby is palatial by comparison to the Best Western in Everett, and the beds are the best ever. But the towels are thin and rough, there’s only a cold continental breakfast, and no in-room fridge or microwave. The BW had it all, including soft, thick towels and a sumptuous breakfast buffet. But both have what we came for: Cool Temps!

Aug. 30, 8:30 AM – Rain! Well, okay. Drizzle. Not enough to bottle and take home. Here we are ready to leave for the airport and NOW Seattle starts acting like Seattle! No matter. It’s about 57 degrees, and the air is filled with the bracing scent of evergreens and spicy cedar. I don’t wanna leave!

Aug. 30,10:30 AM – At SeaTac airport. Slowed up the security process by neglecting to remove my laptop from its case. Coulda swore I read somewhere that it wasn’t necessary anymore. Husband thoroughly ticked.


Approaching Houston, the pilot comes on the intercom: “Ladies and gentlemen, the weather at our destination is partly cloudy with a temperature of 100 degrees.” Groans filled the cabin and not a few of us called out, “Turn around!”

Aug. 30, 8:00 PM – and home. We were immediately flattened by the oppressive heat coming out on the jet way. Two good things: Everything in my suitcase smells like evergreens and the gourmet coffees I picked up in Everett; and the rain gauge showed 2 ¼ inches. Can you believe that? Guess it took us leaving this super heated, drought-ridden area to make it rain!

Also, the publicists at VerveStar report progress on my new Ammanon.com page. Now I’m getting excited again about the impending fall re-release of Book One. Ready to get back to work!

Dogging the Walk

 My morning walk is getting earlier and earlier these days, but now even at 6:30 AM it’s close to 90°. Walking in this torrid heat is stupid enough without compounding it with one’s dog. Usually I don’t take Chico with me because his summer allergies give him expensive skin rashes. But he looked so pathetic when I opened the door and shooed him back that I figured what the heck. I then discovered his walking harness no longer fit his unexercised little body. So go without it, I said to myself. Who’s going to be out on the track this early anyway?
 

Everybody. Everybody and his dog. While the little guy usually stays pretty close, the sight of another dog, someone running, a moving bicycle, or any combination thereof, throws him into a frenzy. Time and again I had to stop, pick him up, and carry him until a reasonable distance from the jogger/dog-walker/cyclist was established. Obviously, I ended up carrying him most the 1.5 mile distance. Which meant I couldn’t keep up my usual brisk pace. Which meant most the shade along the trail had evaporated by the time I reached the halfway mark. Which meant both of us were sweating, panting, and tongue-lolling-out-the-mouth exhausted when we finally staggered through the door.

I believe Tennessee Ernie Ford would call it “plum tuckered out.”