This weekend a friend brought her housemate up to Hampton, Iowa, to ride horses.
Very simply, that was the score of the weekend - to ride horses.
I'm all for riding, I've grown to enjoy it somewhat, even on the sometimes
less-than-entirely broke Vosburg barnyard equine specimens.
I was, however, unprepared for such a long riding jaunt.

There was five of us wishing to ride, and finding five well-broke animals was
a bit of a math challenge, but eventually we were able to round up three horses
and two mules for the job.

Asides from some differing of opinions between horse and rider about how safe railway
tracks and bridges were to cross, the Saturday was a relatively uneventful mission.
Maggie, the Wifes large and powerful horse, was, as usual, a bitch. Our guest, who was
riding Maggie, was made quite uncomfortable when Maggie decided to prance around the
road doing her best impression of Micheal Jackson does Epileptic fit on PCP.
Asides from that, however, things had gone smoothly.

That evening, unfortunately, most of us ended going to bed quite late, around 2am,
and were required to get up a little earlier the next morning than my body would have
liked.
We had rounded up the five steeds, packed them into the trailer and headed to a quiet
nature reserve not 15 minutes from our home, called Maynes Grove.
Nothing too fancy, a bit of native prairie here, some bush-walks there, but still a very
pleasant ride.

At least, it had been in the past.
I should note, right about now, that I was riding my brother-in-laws roping horse Jimmy,
who by all accounts can be best described as "Dead head"... Unless there happens to be a
calf in front of him, in which case somewhere from the depths of his horsie soul he pulls
out a pissed-off Spanish Mustang and chases that sucker down.
Thankfully, today there were no such bovine distractions in the nature reserve, as it would
have only compounded the situation.

After putting the bridles on the horses, and mounting, we headed into the bush to start our
walk when my bladder, which had been a tad full earlier, decided to warn me that the continuing
up-and-down motion on leather saddle would surely lead to a damp and warm error unless I chose
to do something about it now.
There was some recently built, and quite pleasant looking public toilets not too far back on
the trail, so I warned the Wife and headed on back.
Or at least, I attempted to.
Jimmy is definately a Follower. Forging his own trail seems to excite him as much as having
his hooves removed by a rusty chainsaw, but I wasn't about to let this stand between my aching
bladder and the nearest bathroom.
However, try as I might, the horse would be damned if he was going to not only stop from
following the others, but, Heaven forbid, go in the opposite direction.
I whaled on him, I coaxed him, I sweet talked, I pleaded, but after fighting to even make him
turn around, he walked backwards along the trail in the general direction of the others.

I'd had about enough of this nonsense. But I needed to go. Now.
I'm a man, I didn't see anyone in sight, and I couldn't hear anything but the snorting of
the horse, so I leapt off Jimmy, tied his reins around a tree, and relieved myself on the
nearest, semi-covering, shrub.
Jimmy seemed not to approve of this, and whinnyed and stomped and pawed. I paid no attention.

After finishing, I untied Jimmy again, made him stand still and leapt back into the saddle,
feeling much better about myself and my masculinity. Always a mistake.
I barely had my right leg over the other side of the saddle before Jimmy had decided he
was done waiting for my slow ass. Jimmy trotted off at pace.
I had both reins, but one was very loose, and my right foot was not in the stirrup, and the
bouncing up and down in the saddle didn't help me any.
I held onto the saddle-horn with my left hand as tightly as I could, and forced myself back
into the saddle so I could get my foot into the stirrup. This challenge overcome, I used both
hands to get the reins the same length and somewhat taut, but by this time Jimmy was
running quite fast and I just didn't have enough reign to pull him back in.
If you have never ridden a running horse, the horse moves up and down at quite a speed
underneath you, and it is your job, as the rider, to attempt to stay on by riding over
this motion, normally by stepping up in the stirrups so you're not in the saddle at all.
For a skilled horsemen, undoubtably this is second nature. For myself, I was not remotely
amused.

I again grabbed the saddle-horn with my left hand, held tightly to the reins in my right,
and rode the stirrups as he sped through the narrow trail, twisting and turning in the bush,
unable to see beyond the next bend, and hearing nothing but air and hooves and my own
heartbeat.
All I could imagine was a young family walking peacefully in the reserve, doting parents of
a toddler, only to see their small child flattened under a madman on a demented horse running
full-tit through a dense jungle of native trees and plants.
This did not happen, on and on we rode, running faster than I'd ever ridden before...

Until quite suddenly the path veered downwards, over a sharp bump, and then hard to the left.
The combination of this down, up-down, TURN!, movement was too much for me; The saddle and
I parted company, and I floated on a cushion of air a foot above the saddle.
Jimmy was heading to the others for sure, but he had undoubtably been whaled on in the past
by disgruntled and impatient riders after been thrown, and my shift in weight (or, rather,
sudden lack of weight) must have clued him into something going bad, now, and that there
was a future whipping to be had lest he stopped, pronto.
Which he did.
I was above the saddle, but not the saddle-horn, which I unceremoniously ploughed into, using
my testicles as brakes.

This sudden jolt must have, somehow, suggested to Jimmy that I must still be up there,
somewhere, and he began to trot onwards to find his missing companions, while I gasped for
air, squeaked, and pulled in the reins to make damned sure I was in some form of control
of this one-horse circus in short order.
This was a non-point, however, as behind the next curve was the other riders, enjoying
the sun and pointing at the birds.

Jimmy sidled up to my Wife, riding Eeyora the Dream Mule, who said 'Gee, that was quick.'
'We just wanted to keep up', I replied, massaging my tender spots with my saddle-horn imprinted left hand.