Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Whoa horsie, nice horsie
Thereasa's fine steed, for all her talk, was not much to write home about as he was lazy as all get out and couldn't be arsed to keep up with me or our guide, who kept turning around and hissing at the horse, which seemed to give him only momentary momentum. My mare was more game and seemed eager to take every hill and dale and break into a trot at the least inclination, though she was a bit nippy and pissy about her personal space and some reading this may be noting, how apt.
We would walk and sometimes trot but much to my chagrin never broke into anything faster. I used to ride when I was younger, much younger. I never owned a horse, but for years as a child I took lessons and while I remember trotting was never a joy, breaking into a canter or even a gallop could be electrifying. Jose kept turning around and saying trot yes, you want to trot? And regardless of how unenthusiastically we answered yes or no or even remained silent, off he would go at a trot and our horses would follow. Ours was a two-hour ride and since it was unplanned it hadn't occurred to me to wear a jog bra that day or butt cushions for that matter, and towards the end of the ride I thought if we did any more happy fucking trotting I was going to have to pull out a gun and shoot Jose or my horse or myself in the ass.
The scenery was gorgeous however and almost made me forget how much my ass and thighs and ankles hurt. The trail wound through towering redwoods covered in green moss and the forest floor was blanketed with ferns. We could see the ocean when we climbed to the top of the trail, glittering brilliant blue in the distance.
We had to go down a steep incline for perhaps half a mile or so towards the end of the ride and the horses had to carefully pick their way down the muddy trail and I spent about twenty minutes slipping forward in the saddle which was not particularly comfortable and I thought that when I got home, in addition to ordering a new head from Amazon I might want to order a new vulva as well.
When we were in the home stretch it started to rain and I held out my hand and realized it wasn't raining at all, it was hailing. And then it started to hail harder. While I would expect this in Kansas I was surprised to encounter it on the California coast. While horseback riding. Jose determined that we'd best start trotting again, god dammit, to get back to the stables forthwith.
When we got back and dismounted we limped and hobbled back to the car and realized that we were hungry and that it had been hours since we'd had anything sculpted or artisanal or dipped in truffle oil so we headed off to Stinson Beach to remedy that.