Whenever my CouchSurfing hosts apologize about potentially making noise that might wake me, I always assure them I can sleep through anything. The example I use to back up my claim is that I have slept through three earthquakes. This fact makes me a little sad, as I would like to experience an earthquake. Not the destructive, terrifying, chasm-opening-in-the-sidewalk kind, just some nice light tremors.

I got my wish at about 3:30AM while sleeping at the Lonestar Herefords ranch headquarters. My eyes popped open and I lay perfectly still, petrified, because it felt like a dog or other small animal was under my cot, shaking it. I knew that couldn't possibly be the case, but. . . what the heck was going on? When I heard the silverware start jangling in the kitchen, I put it together. Yay! My first tiny, tiny earthquake.

I was wide awake after that so I picked up a copy of the Lonestar Herefords Sale Catalog (cattle-log? Haha!) and read through that to pass the time. My parents used to get such magazines back on the farm and I've always found them amusing. They are essentially cow porn, full of pictures of cows with flattering writeups on their many fine physical attributes, including their sexual prowess. To wit:

"552 is another widely used, high accuracy bull who provides a complete package with low birth weight, lots of growth and milk. He is a 6 trait leader and throws a lot of short marked calves."

I pondered these descriptions as I drifted back to sleep. High accuracy? Does that mean what I think it means? And why would low birth weight be desirable? Perhaps this is connected with the highly touted "easy calving" feature?

I wanted to be on the road early, since Katrina in Wichita Falls had Veteran's Day off and was having friends over for brunch. Brunch! Mimosas, egg dishes, coffee cake, pleasant banter: these were very motivational concepts, worthy of setting the alarm clock. My plan was to get up by 7:00, hang around long enough to meet Dusty, the owner of the ranch, who I was told would be in around 8:00, then get on the road. Brunch was at 11:00, and I was 30 miles away. At my standard Northern Texas gravelly road pace of no more than 10mph, I'd need at least 3 hours.

But the morning was enshrouded in fog too thick to see even as far as the highway, just a short distance from the front door. Dusty advised me to stick around and wait for it to lift, which seemed wise, so I kicked back in the kitchen, returned some phone calls, watched the fog, and watched the clock. By 9:30 I was getting antsy and decided to head out even though the fog wasn't completely cleared up. The visibility had improved significantly, and besides, one saving grace of Route 82 is its wide shoulder, giving me plenty of room even if I'm not so visible to passing cars. And there was brunch to be had.

To my surprise and delight, I encountered no wind, few hills, and first smooth pavement I'd seen since Oklahoma, meaning I veritably FLEW to Wichita Falls. Two hours later I stepped into Katrina's gorgeous loft apartment in a converted schoolhouse where a circle of uniformly beautiful, radiant, mimosa-sipping Air Force women greeted me. The group including a handful of the 9 female pilots-in-training from the current class of about 200 at Sheppard Air Force Base. Wow!

They had all kinds of questions for me about the ride, and I for them about the military. "What are your uniforms like? Are they hot? Like Demi Moore in A Few Good Men?" (You know, the hard-hitting questions.) Katrina showed me a picture of herself in her impressive flight suit, and I got to hear all about the different kinds of planes they learn to fly, what sorts of assignments they might get after they graduate, and yes, about the uniforms. On a day-to-day basis it's camouflage, and for more formal events it's the suits. Women get to wear either a standard button-down shirt that gets tucked in, or another more flattering blouse called the "princess cut" that does not get tucked in. A while ago, someone petitioned the uniform board that men ought to have a "prince cut" option. This petition was rejected.

I wanted to know about boot camp too. . . was it like you see in the movies? You know, with obstacle courses and stuff? (Again, hard-hitting.) They told me that essentially, the drill sargeants just annoy the heck out of you, making you arrange all your stuff just so, measure the corners on your sheets after you make your bed, and do all sorts of absurd tasks in too little time. They have physical training, of course, but Katrina said she felt gypped. She expected it to be a lot harder, and wanted an opportunity to see what she's made of. I can relate.

Later, as visitors started to head home, we discussed what I would want to do the next day in Wichita Falls. Katrina and her roommate Christina said they could get me a pass to visit the Air Force base! That sounded far more awesome than the few museums and the lame, manmade waterfall I'd read about on Wikipedia. I was in.