It was cold Sunday.

At least I thought so until we stopped by BJ’s Restaurant & Brewhouse for lunch.

The family at the next table was talking with the waitress.

They mentioned that they’d just moved to Manteca.

The waitress asked where they were from.

The husband replied “the Bay Area.”

 Then he added the zinger.

“We can’t believe how warm it is here.”

I honestly wasn’t try to eavesdrop.

But when he said that, my ears perked up.

I thought maybe I misunderstood.

That’s when the waitress said it got up to 113 degrees this past summer.

Given he was facing me, I could see his expression.

It was clear that by recently, the gentleman had “just moved here” was not farther back than perhaps mid-September.

Clearly, he had never enjoyed a summer in Manteca.

I don’t know if he believed the waitress.

But I also know more than a few people over the years who moved to Manteca from the Bay Area during the winter, and were more than a little surprised about how the temperatures on this side of the Altamont start climbing when the days start getting longer.

They weren’t expecting what they perceived as Dante’s inferno on earth.

Spend enough time in Manteca — and much of the Central Valley for that matter — and make forays to the Bay Area, Sierra, or the coast and you know about how the refrigerator-style weather we can experience here in the winter when it’s sunny west of Altamont or above 1,000 feet

It’s a unique combo of sandy loam, living in the geographic equivalent of a gigantic bowl, and prevailing winds that often levels the temperature below 800 feet or so colder than higher up.

It is why when you warn those who have never spent a winter in the Northern San Joaquin Valley that the fog here can be treacherous, they scoff at you.

After all, they are from the San Francisco Bay Area. They know all about fog.

Then they get the surprise of their lives when they encounter their first tule fog.

They are stunned at how thick it is.

They can’t believe it can come out of nowhere on what has been a clear morning. Then, within minutes, it is down to visibility of 10 feet or less.

San Francisco fog comes in on little cat’s feet.

So say people that channel Carl Sandberg.

But Central Valley tule fog pounces on you like a lion startled awake from a deep sleep.

Tule fog isn’t the only contrary thing when it comes to weather, the Bay Area, and “the valley.”

Samuel Clemens aka Mark Twain supposedly nailed it when it came to San Francisco weather.

Twain, rightfully or wrongfully, was attributed to saying, “The coldest winter he ever spent was the summer I spent in San Francisco.”

It is why it can be 100 degrees plus in Manteca on a August day while at the same time you need to wear a sweater in San Francisco.

By the same token, it can be 10 or so degrees warmer in the winter west of the Altamont on days when Mother Nature wasn’t in one of her stormy moods.

Moving to Manteca during the late fall or winter with never really experiencing a summer here, can be a real eye opener.

The example that sticks out the most happened in 1992.

It seems surreal today, but new tract homes were selling for an outlandish $135,000.

The lowest priced new home was sold by the late Antone Raymus.

He took pride in his firm’s consistent reputation of offering at least one floor-plan that was the lowest price offering in the new home market.

Then in 1992, somehow national builder Kauffman & Broad undercut Raymus.

They offered a home in the then new Diamond Oaks neighborhood on East Louise Avenue for $119,950.

The mystery was solved with a visit to the Kaufman & Broad sales office.

They were indeed selling a three bedroom, two bathroom home for $119,950.

So how did they do it?

The answer was on the list of options.

Central air was on the list.

You may ask yourself, who in their right mind would buy a new well-sealed tract home without central air?

The answer: Someone who doesn’t know better.

I meet one of those buyers of a home without central air a few years after they bought it.

They were in the process of putting in central air at a cost of nearly $5,000.

If I recall right, they said something along the line they weren’t going to go “through hell again.”

To tell the truth, I like it hot.

But then again, I’ve been conditioned.

It comes with being fourth generation from the “real” valley — and that’s not a reference to San Fernando.

I’m not talking out of school when I say I’m not a big fan of air conditioning.

Don’t get me wrong.

I turn on the air in the car when someone is with me on a hot day. I even do so periodically when I’m driving solo.

I don’t avoid air conditioned building.

But I can honestly say in the 16 years I’ve been in my current home I’ve never turned on the wall unit or the water cooler on the roof.

The wall unit has been on when someone has stayed the night on the couch in the living room during the depth of summer.

All that said, I have great empathy for someone who hasn’t weathered a summer in Manteca before.

They will be in for the surprise of their life.

And it won’t just be the heat.

It’ll be the salt on the wound — their PG&E bill.

They will find out that when the heat is on, the meter spins so fast it makes a whirling sound that brings smiles to the faces of Wall Street hedge fund manages invested heavily in PG&E stock.

There’s a reason, if you haven’t figured it out yet, why most of the homes in early Manteca — and elsewhere in the Central Valley — had summer sleeping porches.

This column is the opinion of editor, Dennis Wyatt, and does not necessarily represent the opinions of The Bulletin or 209 Multimedia. He can be reached at dwyatt@mantecabulletin.com