Thus began my relationship with horses. Buck was our first and only family horse. An old, broke down palomino that came with the house. Not much buck left in him as I recall, but I was only three at the time.
Early memories are usually of the traumatic sort and my earliest memory is no exception. The image of Buck’s enormous hoof coming down on my brand new black patent leather shoes is forever burned into my brain. I howled, not so much with pain as with fury that my shiny new shoe had possibly been compromised. I don’t remember too much else about Buck except that he fell on my sister and broke her leg. I was envious of her cast. The free-with-house tradition continued when we sold the house and moved to Japan. What a deal!
My next horse encounter was on a family vacation at a Japanese resort. My older sister wanted to do archery, my brother wanted to fish and I wanted to ride a horse. Here I am, sitting on a very nice horse. Boy, do I remember those red boots!
Then right back to where I started from in California a few years later. I don’t know how many of you remember pony pictures but they were once very common. The pony man would come door to door and take your picture on a pony. I ADORE pony pictures. (Dear Riders, if any of you have a pony picture I surely would love to post it.) I recall everything about that day. The smell of leather and pony. Putting on that outfit. The nice pony man adjusting my bandanna! And then sitting on the pony! So exciting!
Our next tour of duty was Midway Island. Everyone rode horses there, automobiles were not allowed on the two square mile island. One might say that these were horses of a different color. That’s right, bikes! Bikes were called horses. For the 4th of July parade, I decorated my horse to look like a horse. Won first place too.
Thus far, I had yet to actually ride a horse. Sitting on the back of one was getting pretty old and did nothing to advance my galloping across the prairie fantasies. And then I got lucky! We were stationed in El Centro, CA (not lucky) where summers are well over 100 degrees. A chum of mine was given two horses, Harry and Pepper. We rode every day that we possibly could. The heat did not bother us. Bareback, wearing cut-offs and sneakers. No helmet, no lessons, nada. Our parents would drop us off and pick us up a couple of hours later. My cut-offs were so stiff with horse sweat that I believe they could have stood of their own accord. Those were the days when summer vacation represented true freedom!
I realize now that Harry and Pepper were probably very well-trained cow ponies. Neither of us ever fell off or sustained an injury of any kind, albeit not for lack of effort. We tried and tried to get those horses to do things like jump the canal but darn it, they just wouldn’t.
Mary moved and took Harry and Pepper with her and I took up with a new chum, Cheryl Taylor. Her father was a rancher and we rode really well-trained quarter horses. I would get up at 3 AM and move cows with him. I thought I was a real cowgirl but it was the horse all along who knew how to do the job. We spent several weeks one summer at her grandparents’ house in Beaver, UT riding in beautiful, straight out of a Western movie red rock canyons. Her parents thought nothing of letting us ride the neighbor’s horses into places unknown. We left in the morning and came home in the afternoon taking neither water nor food with us. I could survive for days with what I now carry in my saddle pack.
“I never knew I didn’t know how to ride until I took lessons”.
Thirty-six years later I moved from San Diego to Colorado. While hiking in the Rockies I had vivid flashbacks of the Utah canyons. “This would be way better on a horse,” I thought to myself. So I up and bought a McCurdy Plantation Horse sight unseen off of the internet. A three year old mare with 30 days training on her. Truly, I had no idea that not all horses were like those ranch horses I had ridden so long ago. On a borrowed saddle, I climbed aboard. Sat there for a moment or two and realized my center of gravity was no longer that of a 60 pound girl. “Hmm, this feels like it could be life threatening.” I swung my leg back over her and hired a trainer. Though I do not advocate buying a horse off of the internet, Fancy was an amazing horse and with time and training, she became a trail horse deluxe. I was so lucky to have been her partner. She died unexpectedly in 2010 and I still miss her every day.
It has been 14 years and many adventures later. I’ve learned a lot, most of it the expensive and painful way. I always wear a helmet and recently added an Air-Vest to my ensemble because, while I never got the cast I coveted so long ago, I have had broken ribs and a fractured pelvis. My primary riding companion is a woman who has been riding the Rockies for more than twenty years. “Does that look like a trail to you?” is a question I hear on almost every ride. Her name is Sandy Hancock and she, along with other trail/endurance/adventure riders, will be contributing to this blog. I invite you, Dear Riders, to participate as well- send me a picture of you and your horse (see Horses and Riders); regale us with a Tale From the Trail; describe what it is like to participate in Endurance Riding; tell how you chose the equipment that you use; or about the trails in your area. I cannot promise that all submissions will be published but I will consider each submission.
