The temperature was forecast in the low 100s. The misery index (heat + humidity) promised to take the feels-like temperature past the point at which the body is capable of cooling itself via perspiration. Health officials were begging people to stay indoors. There was an outside chance this would be the hottest day in the Triangle's recorded history, topping the 105 mark set on July 23, 1952.

Sounded like the perfect day for a hike.

Because really, how often do you get a chance to say you went hiking on the most miserable day ever?

When I told a friend of my plan to hike the 4.5-mile Company Mill Trail on Tuesday afternoon, her response included the word "idiot." It was unclear whether she was referring just to me or to anyone who would go out on a day like this.

There might be others? The thought hadn't occurred. Sure enough, though, when I pulled into Umstead's parking lot off Harrison Avenue around 2 p.m., six cars were sprinkled about.

One of them was runner Jason Clark. I ran into him as he was fiddling with his belt, which contained four 7-ounce water bottles, at the Company Mill trailhead. He looked fresh, ready to roll.

Heading out?

"I just ran 15 miles."

But --

"It's brutally hot," he acknowledged.

And there was park ranger Bill Duke, dressed in full uniform. Natty, but comfortable?

"You get used to it," he said.

I'd been out for maybe half an hour at this point and though I hadn't been hiking -- or running 15 miles -- I was far from miserable. In fact, it felt pleasant. I floated a theory.

"Does it really feel that hot to you? The humidity doesn't seem so bad."

Duke thought for a moment. "It seems bad to me."

The forest, I discovered, agreed. It was deathly quiet. Zero birdsong. The occasional cicada trying to get a chorus going, with no takers. The only sound: a periodic skink scrambling through the dry leaf litter. About the only wildlife that appeared mindless of the sultry weather were a pair of butterflies flying as one, who obliviously fluttered past.

About 50 minutes into the hike, around 3 p.m., I noticed that my quart Nalgene bottle had gone from a solid block of ice to tepid water. Another 15 minutes and I'd be ready for afternoon tea.

Another bad sign: The liquid in my REI key chain thermometer had separated. The main line of red went up to 90, there was a 15-degree break, then a sliver at 115.

I decided to take a quick personal inventory. My 2.6 million sweat glands were still producing nicely. And I wasn't giddy, nauseous or more uncoordinated than usual. All good signs that I was coping with the heat.

In my hour and a half on the trail I saw no pine cones explode from the heat, no squirrels spontaneously combust.

Nor would I see the miserable glory I had sought. The temperature would only reach 101, four degrees off the record, and with an afternoon humidity of just 33 percent the misery index would top out at a brisk 106.1, according to the State Climate Office.

In the end, my most miserable day ever turned out to be quite pleasant. The worst part: being unable to touch the steering wheel for five minutes on the drive over. Fortunately, Wade Avenue is straight.

Heading out this weekend, I'll face an entirely different problem. Like, where did I store my fleece?

This weekend, the temperature is supposed to reach only 82.