Horseback Riding
We took a family horseback ride on the beach today; it was fine, if not particularly vigorous; I’d have been just as happy, though, staying in bed.
Our guide was a grouchy guy about my age whose family has lived in the area for something like five generations. He regaled us with tales of how the place has gone all to hell in the last forty years as more and more people have moved in.
Our horses were sedate old nags who walked slowly along the beach, stopping regularly to relieve themselves. Mimi looked great in the saddle and Jen seemed like a natural cowgirl. I felt like your typical city slicker and looked, I’m sure, as ridiculous as I felt.
The view from atop the animal was superb and it was amusing enough to poke along; I had in mind, though, an image of galloping through the surf to strains of the William Tell Overture in the background or something.
All things considered, the experience was one of those things that was nice to have done; even while we rode along, I was looking forward to being back in the car, having chalked up the event and added to the list of things I’ve done and given my daughter the opportunity to have done. She’ll be able to go to school and tell her friends that she rode a horse on the beach and they’ll imagine her galloping through the surf, too.
At this point, I’m not suddenly going to run out and buy a horse; in the future, I’ll stick to bicycles seats as my saddle of choice.
Part of my resistance, I think, has to do with the whole cowboy culture thing; I couldn’t help but feel like a Republican senator on a junket at lobbyist’s ranch in Texas. And when our guide started talking about how many guns his 13 year-old son had, I started getting ready to duck should Cheney himself show up.
Our guide was a grouchy guy about my age whose family has lived in the area for something like five generations. He regaled us with tales of how the place has gone all to hell in the last forty years as more and more people have moved in.
Our horses were sedate old nags who walked slowly along the beach, stopping regularly to relieve themselves. Mimi looked great in the saddle and Jen seemed like a natural cowgirl. I felt like your typical city slicker and looked, I’m sure, as ridiculous as I felt.
The view from atop the animal was superb and it was amusing enough to poke along; I had in mind, though, an image of galloping through the surf to strains of the William Tell Overture in the background or something.
All things considered, the experience was one of those things that was nice to have done; even while we rode along, I was looking forward to being back in the car, having chalked up the event and added to the list of things I’ve done and given my daughter the opportunity to have done. She’ll be able to go to school and tell her friends that she rode a horse on the beach and they’ll imagine her galloping through the surf, too.
At this point, I’m not suddenly going to run out and buy a horse; in the future, I’ll stick to bicycles seats as my saddle of choice.
Part of my resistance, I think, has to do with the whole cowboy culture thing; I couldn’t help but feel like a Republican senator on a junket at lobbyist’s ranch in Texas. And when our guide started talking about how many guns his 13 year-old son had, I started getting ready to duck should Cheney himself show up.
posted by Professor Dave at 6:17 PM
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