When I was thirteen, my riding instructor Terry invited me and my friend (and
fellow riding student) Lauren to go horse camping at Point Reyes with a group
from the barn.
Rick generously offered to lend me his horse, Comet,
for the weekend. Comet was a “proud-cut” gelding, meaning hormonally he sometimes thought he was still a stallion. His snowcap appaloosa coloring was not as handsome as my favorite horse,
Sonny, but was still attractive.
“Be careful of cinch sores,” Rick warned me. “He’s prone to them in the
summer.”
I felt both nervous and excited. Lauren and I rode in the cab of the truck
with Terry, listening to John Denver for the three hour drive, and smiling as
Terry sang along with her favorite song:
“I had a vision of eagles and horses –
high on a ridge in a race with the wind.
Going higher and higher, faster and faster.
On eagles and horses, I’m flying again.”
Comet patiently carted me around for three days of wonderful trail riding.
The afternoon of our arrival, we tackled some steep hills and spent a lot of
time looking at our trail maps. The second day, we rode out to the beach. Comet
watched like a good appaloosa when Kelli’s sprightly Arabian spooked at the
ocean waves, dumped her in the sand, and cantered down the shore. On the third
day, Comet had indeed developed cinch sores, despite his fleece cinch.
“Just toss a blanket on and sit on that,” Terry suggested.
Lauren and I set off up the hill to a long flat trail. I leaned forward and
grabbed what little mane Comet had and the blanket began to slip. Lauren was
already laughing as she rode behind me with a great view of my bum and the off-kilter
blanket sliding over Comet's rump. We were both laughing by the time we reached the top. I left the
blanket hanging on the gate there, and continued on bareback. I picked it up on
the way home, and Terry was none the wiser.
