the drowsy chauffeur

I felt well enough to get out of bed this afternoon to take a drive through Bend.

In the battle against colds, there is a moment of irrational exuberance when the Nyquil is left behind during the day for the comfort of Dayquil.  I say "irrational," because, based on my experience, Nyquil drugs you up enough to let you know you are severely impaired. 

And Dayquil?  It provides one of those paternalistic impairments.  The type of drug that tells you: "Go ahead and drive.  You can still see, can't you?"

So, the drive was short.  And drowsy.  I climbed up Pilot Butte to get a Peregrine's view of Bend and its accompanying scenery.  It was not the best day for mountain sighting.  Clouds were rolling in from the Pacific and hiding the peaks of the Cascades.  A sure sign that snow will soon be on the way.

But there was no snow today.  The temperature in Bend was perfect.  Around 57 degrees or so.  Warm enough that the windows of the Shiftless Escape (still alive and clutching) needed to be powered down.   Perfect weather for a short-sleeve drive.

And that got to me to thinking how fortunate I have been on my journeys during the past month.  London.  Blackpool.  Oxford.  Le Havre.  La Rochelle.  Bilbao.  Vigo.  Olympia.  Bend.  Each stop has had great weather.  Ranging from the 50s to the 70s.

Christy, my sister-in-law, asked me this morning if I needed an extra blanket.  I told her the temperature has been perfect.  I have been sleeping on top of the covers.

Yes, I know, I am merely stirring up another of those "Then, why do you live in tropical Mexico" questions.  To which I respond, I can tolerate almost any weather.

But I will confess that adding air conditioners to the new house is daily becoming a stronger possibility.

Speaking of the house, I need to being you up to date on some developments.  But that will need to wait until tomorrow.  Or later in the week.

Now, I am heading back to bed to shake off the rest of this cold.