It was another scorcher here in Dallas today.
When I was driving home from work today I kept nervously eyeing the temperature readout to see what it would get to. It started out at 102 F (39 C) when I started the car, which was the leftover readout from when I’d dashed out earlier in the day at noon for lunch.
As the minutes ticked by on my drive home, it crept ever upwards.
Then I got distracted by navigating through rush hour traffic and forgot to look at the readout for awhile. After about 20 minutes I glanced at it again and … are you ready for this?
It stood steady at 113 F (45 C).
I’d like to say I was surprised, but I was expecting it.
Why was I not surprised?
Because, when I stepped into the parking lot as I was leaving work, it was like opening up the door to a blast furnace.
People have often asked me what summer feels like here in Dallas.
Well, you know how it feels when you open up the oven to check on the cookies you’re baking? That rush of heat that washes over your face and hands and arms?
It feels a lot like that.
Except YOU are the cookie.
And that burning aroma you smell is the soles of your shoes on the concrete of the parking lot.
It is so hot that it actually feels like your skin is crackling.
That is caused by the temperature sensors in your skin being overloaded and randomly firing (or misfiring). That is where the term “prickly heat” comes from. Your skin feels like something prickly is touching it.
It is hard to breathe in 113 F heat.
You become absolutely knackered after walking 30 or 40 yards across a parking lot to your car.
Getting into your car after it has been sitting in this heat for hours and hours is like slipping into a brick pizza oven and trying to get comfortable. Last summer I put an oven thermometer in my car and would look at it when I would come out after work. It was not unusual for it to read 150 to 165 degrees (65 to 74 C). That will literally take your breath away.
Imagine the joy of settling down onto black leather or vinyl seats in such heat.
Imagine the warm, toasty feel of wrapping your hands around the black, hard plastic steering wheel.
Imagine grabbing the chrome gear shift.
Imagine the breathtaking lack of oxygen in a such a place.
That, my friends, is what it is like in Texas in the summer.
Don’t you wish you were here?
Well, if you do decide to visit, you might want to pack some asbestos undies.