Home Again, Home Again

This will be my last post from this trip, and as such will be probably way too long and definitely way too disjointed. Ah well, thus is the life of the traveler—it’s hard to fit everything in, and hard to organize your thoughts about all the things you do manage to do. Ergo:

First off, a thought about the utility of travel. For me at least, being away from home gives me the opportunity—the psychological space, say—to evaluate my day-to-day life and figure out what, if anything, needs changing. On past trips, I have had some valuable insights into my everyday life, and this trip was no exception. I look forward to implementing my new ideas when I return home.

Second, a brief exposition of my ride. I managed to stay on the entire time, much to my relief. I was on Sikem, who, I’ve just discovered, spells his name with an e and not a u. I always use a saddle when I ride Sikem (except, of course, when crossing the creek in the pasture), because he has a relatively pronounced backbone. It doesn’t look like much, but it would certainly be felt very quickly. After my ride today, I realized that, backbone aside, I wouldn’t ride Sikem bareback unless someone else were riding with me. The reason is this—the mares, both of whom have been around the block a few times, know that most of the things they encounter in the wilds are not going to hurt them. Sure, the occasional flying deer is startling, but not every last hunk of wood rotting on the side of the trail. Sikem hasn’t lived long enough to know that wood is benign though, so to him, everything is a potential threat. It’s an attitude that makes cantering all the more exciting. He’s calmer when one of the mares is along; they’ve got staid down pat.

During the three hours we were out, I cemented yet more knowledge of the area. I now know for certain at least one route to a very steep, uncomfortable descent leading to the Gold Bug Mine. I chose not to take that descent today. Instead, having found it, we turned around and went the other way, straight into a current clear-cut (it being Saturday, we were not threatened by any large machinery. That is to say, I knew we weren’t, and Sikem thought we were but he was wrong). I have mixed feelings about the clear-cut. First of all, it looked horrible, a wasteland. Sounded like one, too—the woods are a-twitter with bird song this time of year, and it was a bit eerie to be in a place where there wasn’t any. Then I noticed deer prints in the dirt road and I thought “Oh, deer.” Then I thought “Oh. Those deer probably lived here.” Then I thought probably not all the deer that lived there escaped. Then I went on to focusing on the smell, which was gorgeous—sap and wood and balsam. And here’s the thing—I can have these transcendent riding experiences because of this logging company. I can get to the top of a rise and see wooded hills and meadows for miles around me because the place I’m looking over was clear-cut at one point. And this is not old-growth forest; it’s farmed. And at least two deer survived.

Sikem must have lost about 50 pounds, though. Not just from the exercise; he also pooped eight times and piddled twice. He’s the only horse I’ve ever been on while it was piddling (I piddled once, off the horse).

A note about riding solo. None of the horses particularly likes to go off and leave the others. They are all extremely glue-footed for fifteen minutes or so. They eventually perk up, though, and the girls rev up to their normal speed and are just fine. Shadow does have a bad habit of speeding up when she approaches an intersection, particularly if one leg leads more quickly to home. When she gets to the trail she wants, she swerves sharply into it and one has to be vigilant to not tumble off into the brush. Toby pricks her ears a bit more when she’s alone, and doesn’t stumble over her own feet quite as much as when she’s following Shadow, who looks out for good footing for everyone. Sikem, however, frequently reverts to a young horse needing lots of reassurance. While the girls seem to think only that the others are having fun without them, Sikem seems to think if he goes too far, he’s never going to see them again. So he stops. On the way home, of course, the opposite is true, and all horses have to be held tighter to keep them from breaking into a trot. Running of any sort is strictly prohibited within a certain radius of home.

I never did see a bear this entire trip, for which grace I am greatly relieved. I even stopped worrying about them eventually, when I realized that the low-pitched, distant growling I was hearing was coming from Shadow’s gut (regular readers will here recognize a striking similarity between myself and the dogs. But I say, if dogs find digestion terrifying, why shouldn’t I?)

So tomorrow I go home. Barring some unforeseen catastrophe, I will take my final ride around midday, on The Sofa, up the Long Gallop and around the loop that I found on the 4^th, in the hopes that I’ll actually remember where it ran.

Time for bed; I have a busy day ahead of me tomorrow, trying to do most of the things I brought to do, which have been lying fallow for 20 days. Happy Trails.

Tune in again at the end of July when Mama Liz and Calin take their biennial trip to Portland. Should be lots of blog fodder there.