My right foot was bare; somehow my sock and boot had landed behind me. I was looking up at Nash, a handsome bay roan gelding, that moments earlier, had been giving me the ride of my life.
You may be wondering how I ended up here. That’s a great question; I’m glad you asked.
My friend Thayes had invited a couple of us to go riding. How lucky am I to have a friend like Thayes!
The three of us had ridden above Diamond Valley, going up and down steep hills, across fields, and we were finally on the dirt lane that would take us home.
As the sun neared the horizon, there was a slight chill in the air. The golden hour light made the cholla cactus and tufts of desert grass seemingly glow. I was comfortable in my hoodie, and Nash kept pace with the two horses in front of us.
Brindley, our younger companion, asked Thayes if we could ride faster for a bit. Thayes asked how I felt about that.
“Are we talking galloping or trotting?” I asked.
“Whichever you like.”
Now, back in the day, I loved nothing more than galloping my horse Penny across a wide, open field. The exhilaration of the wind in my face, feeling her muscles bunching and stretching beneath me, was the best feeling in the world.
“Well, galloping would feel better than trotting,” I said. We all agreed.
So, off we went. Nash started off with a super-bouncy trot, and my saddle started leaning a bit to the right. Or maybe I just “lost my seat,” as they say. Either way, I was desperately trying to stay upright when Nash began to gallop.
It might be worth mentioning that the last time I rode a horse faster than a trot, I was 50 years younger. Back in the day, I was strong, and healthy, and riding was my favorite thing to do.
I’m sixty-five years old, and while muscle memory still allows me to remember how to saddle and bridle a horse, over the years, my muscle strength has atrophied with lack of use.
By the time Nash stretched out to gallop, I was leaning too far to the left. Had Thayes reminded us that if we needed an emergency brake, we simply needed to pull one rein back to turn the horse? Yes, she had. Did that thought even occur to me as I was bouncing up and down, and slightly over to the left, as my horse was picking up speed? No, it did not.
Did you know that shouting various expletives is not an effective way to stop a horse? I was leaning way over the saddle horn, which was a very uncomfortable place to be. I struggled to pull back the reins in my precarious position.
Nash veered off the trail, and came to an abrupt stop. I felt like I was in a slow-motion video, as I slid halfway down Nash’s neck, feeling the resistance of my right boot caught in the stirrup. When I felt my foot break free, I continued my slow descent to the ground. Nash scooted over to make room for me, and I was looking up at his his front legs.
After a quick assessment, I realized my soft landing resulted in no injuries. My belly had taken a beating from the saddlehorn, but I was so lucky I only had that one bruise, and a battered ego.
The most embarrassing was still to come. The only way I had ever mounted Nash is with a stepstool at Thayes’ house. How was I going to get back on him out here in the middle of nowhere?
Thayes had a plan. She led Nash down into the dry stream bed, and had me stand uphill. That solved the height differential, but my legs were like jelly. We’d been riding over two hours, and my muscles were spent.
After two unsuccessful attempts to get back in the saddle, I confessed to my friend I didn’t think I had the strength to pull myself up and over Nash.
“How far of a walk is it to your house?”
“Too far. You can NOT walk back home. You have to get back on. You can do this. I’m going to help you.”
Thayes told me we were about to get real intimate with each other. On the count of three, she pulled me by the seat of my jeans, and put her shoulder under me, and with everything I had left in me, I got to a standing position. I dragged my shaking leg over Nash’s rump, and collapsed back into the saddle. I was exhausted. And embarrassed. And grateful. Mostly grateful.
As we rode back to the edge of town, the horse Thayes was riding, spooked when he saw the Christmas lights in a yard. Then a neighbor’s dog barked, and must have charged the fence because Nash startled, and bolted to the right. I hung onto Nash’s neck, and managed to stay in the saddle.
Later I confessed to Thayes I might have peed a little, with all of the excitement and activity of the day. (Could this day hold any more embarrassment ? 😬) I offered to come back with some saddle soap.
“That isn’t the first time that saddle has gotten a little pee on it. Don’t you worry about it ,” Thayes reassured me.
What. A. Day. And yet, I have to say I’m grateful to have had an adventure. It’s much more fun to write about horseback riding, than telling you about the days I sat in my recliner, watching Christmas movies, and scrolling on my phone.
Just think, one day, when I’m In my eighties, I’ll recall with fondness when I went horseback riding,“back in the day,” in my sixties. And won’t I have a tale to tell.
