This past weekend, I stuck my arm into an explosion of bubbles, generated my own salt crystals, and watched my Sonic strawberry shake erupt like a mini volcano. The common factor in all three events, I think, is a reaction caused by temperatures well above fifty and still counting degrees Fahrenheit.
Let me remind you that unlike Bill Nye the Science Guy, I’m not a scientist. I do, however, have a master’s degree in writing.
Bubbles are great fun. I loved blowing bubbles for kids before I had my own kids. I worked in daycares and Montessori schools during my high school and early college years. I haven’t blown bubbles for years but managed to create a bubble dome that could’ve encapsulated a full-grown adult this past weekend.
Each summer, I groom our dog, Ivo Pepper, an English springer spaniel, to keep him cool and our house free of burs and seeds and grass. Due to searing temperatures and insane humidity, I shaved Ivo in our large, underutilized jet tub instead of in the usual location, the backyard. The grooming went well, but the tub required a deep clean.
I’ve cleaned the tub before. I fill it with hot water up to the jets and add some granular dishwasher soap. Since we switched from powder to pods, this time I added dish soap and a little bleach. I turned on the jets, intending to let them run for a good half hour. Sometime late in the afternoon, I returned to the bathroom and discovered the big, beautiful bubble dome.
I slowly stuck my fingers into the mass, then my whole arm. I pulled out. The dome maintained its shape and density.
But alas, all good things must come to an end. I reached through the bubble dome, towards the drain. I couldn’t reach the plug because the water was too hot — much hotter than it ever had been in the handful of times the tub was used for its intended purpose, a bath.
I waited for the water to cool before opening the drain. Finally the dome began to descend. I’m not a physicist, but I believe the cooler air from the drain compromised the structural integrity of the dome. At any rate, I thought the whole experience was pretty darn cool.
Almost as cool as the discovery I made the following morning, which is that my body can make salt crystals. I’m not a doctor, so I don’t think this is something that should be achieved on a regular basis, but I sure did impress my silly self.
My Saturday morning goal was to ride the 13.6-mile path around Lake Stanley Draper two, maybe three times. I arrived at the lake late in the morning, when temperatures were already above 80 and the humidity high. I completed the first lap in less than an hour and felt great. Perfect! Time for lap two.
The temperature kept rising as did wind speed and consistency. I fatigued eight miles into my second lap. I rested in some shade for a few minutes, snacked on my energy pack of fruit gems, nuts, yogurt-coated raisins and figs, drank some water, and saddled up.
I made it back to my car successfully and not too worse for the wear. My fifty-and-still counting years of life have taught me to approach almost all things with caution, which on this day meant coasting as much as possible for the last five miles and to call it a good ride. No third lap for me.
Once in my car, I craved a strawberry milkshake. As I drove towards the Sonic, I realized my skin was spotted with visible white grains. Collecting sand and dirt and pollen during bike rides isn’t new to me, but when I rubbed my arm to remove the spots, the sensation was similar to using a loofah sponge. I stopped at a red light, and wondered — salt?
I did what any normal person would do. I licked myself. Just a small spot, on my arm. I tasted like an original Lay’s potato chip. Intrigued, I carefully collected a few of the crystals on the end of my finger and sampled again. Mmm, I was salty!
I reached the Sonic and placed my order. While waiting for my strawberry shake, fries and grilled cheese sandwich to arrive, I used my phone to conduct a little research. “Can I make salt crystals with my body?”
The answer is yes! During heat and high humidity, a person’s sweat can contain a high enough concentration of salt that solidifies as the sweat dries. Cool!
Even cooler? My strawberry shake! I carefully cradled my sweet treat and placed it in the console cupholder. Without warning, the shake blew its plastic dome top. A sticky mess covered my hands and dribbled onto my lap and car seat. Like lava, the shake continued to flow down the sides of the cup into the pockets of the center console.
I’m not a physicist, but my guess is that the change in temperature from the cold milkshake machine to nearly 100 degrees Fahrenheit outside to the cooler interior of my car caused the volcanic reaction.
I reacted by bringing my meal into my airconditioned house and eating it. The fries were sufficiently salty, the shake sweet, and the sandwich cheesy.
A fifty-and-still counting girl doesn’t have to be a scientist, professional groomer, paid cyclist, doctor, esthetician, or physicist to appreciate a bubble dome, groomed dog, exfoliated skin, truncated bicycle ride, or strawberry milkshake; she just needs to be an ordinary girl who discovers ways to keep cool during hot times in this weird, wacky, wild, wonderful world.