Mesa Hot

For the first week of our return to Arizona, we were baked, and I don’t mean in some metaphoric “Ghosts of Bob Marley and Jerry Garcia giddily traipsing through the welcoming haze of Colorado” sort of way.
For eight of the first nine days of our stay in Mesa (a southeast suburb of Phoenix), the temperatures hit at or over a hundred. The heat was a relentlessly intense as a Led Zeppelin riff (I’m thinking “Kashmir”, or maybe “Black Dog”). The two air conditioning units on our RV were valiantly chugging along. We started to experiment with insulating the windows, putting up blankets and/or reflecting panels, and that did help to reduce the effects a bit (and give our air conditioners a little slack to work with), but it has been the land of the lizards.
Then, about two days ago, there was the deluge: about 36 hours of thunderstorms that brought down almost three inches of rain in all. It did bring down the temperatures a bit, and left large puddles hither and yon, in a town that doesn’t seem all that prepared for that sort of monsoon rainage. Then again, what town is, really?
A year ago, when we first embarked on our gypsy lifestyle, we missed the storms that wracked Colorado and all but wiped out a couple of towns in the foothills. We got a taste of what that might have been like (although I seem to remember that stormage persisted for the better part of a week, or more). The thunder was most impressive: huge claps and growls of booming madness that had Rufus curling up with the Mama for most of the time.
Still, I would not wish to suggest that all has been nothing but a hell of heat and thunderstorms. The gypsies are settled for the next few months (until the end of the year) here in Mesa, playing a variety of gigs in and around Phoenix. We took advantage of a Fall price special offered by the Mesa Regal RV resort. It’s actually a blend of RV spaces and pre-fab homes; some 2500 all told (or so I have been told). It is still a bit before the regular season; most of the snowbirds have not yet arrived. I feel a bit like Charlton Heston, in “The Omega Man”; wandering about a mostly empty community, enjoying the various amenities, and waiting for the zombies to invade.
The amenities are good. There’s a lovely lap pool (some 25 meters, Pony figures). I have been swimming eight of the last ten days, since arriving. My body aches, but it is the good ache of regular workouts. I usually go fairly early in the morning (around 8 or so, after taking Rufus for our morning promenade), and swim for the better part of an hour. Another couple weeks or so of this, and I may even have a noticeable tan (and no longer be in danger of flashing the eyes of passing airplane pilots with my pasty white flesh, as my sister would describe it).
I am scoping out venues, working on repertoire, writing new stuff, organizing tour plans for the next 9-12 months, and generally keeping plenty busy with a healthy mix of creative challenges and “takin’ care of business”. There are ashes (heat nothwithstanding), but, like the Phoenix, I look to be rising.

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