Living in the desert, paying attention to the weather forecasts is usually just a way to pass time. I can predict the weather for the next 4 months, with 98% accuracy, in three words: "Sunny and Hot."
As such, I don't bother with checking the weather except when I'm curious about what the temperature is right this second. This is usually immediately prior to me giving someone elsewhere in the country a hard time about their wimpy summers.
So on Monday, I was unaware that there was a heat advisory for Phoenix. A heat advisory, for those of you in cooler climates, means that the temperature, humidity, wind, air pressure, etc. have conspired to make everyone regret stepping outside. It isn't "hot," or even "really hot," it's "this hardcore biker wishes he'd accepted a ride from a co-worker hot." And, yes, I did just post about how air-conditioning is for wusses. It's that hot.
Not long after I got on to the freeway Monday night, the heat kicking off the motor started to cook my lower legs. The handgrips were hot (and I have covered parking). The tops (and bottoms) of my feet were hot. Shoot, the piece of gum I was chewing was hot.
By the time I got to my garage (which was, by the way, very hot), all of my clothes were damp and stuck to me. I put my keys in my pocket, then pulled them right back out, because they burned my leg.
Sometimes, the charm of the desert wears a little thin. I know it can get even hotter here, and I'm not especially excited about riding on those days this summer.