Friday finally arrived and Lynn and I raced to her house to load up and head out. When I drove in the driveway, I saw she had gotten there before me, so I drove up behind the barn to park the Pilot. I began to load my suitcase and boots into the trailer's tack area. I must have made two or three trips--still no Lynn. Finally I started walking down to the house. She came out and headed up the hill toward me to grab the halters.
We easily caught Brady and Ziggy; Star threw a fit and ran around stirring everyone else up--he wanted to go, too. Lee, Lynn's husband, came out of the house and started in on me, "How'd you open my garage?"
I looked at him askance, "I didn't open your garage."
"Yes, you did! How'd you do it?" he demanded. "Did you get in my truck?"
I stopped to look at him and think--which truck did he mean? The logging truck? How silly! Then it dawned on me, I had tried to put my water bottle in the cup holder in the pickup, but it wouldn't sit right because the garage door opener was in it. Suddenly, the lightbulb went on over my head. "Yep, I did open your garage," I said and we both laughed.
Lynn's side of the story was that they were arguing in the house that someone had opened the garage, but no one was there. Lee was adamant that someone had opened it, but Lynn thought he was crazy. He kept saying, "There's someone here--I see legs!" It was a funny way to start our trip.
After visiting with Alisa until late Friday night, we got up the next morning and went to Buck's Lake for an easy, somewhat level ride. It was a beautiful day (as evidenced by the slideshow). We had a little bit of excitement when the trail sort of ended in a bunch of bushes at the creek draining into the lake. Of course we are bushwacking women, so we got off and lead our faithful steeds through the rocky creek and up the other side. I got a little wet stepping in the shallow water, but nothing uncomfortable. We rode out to a point that seemed a little less than halfway around the lake and headed back.
There were some very narrow areas with the soft dirt of the trail almost slipping away. Brady and Odie had no qualms and simply stayed to the high side like good trail horses should. Lynn walked Ziggy since he came by his name honestly and she felt safer showing him how to do it first. We went down to the lake so Ziggy could drink and then they could eat the good grass growing along side.
We met some nice women and had some laughs at the antics of their dogs. Then we headed for home. We put the horses up and headed out, horse slobber and all, to watch some team roping at the fair grounds. It was a nice day all the way around.
The next day, we drove across the highway to a side road that Alisa's friend told her was a good riding area. It wasn't too steep for Brademan and we just cruised right along. It was obvious he was feeling good by the spring in his step. We rode a loop that brought us back too soon to for us to end the day; so we followed "The Man from Snowy River" also known as "Lynn from Burnt Ranch" as she made her own trail.
We found a great trail, but it ended on the highway. However, we also saw a great old car and met a nice man who lived nearby and told us about a pond no one else knows about. We broke a new trail back and promised ourselves to look for the pond next time.
In two days of trail riding there was only one time where we had to take a sharp intake of breath: Alisa and I watched as Ziggy attempted to climb a creek bank and then went a little vertical. It would not have been a good place for Lynn (or Ziggy) to end up on their backs. Thankfully, Ziggy seems to be a thinker, maybe a slow one, but a thinker nevertheless. He realized he could not go the way he wanted as his knees buckled under him on the slippery rocks, but he did not panic. He took a moment and reassessed. Then he stood up and went the way Lynn had tried to get him to go in the first place. Alisa and I (and probably Lynn) let out our air and we went on our merry way.
When we got home, Gordy, Alisa's husband, accused us of being "old" when he pulled up beside the horsetrailer. "What?!" we all exclaimed.
"You used to ride until 5:00, now you're back by 2:30-3:00," he said.
"We have old horses and young horses who can't do as much," Lynn told him.
"Yea, right. Blame it on the horses," were his last words as he drove off.
We had a group head-shaking moment at his tail lights and then we went in and took showers, ate half a butterscotch pie for lunch, and then drove around Quincy. What a horse owner's heaven. Lots of green fields with little streams running through them. Big barns dotted the landscape and horses of every breed and color stood eating in different fields. It was a beautiful, late summer day.
Thanks Alisa for your great hospitality--I can hardly wait until the next ride. I know I say it everytime, but "every day ahorseback is a good day!"
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