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Although the recent heat wave appears to be broken, it still managed to throw a little cold water on my sister-in-law's travel plans to Greensboro yesterday.

Julianna took the Amtrak Carolinian #79 from Philadelphia on Wednesday and was supposed to arrive at the Greensboro depot at 6:30 p.m. But it didn't show up until 8:15 p.m.

Why? Amtrak told her it lowered the top speed of the train to be safe because of the heat. You see, really hot days can cause rails to expand, making trains bounce and derail in rare cases.

So sometimes when it's hot, railroads issue "heat orders" that lower the top speeds for trains.

Amtrak might want to change the name of the link on its Web site proclaiming "hot deals." Poor choice of words.

I was driving on W. Smith Street in downtown Greensboro this morning when I noticed this car to the left approaching the intersection with no signs of stopping.

The problem was I had the green light. I couldn't stop in time to let it go by, so I hit the gas, wishing I had something with a little more oomph under the hood than an econobox 4-cylinder.

I dodged a bullet. A co-worker last year was not so lucky. Just a few blocks away from my near-miss, Mike got T-boned at Church and Friendly by a driver who ran a red light.

Here's hoping my luck won't run out, but I'm not counting on it.

I was getting ready to take the pooch for a jog in the neighborhood today during my lunch break when I noticed a car I had never seen before parked in front an elderly couple's house next door.

Two people were inside. Maybe they're lost, I thought. Then another, more paranoid voice pondered: "maybe they're checking out a place to burglarize." That voice has grown louder ever since someone kicked down the door of our apartment in Greensboro a few years ago and stole a bunch of our valuables, in broad daylight no less and with our dog inside. I've always wondered if our neighbors saw anything but simply shrugged it off.

Not this time. I made sure to make a mental note of the car (older-model Honda with a bike rack) and resumed my jog.

About 10 minutes later, I'm heading toward the bottom of a hill where there's a T-intersection. Lo and behold, this very same car is sitting at the bottom of the hill. I jog right by them.

The driver screeched the tires and peeled off.

That inner, paranoid voice kicked into overdrive. I head back to the house, grab my keys and my camera and see if I can find them.

I was merging onto Bryan Boulevard heading toward downtown Greensboro this morning when I noticed something odd: All traffic was in my rear-view mirror, as if some invisible barrier was keeping cars from speeding. Then I realized why. It was still dark outside, but I saw a glimmer of a police car's roof-mounted lights leading the pack.

It reminded me of being at Martinsville in October, watching the pace car lead impatient NASCAR hotshots around the track after a caution flag. You could see them chomping at the bit, eager to get the race on. This morning, that police car was acting like some sort of pace car, holding impatient motorists at bay.

A pace car leads an impatient pack at October's Martinsville race.

So that continued for a few miles until the police car exited onto Holden Road. Then bam, off to the races. Next thing you know this SUV flies by me in the left lane, swerves into the right lane (no turn signal), as he continues picking up speed. Then a few minutes later a car runs a red light as it exits onto Bryan Boulevard.

Everything is back to normal, I thought.

Over the past weekend, we've been taking care of my mother-in-law's dog Laika, a big ball of white fur that normally wouldn't hurt a flea. But my wife saw another side of her.

Last night, Debbie awoke after hearing Laika crying. She was acting as if she needed to go outside and do her business. It was late and we usually don't hear a peep out of them until the next morning, so that seemd a little odd.

Debbie let Laika and our dog Anna out in the backyard and they bolted after a possum. They cornered it and began fighting and growling in a game of tug-of-war over who gets to keep the possum trophy.

Laika (left), who normally wouldn't hurt a flea and takes orders from a cat, and Anna.

We could easily see Anna act that way - she loves chasing small creatures and usually the outcome isn't pleasant. But Laika? Laika takes orders from a cat. She'll back away from her own food bowl if the cat decides it wants some dog chow, as in right this second.

But Debbie saw another side of Laika last night. It's a reminder that even most domesticated and seemingly passive pets still have an inner beast inside, waiting to pounce on a moment's notice.

Amid all the commotion, the possum was doing what it does best: playing possum.

