“Lovely day for a hike,” I said to the sweating man as he walked past us on the trail. “Yes,” he agreed, “except it’s a bit humid.”
“Uh, huh,” we all replied politely as little poufs of red dust kicked up from our feet. The last temperature we’d seen had been around 95 degrees. Picking our way through the cactus-lined trail did not bring to mind the word humid.
Too, I didn’t think the little dog wearing his paw-protecting sandals would have described the dust as particularly damp.
But what do we know? We’re just a bunch of West Coast women hiking in the Sedona desert. Our idea of humidity usually means torrential Vancouver rain.
If this is what they call humidity in Arizona? I’ll take it.
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