No, I’m not talking about me. I only wish that sage saying referred to my own mental disposition.
But, what’s up with this bizarre weather nowadays?
While the rabid right-wing radio-heads are wont to dismiss Al Gore as a wingnut, there’s something happening here and what it is ain’t exactly clear, but nobody’s right if everybody’s wrong. (Yes, there IS a song lyric there.)
For anyone even remotely enamored with the classic sport of baseball, the phrase spring training brings thoughts of warm weather, cold beer, and pudgy old farts with well-worn mitts that haven’t cradled a baseball in decades.
Many east coasters, wishing to escape the winter doldrums, travel south to the scattered ballparks of the so-called Grapefruit League in Florida, while thousands of other fans find their way to the sunny southwest surroundings of Phoenix, Arizona, for the popular Cactus League.
Last year, the wife-person and I embarked on a two-thousand mile spring training road trip to AZ, which took in a little of Las Vegas (or more accurately, they took us for a little), a visit to a grand big canyon, looked over the edge of one damn big dam, and watched my
fantasy girlfriend, Danica, make left turns for 400 miles, going really, really fast.
And, oh yeah, we watched some baseball.
This year we planned—what I now believe after two successive trips to be—our annual mid-March trek, where we looked forward for some of those famous warm Arizona springtime temperatures. We did get at least a little concerned, when about two weeks before our trip a news story reported that,
“A freaky storm dusted parts of the area with hail and snow, a combination called graupel.”
(Gee, I thought that was an Italian liquor.)
HA! I only wish we got some snow while we were there last week. Summer apparently decided to precede spring, and we were scorched by sunshine, and a record 95 degrees. And that was in the shade.
Using the meteorologically scientific Comfort Index of Weather Reporting, sitting in the stands under full sun for three hours, this converts to, as I heard a guy walking behind me in the stands say,
“HOLY SHIT, IT’S HOT!”
The fact is, it ain’t easy to sit in the stands drinking mugs of frosty cold beer for the full three-hours, or so, of the ball game.
For one thing, they announce “last call” already in the seventh inning. Apparently, it is difficult for the ballpark crew to mop up puddles of spilled beer, and sweep up mustard and ketchup encrusted hotdog wrappers and discarded peanut shells, if they have to work around passed out patrons, once the game is over.
Thankfully, it does cool down in the evenings, especially in the air-conditioned comfort of the many local eating and drinking establishments.
Our favorite place, so far, is Cowboy Ciao, in Scottsdale. As it comes out, we are not the only one who thinks so.
The Visit Phoenix “Official Travel Guide to Greater Phoenix,” quotes local resident, Danica Patrick (yes, that one) as that being her favorite place to eat.
I KNEW we thought alike. And, we have so much in common; she likes to drive fast and I look to look at her.
See you next year Danica; I’ll be looking
at you for you.
Shameless Promotion Announcement Section
While I cannot claim my abnormal is now normal, I can unequivocally state that my regularity has become very irregular, at least when it comes to my blog posting. While I would love to blame an excess of time spent doing adventure travel, it is probably that my nap time has increased in both frequency and duration.
So, if you have grown weary of clicking back here every few hours (yeah, as if THAT is happening), I might respectfully suggest that you click on the upper right column, where it says, “Subscribe to Sand Dollar Adventures by email.”
That way, my latest blog post will find its way to you, and I promise not to send you requests to fund my next trip to visit Danica in Arizona.
At least until it cools down there.