Degrees of difficulty

I'm thinking of the summer we flew to California and stayed in a lodge high in the Sierras. On the hottest day of the year we drove down to Yosemite to look at the sights and then stopped for supper in Fresno, where the temperature was 114 degrees. By the time we were done with supper, my legs had swelled until they felt rooted to the ground like tree stumps. Forty minutes later, though, when we reached our room high in the mountains, the temperature had fallen into the 70s and the breeze carried the scent of sequoias and my legs were willing to gambol in the woods.

What I need today is a nice high mountain where I can escape the heat, which has been hovering near 100 all afternoon with not a whisper of wind blowing anywhere. It's the sort of heat that drives everyone indoors and makes my car's air conditioning give up in despair. I have to think hard to remember that exactly one week ago the temperature dipped down into the low 30s. That's not what I'm looking for today, but there are plenty of pleasant temperatures between 30 and 100--72, for instance, or 68, or even 80 on occasion. Who needs 100 degrees? Not me. I need a mountain--even if it's only in my mind.