The young woman on the back of the chestnut thoroughbred was racing full-tilt through the California desert, chased by sheriffs on horseback as well as in four-wheel drive police vehicles. The eye-in-the-sky sheriff's helicopter hunted her down like a notorious felon. She rode that horse with passion and purpose - to save his life from the proverbial Glue Factory villains. The owners of the ranch watched the pursuit on television with bated breath. That horse dove down a cliff and they both remained in tact and on-the-move. It was a chase better than I had ever seen on television.
REAL LIFE is nothing like television, let me be a Witness to this, particularly on horseback.
Thirty years ago (and likely 50 pounds ago) I found myself on horseback in the Berkshires. Most unfortunately, I was not being pursued by handsome sheriffs in any sort of fashion. The first twenty minutes of the ride brought me to a very premature conclusion that this horse I was riding on was one step away from being party to Elmer's... I could not get him to move beyond a very reluctant saunter. No, "saunter" is not a term used for horse activity, like, for instance: "loping," "cantering," or "galloping." Nope. This horse was moving so slow it was almost going backwards.
I kicked my heel softly into his side. No results. I made that clicking noise inside my cheek. Nothing. I kicked again. Nope. "Just can't think of a good reason to be moving much beyond a saunter," he seemed to say. Finally, I whaled my right heel into him and he took off like a launched missile. I was shocked, initially, and then scared. With good reason.
He was hanging to the left side of the trail and zooming along mighty close to the trees. Some of the branches were low; I had to duck down more than once. Then, I felt the saddle shift slightly to the left. I don't know if I had time to say a profanity but I'm sure I thought it pretty loud. One thing was for sure, he was having his revenge on me quite clearly. I knew if that saddle was looser than it should be it could shift me enough off the left side of him into one of those trees that kept whizzing by. So I did the initial pull back on the reins, which amount to ... not surprisingly, NOTHING. Finally in an act of desperation, I released my left hand that was clutching the saddle horn, took both reins in hand and gave him a choke back that HE WILL REMEMBER for the rest of his born days.
And that son of lightning stopped on a dime. For the brief but fearsome time that he took me on the Ride 'o Death, my posterior was not in the saddle, it was about four to six inches in the air above the saddle. Until the dime dropped. And so did my seat. The slam of the point of contact jarred my right hip and I felt instant numbness down my entire right leg. I did not know if my leg would hold me when I eventually would dismount at the barn twenty minutes later.
For the last twenty years, I have remembered that ride, most particularly if I am standing for a long time because I get radiating nerve pain down that leg. I tried physical therapy years back with some limited relief. I accepted that this would be my "new normal..." Until the past few months when my hip itself has started to act cranky. I think of that horse now, mostly when I lick the glue on the back of an envelope.
So if for some reason you thought episode two of "Wildfire," which I described at the beginning of this article, was something someone should try and might enjoy, I beg to differ... as I limp down the sidewalk. Just another television moment that is not as great in real life as it was on the screen.
Just sayin'.
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