If everybody had an ocean across the U.S.A., then everybody'd be surfin' like Californ-i-a

Eight months in Californ-i-a, and I had never gone surfin. I think sometimes in life you think, "I have all the time in the world," so you put off what you really want to do until its too late. I definitely did that with surfing. Before I knew it, the movers were at my apartment in Hermosa Beach, packing my boxes for Texas and I had never hit the waters. So, when we were all in Cali for work, I decided its time - we're wet-suiting up and going to make a fool of ourselves.

 

In my head... this is what we looked like: 

A more accurate visual of what we looked like is probably from some surf school website:

We started out on the sand, learning where we put our feet as we paddle - or get pulled - out and how to jump up on the board when a wave comes. And that I think was the strangest part to me. I don't know how I imagined these surfers got up on their board, but when they said I was supposed to leap up onto the board I was a little intimidated. 

It took a little getting used to. First of all, to paddle out, I had to flop onto the board. And I mean flop. I felt a little like a Sea World seal, especially considering the wet suit. And then there was the jumping up on the board. The guys at the Santa Monica surf school were VERY patient. For two hours, they towed us out into the surf, waited for the perfect wave, then told us when to jump up. Once I finally got the hang of jumping up, the bigger issue was the balance. I had to learn to get my front foot out far enough to properly balance on the board. But it was rewarding to finally figure it out and stand up, riding the wave in to the shore. Why didn't I do this sooner? Maybe some day I'll become a beach bum, surfer girl.

 

I do miss the beach.Postcard paradise.

Helicopter ride with Ol' Saint Nick

I thought the miles and miles of desert wonderness near Death Valley, Calif., were beautiful from the ground.

 

They were even more beautiful from above.

 

I was the co-pilot of my next grand adventure - a helicopter ride over California's desert mountains and plains.

Up and off we go!

 I generally avoided touching things in the cockpit. I did try (unsuccessfully) to figure out what all the dials meant.

 

This was our pilot. He said, "Hi, I'm 'Blah blah', and you'll always remember me as the pilot who gave you your first helicopter ride." Unfortunately, his name was not as memorable as he'd like to believe, but if I'd have to guess, I'd go with Nicholas. St. Nicholas. I'm pretty sure our helicopter becomes a sleigh on December 24 and delivers presents to all the good little boys and girls. His landing skills on the tip tops of mountains were akin to that of a, say, rooftop landing.

 Blue skies with 100 percent chance of sunshine and happiness.

 

 Our mountaintop landing.

The noise was deafening the the chopper blades above you - the only way you could communicate was over the headsets.

 

We scooped down a few times to see if we could find wild burros running free. Unfortunately, we didn't but we did find one on a driving tour later. (I think they knew where to look for him, considering he only has about 50 square yards to roam).

 

Hot air balloons, helicopters... what's next for 2011? Maybe hang gliding?

There's a seat for you at the rodeo

Hotels always have local travel brochures, and one of the first I picked up was for Fort Worth: City of Cowboys and Culture. Cowboys + Culture? Do the cattle drivers park their horses out in front of the museum and peruse the art galleries in their cowboy hats and boots? I never would have guessed a city known for its cowboys would also be known for its culture. But I think my afternoon there proved it is possible.

I also never would have guessed I'd find a taste of home 1,073 miles from Columbus, Ohio. But in fact I enjoyed a hometown favorite - a Schmidt's cream puff - at the Fort Worth Arts Festival.

We were driving up Houston Ave. to find a parking spot, and I spot an Ohio State athletic logo on the back of a delivery truck.... then I notice that delivery truck says Schmidt's. No joke. That cream puff made my entire trip to Fort Worth more than worth the trek.

The art festival was fun and fabulous. The third largest festival in the U.S., this is the festival's 26th year, and more than 400,000 people were expected to attend the event over the weekend.

In the heart of downtown Fort Worth, more than 200 artists and live bands surrounded Sundance Square. The glass was definitely my favorite medium. My favorite artist was Angelo Fico from Wisconsin. I bought my mum a beautiful, hand blown, blue glass vase for Mother's Day from Angelo.

They had all sorts of kinds of art though - painting, jewelry, photography, sculpture...

 Including animal sculptures of all sorts in all sorts of colors. Zebras...

 

Seahorses and giraffes...

 Elephants and longhorns.

 

I've heard of cow tipping. But never longhorn tipping. Must have been one mighty strong cow tipper.

Or maybe it was one mighty strong gust of wind... I know they call Chicago the windy city. I disagree. I have never experienced wind like I have here (and I HAVE been to Chicago),  but the wind was especially brutal the weekend of the arts festival.

The Fort Worth Arts Festival is renowned not only for its art, but also for its inclement weather. Tornadoes, softball size hail... luckily this year the storm came the night before, but the tornado strength wind stuck around to haunt artists with breakable, fragile art - especially the glass blowers.

After the festival, Kyle and I headed up Commerce Street. Past the Bass Performance Hall...

...And to the Fort Worth Water Gardens.

 

Constructed in 1974, the Fort Worth Water Gardens were designed to be an "oasis in the concrete jungle." An oasis it was, cool and shady, and a relief from the hot, bustling streets.

 It also happened to be a great spot to show off my new cowboy boots... these boots are made for walkin!
At the quiet pool... 

 ...which was quite serene.

 ...until we decided to do some jumping shots.

I showed off my boots at the aerating pool too!

 

Kyle and I discovered that Fort Worth likes its longhorns.

(Here's where we transition from culture to cowboys...)

 

And from downtown to the stockyards.

Where we saw more longhorns - live ones.

My favorite was one named Axel. (Their pictures and names were posted - I didn't just make up a name for him. That would be lame.)

He thinks he's a model. He spent about 20 minutes posing for the camera.  (Upon further consideration, spending 20 minutes taking pictures of farm animals could also be considered lame. But how often do you get to see Texas longhorns in Texas?)

 

And showed off what his long horns could do.Scratch, scratch, scratch.

Moo wanted to show off what his long tongue could do. Yuck.(This time I did make up the longhorn's name. But "this guy" seemed too impersonal. I named him after Moo, my black and white spotted cat I had when I was little.)

Ever since I moved to Texas, I keep hearing the Bowling for Soup song, called "Ohio, Come back to Texas" in my head. And I don't feel like I could leave Texas until I took advantage of "the seat for me at the rodeo." Plus I needed someplace to wear my cowboy boots! So we headed to the Cowtown Coliseum for a night of cowboys after our afternoon of culture.

They raced around barrels, mauled baby calves, and at one point, invited all of the young children out of the crowd to chase a sheep around the arena trying to catch the ribbon off his back. But the best part of the night was the bull riding of course! Did they stay on eight seconds? Some did - and many didn't.

 

I was nevertheless inspired to try my own hand at bull riding over the course of the next eight months. Of course, mine will be mechanical with a soft, cushy mat to fall on.

And an operator who will "tame the bull" - no need for rodeo clowns.

We ended the night at the World's Largest Honky Tonk - Billy Bob's for my first attempt at two-stepping. (Attempt is the key word here.) I think I'll need a few dancin' lessons - in my cowboy boots. :D