I went horseback riding over the long Labor Day weekend with my sister and her friends. When she first mentioned the idea, I thought, what the hay… I need to shake things up a bit. As the day neared, I thought more about it and began to worry. I’m no spring chicken anymore… What if I fall off? What if my horse bolts? Will I be sore after an hour of riding? And finally, what do I wear? What is the latest mode of fashion for horseback riding? Well, I’ve never been haute couture… but I very much dislike being dressed inappropriately for an occasion.
My sister (what a saint) explained patiently that jeans are still de rigor when riding and my light-weight hiking boots with ankle support would do just fine for footwear. Ok, check! She also assured me that the horses are very well trained and chances for the horse bolting were slim (but still there… Right? Right?). Ok, check! As to me falling off, that was entirely up to me but I’m sure she felt that I was up to the task of staying mounted. That was to be my main goal for the outing… Stay on the horse. Everything else would be icing on the cake.
We arrived and jockeyed for a parking place among the large pick up trucks that filled the small parking area. I stepped out of the car and inhaled the heady aroma of stables and corral. We filled out our forms and releases in a small rough wood paneled room, set up with simple tables and chairs and decorated with pictures of employees at rodeo riding events and other Western memorabilia. Yes, there were 2 pictures of John Wayne. I’m pretty sure that’s mandatory.
As we 4 gals lined up on the porch for the guide to pick horses for us, I was summoned into the corral by the descriptive, “You, in the blue t-shirt, the tiny lady on the end…” Major was the name of my horse for the next hour, and he was the same gingery color as my hair. I felt sure we would get along because of this. I certainly hoped so, anyway, because he was a BIG horse. (My guide later tells me on the trail that Major likes to try to get away with things and can be mischievous… What? What?)
After considerable shortening of my stirrups I was ready, and we followed our guide to the trails, single file. The trails were interwoven through a large tract of forest behind the stables. No, it wasn’t all flat. Plenty of ups and downs throughout the trails. Our guide explained the importance of leaning back as the horse descends an incline so that you don’t put extra weight on to the front quarters where so much of their weight was already being carried. He also explained that it was not mean to kick your heels into your horse’s side… It didn’t “hurt” them. I can honestly say that Major certainly didn’t react much to my ineffective flailing of heels when trying to hurry him along at the request of the guide (We were slowing the line down). Every so often Major would simply stop and have a quick snack of green undergrowth. I was told this was because I was too slack on his reins. Good to know…Okay.
Quickly enough, I quit worrying about falling off and began to enjoy it. The light filtering down through the trees, the birds chirping, the easy movement of the horse beneath me, the colorful commentary of our guide…
And then, all of a sudden, we were heading back into the corral. As I waited for my turn to dismount, I patted and scratched Major on his neck, murmuring my fervent thanks for not bucking me off. When at last I did swing my leg over and slide off, I took some pretty silly steps as I got used to actually walking again. There was laughter (Uh yah…. so funny – not!), much comedic commentary by all and me looking confused as to why I was the only person affected like this. Thankfully, it went away soon enough. By the time we got to the car, I was walking normally again.
During the drive home the car was filled with the pungent aroma of horse and the excited chattering of yours truly, on when we could go back again.
Yee Haw!
