Day 2: Seeking Refuge

My plan fails.
To avoid living in Death Valley's daytime heat, I want to sleep during
the day and play at night. But by 2 a.m., I'm out. Asleep. Lulled by
the cool of the 84-degree nighttime air.
But not for long. At regular intervals, I do battle with the motor
home's air conditioner. Every 10 or so minutes, it rumbles to life,
jolting me awake with its monstrous roar and a face-full of its
breath. After thrashing around, trying to dodge the forced air in my
face, I relent and cocoon inside our sheet, where I lay dormant. For
about 10 minutes, when the next battle ensues.
So by 9 a.m., I stagger awake. And it's already 101 outside. We
venture out to open our awning, sit and read our books, then walk the
dogs. But the air is oven-like and the ground hot, so we collect our
things and move back inside, at intervals. The dogs first, without
that long walk. Then me, then Allen.
By the time we're all ensconced (with my new best friend -- the air
conditioner), the temperature reaches 115 outside.
We nap, read, watch a little video of our church's road rally on
Allen's Nano. We chat, and giggle and shower occasionally throughout
the day because we can, because the water is hot, without turning on
the heater. It's just hot, from the sun pounding on the hose.
At dusk, we take the dogs on that long-promised walk and duck a bat
and coyote on the way. We watch the sunset's crimson tide spill over
the mountaintops and guess at the heat. I say 85. Allen guesses 105.
We check. It's 101. At 9 p.m.
Hot. Hotter than last night.
I'm now yearning for sleep. But hesitate. Because my new best friend
just roared back into action.