Talk about a warm welcome. My first week in Denver and it is blazing HOT, every day brings 90+ degree weather. After nine years in San Francisco, I am accustomed to wearing wool in July. My skin has a shiny white fog tan and my wardrobe is mostly black. I own one pair of shorts, which I have been wearing every day since May 28.
The heat, combined with the mile-high altitude, make for a sluggish new Denver-ite. I cannot seem to get enough water in my system or lotion on my skin. Instead of moody mist, I witness indecisive storm clouds borne of early summer humidity. My body is confused - Where is the ocean? How do I get to sleep without the foghorn? What happened to wearing make-up? Hey look, I have a scar on my knee. Who knew?
Furthermore, The Man keeps me on the bicycle no matter where we go. He'll surely have me in shape by the end of summer. I must say, it is mighty exhilirating to blaze past long lines of cars stuck in traffic. As much as I loved riding the bus, the independence and health benefits of the two-wheeled lifestyle could become addictive. Once my body adjusts to the local elements, the internal compass resets and I finally obtain a new pair of shorts, there will be no stopping me.