This past weekend, it was around 105 degrees in Atlanta, Georgia. It was Stupid Hot.
Husband decided that the only thing to do was blow out of town up into the mountains of North Carolina - to one of our favorite places, Pisgah Inn. I strenuously objected, because the forecast for the Pisgah Inn called for unusually high temperatures - 83 degrees during the day, and 77 degrees at night. Pisgah Inn has NO AIR CONDITIONING
because normally, you don't need it.
The discussion took an ugly turn when he informed me with a cheesy grin
that he had booked a room. Period.
I was furious. I was not nice to him for two days. But I packed my bags and got in the truck.
As we neared Asheville, the thermometer in the truck registered the outside temperatures at 107...104...102 degrees. Too hot, too hot.
Around 4,000 feet of elevation, the temperature was at 83 degrees. Husband pleaded with me to enjoy the scenery and be happy for that 20 degree drop. I informed him that to make me happy, he had to get it another 20 degrees lower - to around 63 degrees. So he announced: "I can do that! Just watch!" He hates for us to argue, so I grudgingly rolled my eyes and played the game. "Sure, honey! I believe in you!"
At 5000 feet, the Pisgah Inn came into sight. We pulled in to register and pick up our room key. It was 81 degrees, a hot blue sky, with a fitful breeze. I was dismayed - the room was like an oven when we walked in.
|Photo of room at Pisgah Inn|
Husband pulled on his sneakers and sped out the door to go hike one of the forest trails...anything to get out of my range.
He'd been gone about 30 minutes when I heard the first rumble of thunder. I had the door open so that the little breeze could sweep some of the heat out of the room, and suddenly the sky got dark, the wind started gusting through the room, and big rain drops started to spatter down. Before I could make it to the door to check the sky, I heard what sounded like rocks hitting the front of the hotel and my jaw dropped when an ice pellet the size of a plum whizzed through the room and disappeared over the balcony, followed by a half dozen others.
I struggled with the door against the wind and slammed it closed. Peering through the tiny window, I saw shredded foliage, small limbs and ICE raining down on the lawn and parking lot. Big ice. Big hail. The wind was howling, it was pouring rain and lightening was crackling down all over the place. Followed by ear-splitting thunder.
And my husband was out in this maelstrom - bare headed, with only a T Shirt and Shorts on, and out of cell phone range.
The storm raged for about 20 minutes, and finally started to slack off. This is what it looked like after it finally stopped:
The grass was completely covered with hail!
The parking lot was littered with foliage and ice and damaged cars.
After about 30 minutes, I walked toward the office to see about sending someone to look for my Husband - I was frantic with worry by now. And suddenly, there he was, pulling into the parking lot. He got out of his truck, and I started toward him. He looked like a drowned rat, but he had a BIG SMILE on his face. "Come here, come here!" he was saying. When I got to the truck, he said, "Look!" and pointed to the thermometer.
It said 61 degrees. He said, "I told you I could do it!"
Be careful what you wish for.
Just for the record, he was protected by the slope of the hill he was on...the storm approached from the back side, so he was in the lee and thankfully, didn't get the full force of it. But he did say that hail pounding on your bare head HURTS! He makes me crazy.