esrosedotblog

I was biking this morning and about to cross the Bogert bridge.

There was a big dust cloud coming at me and I looked down into the dry wash.

The riders from the Smoke Tree Stable come up this way as they ride to the Indian Canyons.

I saw a horse skittering and a guy on his hands and knees in the sand.

Someone got thrown.

The guide had turned around, got the skittering horse and slowly rode to where the guy was still shaking the stars out.

Calm.

No panic.

The other riders didn't seem to be bothered.

We used to go riding at that stable.

We took grandchildren.

Then one year a kid (not ours, not on our trip) got badly injured when a horse threw him and stomped him as feral dogs came running at them.

That was enough for me.

No more riding.

We had a great time for as long as we did it though.

We had a guide who was an original.

He had all the earmarks of a saddle weary cowpoke.

He had lots of stories. Some, we could catch the exaggerations but it didn't matter.

He was a great guy and taught us a lot. Mostly by example. Mostly by doing.

I remember that we once went up a trail that seemed benign and the next thing I knew he was taking a left along a high trail that looked down over the wash.

Very high.

I got over my fear of heights on a horse.

Another time we just went in a field and wandered around in circles getting used to different rhythms.

It is one of those things that I do because I want to try it and then, once I have a good feel for the experience and no love for it, I just drop it an move on.

The stomping just precipitated the inevitable.

Oh.

The rest of the story.

Today's thrown rider.

I was on the bridge which is narrow and there is no place to stop really so I just kept riding and did my circuit.

Maybe five minutes. No more. Maybe less.

When I came back there were no horses or riders to be seen.

In either direction.

The guy must have gotten back on the horse (as 'they' say you should) and life went on.

I don't think he got stomped.

I suppose that I should also mention that in the 'old' days, under the bridge, visible only from a horse, was an owls' nest which we would stop and look at every ride.

I wonder if the owl family is still there.

Labels: life, nature