Debbie yelled and waved her arms and was finally able to get the dogs away from the possum, which then made its great escape and disappeared into the woods beyond the fence.

So the next time we hear Laika crying in the middle of the night, begging to go outside, we'll consider ourselves warned: it may not be to purge the bladder but to purge the inner beast.

We had some visitors in the woods behind our house in northwestern Greensboro yesterday.

Near the scene of this morning's fire in Greensboro was a police officer standing next to his cruiser. It was parked at an angle so motorists would know that stretch of road was closed.

But just in case you couldn't figure that out, he had placed orange cones across the road for good measure. Most drivers got it. But not this particular motorcyclist, who decided he'd weave between the cones and pass on through, apparently oblivious to all the fire and rescue equipment and smoke.

The cop watched in disbelief and raised his arms, as if to say, "hey buddy, are you blind?" But the motorcyclist continued on his merry way.

The officer resumed keeping an eye on nearby traffic, perhaps wondering if he needed bigger cones.

Things got pretty noisy yesterday evening in our normally quiet, northwestern Greensboro neighborhood.

Normally you hear fireworks on New Year's Eve, but the neighbors decided to wait this time around. Then about 8 p.m., bang. Then bang again. Then bang again, one right after the other, for about 15 minutes.

There's another sound in the far off distance: the ca-ching of South Carolina cash registers selling these things since you can't buy them here legally - at least the potent ones that drown out the sound of your TV.

A question to the woman in the silver, Porsche 911 Carrera convertible who zipped by me on Battleground Avenue late this afternon with the top down: aren't you, like, cold or something?

Maybe a little? It's 46 freakin' degrees out!

So, yes, I was staring at you. But only in amazement.

0ne of my favorite pursuits during the lazy, hazy days of summer is to visit my family's property along a Chesapeake Bay tributary in Virginia and fish.

Usually I reel in croaker. If I'm lucky and the bounty is plentiful, my aunt will fry 'em up, then serve them with cornbread and her homemade cole slaw on their gazebo overlooking the water.

This video I shot a few years year ago reminds me I'm not the only one out there fishing. That's my brother, by the way, taking practice shots.

It's that time of year when our little hyperactive mixed-breed goes bonkers in the backyard whenever she hears or smells nearby deer in the woods.

We've been a little worried that she'll succeed in hopping over the fence. Then what? I can imagine one of those deer, if it felt threatened or cornered, could intentionally or accidentally injure her or worse.

Yet, despite all the bravado, I take this very same dog for a run through our neighborhood the other day and she gets frightened by an inflatable holiday decoration.

I was jogging by a house with one of those inflatable Christmas trees and I almost tripped over Anna as she jerked my leash and bolted toward the middle of the road after being startled by it.

When I heard about the highly successful book "The Secret" from my wife, who had seen Oprah sing its praises after its release last year, I wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

Granted, critics have rightfully described the book's premise that the universe responds to your positive thoughts - literally - as far-fetched.

But after listening to the audio version of the book in the car during a road trip, I decided, what the hey, give the book's instructions about harnessing positive thinking a shot. Instead of throwing the Secret out with the bathwater, maybe you can get something out of it after all.

The results surprised me - not that positive thinking works, but how it works.

So I spent a good chunk of the past weekend with my electric-powered leaf blower. My wife was like, are you going to get some clear plastic bags for 'em? Nah. Figured as long as I put that nice long pile of leaves at the edge of the yard but not on the curb per the city's request (yes, I'm paying attention), I've done my civic duty.

But that's been blown all to Hades.

Wind gusts exceeding 30 mph? Are you kidding me?

Last check my beautiful leaf pile was scattered across my yard and into part of the street. My neighbors are even getting a little slice of my leaf action (sorry neighbors).

Oh well. Fool me once...Time to break out the bags this time.

Call it a case of old-fashioned distracted driving.

A dispatcher overheard on our newsroom scanner relayed a complaint this morning someone was reading the newspaper while driving on N.C. 68 south near Bryan Boulevard in Greensboro.

So this newspaper - and I can only guess which one - is such a compelling read that you can't wait to get to work to dive in? Maybe there is hope for our industry.