It’s been a hot few weeks here of late, as is generally expected in the summer I suppose. Expected, but seemingly always surprising. We slowly shake our heads and exclaim in a hushed breathless tone, “man it’s hot”. As if we’re trying not to let the heat hear us for fear that it will kick it up another tick or two just to spite our whining.

Those of you that have little choice but to spend your working day under the angry relentless glare of that fireball, I commend you. Your whining (if you so choose) is completely justified, for anyone else, it is not. Not justified, but highly likely, as the weather is what a good amount of idle chit-chat turns to when nothing else seems to make itself available for discussion.

I’m not very good at extended bouts of idle chit-chat or small talk. I need a good wingman or wingwoman when venturing into those types of social situations. I can hold my own for the first three minutes or so, but then it’s time to withdraw and let the wingperson swoop in so I can commence to smile and nod for the remainder of the interaction. I can smile and nod with the best of them.

If your wingperson is particular adept at carrying a conversational load you can even slip away and stare quietly at the potted plant in the corner or act like you’re intently reading something (anything…VCR instruction manual, recipe cards, mattress tags, etc.). I have two such wingpeople in my life, who I am quite thankful for, my wife and my good friend Paul. Both world class chit-chatathoners, whom I have stood by and cheered on for years. Or at least smiled and nodded once the plant got uncomfortable with the incessant staring.

The heat at least puts a bit of a damper on people’s willingness to stand on the hot asphalt in the middle of the grocery store parking lot and carry on about whatever their chosen carry on topic may be. The heat also seems to put a damper on some of the vacation bound motorhomes ability to carry on down the highway.

There was a particularly vintage looking motorhome fueling up next to us in Broadus Montana a few weeks back on a particularly hot day. In this case “distressed vintage” would probably be a more accurate description. It looked to have been a top-of-the-line RV at one point and time, a point and time, much like the paint, that had long faded. So it goes.

They rolled out about 15 minutes before us, as we had to let the dog sniff around a bit, and I had to make short order of a gas station Sundae Cone. Gas station Sundae Cones are always a gamble. Sometimes the cone is like chewing on a soggy Pringles can (don’t ask), but this one was crisp, crunchy, and cold…delightful.

“Delightful” would not be the word that probably best described the mood of the owners of the before mentioned vintage RV. When we went past them about 5 miles removed from Sundae Cone’s and Broadus, all involved looked a little overheated. Somebody had stopped to help them, somebody that could probably do more than stare at the motor like it’s a potted plant, so we continued on our way.

We moved on, but my thoughts stayed with them for quite some time. Times like that I wish I had the financial means to airlift in a new RV for those folks. Folks that obviously were just trying to get a little further down the road. Towards something…away from something…most likely both. Maybe they had all they needed. I’d have liked to have been able to give them a little more, but then who am I to decide what someone else needs.

Maybe a kindly rancher took them in, the RV people’s son fell madly in love with the ranchers daughter, they got married, and all lived happily ever after. Now the old RV sits in a tree grove out by the pasture, finally at rest, a pleasant reminder of the circumstances that brought two families together. Such a lovely story.

Sundae Cone brain freeze induced hallucination? It’s all part of the experience. Stay cool my friends.