Okay, if you pray, pray for me. I arrive, if all goes well, in Costa Rica tomorrow around noon time. Predictions are for double overhead plus surf to begin arriving today. It has been flat here for, what, two weeks? No practice makes for a good pummeling. I will be whimpering like a chihuahua, come this time tomorrow, probably. We'll see.
Meanwhile, I paddled out today just to stretch the old muscles. It wasn't really worth it, except for that one wave, right, Bob? But the most exercise I have been getting lately has been random bike rides, emphasis on random, and attempting to control the red-nosed coon hound I am baby sitting. Walking dogs consumes so much time. Walking dogs with muscles wears you out. I live in fear of him seeing a cat. When I see that fur rise on his back, I dig in for a game of the tug-of-war. Makes for a good muscle toning. The poor dog has Firecrackeritus (fear of explosions), and this Fourth of July sent him right over the edge. His owners warned me, but I think I am a mini-dog whisperer, apparently. I thought my 'FACE YOUR FEARS' approach would work, and talked him into actually going for a walk during the explosive finale.
Dummy.
I only ended up getting my ass dragged down blackened streets in one direction (away from the fireworks), while he wheezed and heaved as his collar became a noose around his neck. He would not turn around to go home! We ended up sitting on some strangers porch in the dark until it was over, me talking him down. Then it went on into the night until 2am in random bursts that sent him running to my bedside, that collar around his neck clanging like a gong in my ear.
So, sleepless I go, off on a plane to some distant beach in Central America. Send someone for me if this blog goes blank for longer than one week. If I survive, I will post events and pictures as I can. Hopefully they will not be from a hospital, or from King Neptune's Lair deep beneath the sea.
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