Blazing Saddles Part Dos

This is the continuation of the 'Blazing Saddles' story that can be found on Jenn and Neto's blog...
read it first if you haven't yet.

It was not a good day... though it seemed as though all had been resolved. I mean, what could be better than riding a horse through picturesque Mexican villages on a beautiful summer's day? Not much, I suppose, as long as that was all that was involved.

Back at the old couple's house, we saddled up the horses and I donned a pair of spurs that would make Buffalo Bill jealous. I had everything I needed, including water and hat, and I set out with a few butterflies in my stomach. Butterflies that came from memories of the prior weeks of when I had learned to ride these beasts... a memory of racing Neto down the dirt road and having a foot slip out of a stirrup and then trying to stop the steed as I slowly began sliding off one side of the saddle... another memory of attempting to lead the pair of horses home while sitting on the tailgate of the truck. They didn't feel like being lead that day, and it resulted in about two hours of painful training and punishment. Nevertheless, it was a beautiful day, and I was in Mexico, and I was riding a horse, feeling like a charro... except that I was a gringo. That wasn't too bad either... maybe I'd find a senorita to ride with me.

The first stretch was rather enjoyable. As a wandered down the dirt road that lead to a small town I sang cowboy songs to myself, wondering the whole time if there was someone who could hear me, but not caring because this was great! As I entered the village, I was accosted by yells from the occasional old man or child sitting or playing outside their house. "Gringo!" "Guero!" I knew that they didn't necessarily want to be my friend, but I decided to be the mature one and simply sat up and grinned or nodded my head as I clip-clopped by.

Once past the village, I was to follow the railroad tracks that paralleled the highway all the way to San Isidro, a distance of about five miles. As I left the pueblo, I turned up onto the tracks with a full bladder. This was a problem. I couldn't think of where I would be able to relieve myself, but after about 15 minutes more of riding I came upon a line of trees well away from any possible curious onlookers. I dismounted and stretched. What followed was another thorn in the side of my bad day. I don't know how many times in the last month I had seen Neto leave the horses without tying their reins to a post or tree. Well, I couldn't find anywhere that was suitable to tie my two mates so I dropped the reins calmly, took a step toward a tree and ... took care of business. That was better. And the horses hadn't budged. I was getting good at this cowboy thing. Then I stepped back toward by mount. And he then calmly backed away about a half a step. I thought "You wouldn't..." I "whoa-ed" him and slowly stepped forward again, hand outstretched for the reins. He repeated. And then, in true city slicker fashion, I swiped quickly at the reins. I don't know how they can move so much meat so quickly, but before I could yell "queso!", there were two large equines dashing away from me at what could have been light speed.

I did my biped-est to keep up, but amazingly they left me choking on Mexican dust. They took off back the way we came, clawing their way up and over the tracks and on to the highway. When they hit the highway I thought that a massive pileup was eminent... they turned onto it, their iron shoes scraping the pavement, struggling to find traction, while oncoming motorists slowed and swerved to miss the raging animals. I couldn't do much else besides follow them down the highway waving at passersby for help. I sprinted as long as I could... the boots, spurs and jeans didn't help. About a mile down the road, one brave soul who had just gotten off the bus took position in the middle of the highway and somehow snagged the reins. He held the panting horses until I could catch up. I offered him my thanks... and maybe my firstborn son?... I was still learning the language at that point.

Back in the saddle again... we trotted down the highway, now quite delayed because of another fiasco. We reached the point where it had all started, and continued on. For another hour or so, it was as if nothing had happened and for awhile I thought we would get to San Isidro in one piece. And then I was reminded that it was a bad day. We had reached a bridge. The horses wouldn't be able to cross because there were 10 inch gaps between the railroad ties. So we made our way down the embankment, through the weeds, and back up the hill onto the edge of the highway... just until we got past the bridge.

Meanwhile, the afternoon storm clouds had gathered. By the time we got to the point where we could cross back onto the tracks, the darkness, wind and smell of rain made the weeds a very scary place for my four-legged friends. But I had spurs! I kicked. And kicked. And kicked. Alright, now that was at least two things that Neto could do, but for some reason I couldn't. I then had the idea that if they were to see me walk into the weeds, they would realize it was ok and that I'd be able to lead them back to the safer path. I guess I forgot that they were horses and that these horses in particular weren't into the the whole 'lead' thing. So I tugged, and the horse tugged back, wagging his head in an attempt to free himself. And once again, the horse won. His bridle slipped right off. I reacted quickly... before his egg sized brain realized that he was boundless, I threw my arms around his neck, and pulled the bridle back on. All of this while standing right next to the white stripe on the highway as cars zipped past doing about 60.

I was nearing the end of my chain... I climbed reluctantly back into the saddle and we walked on down the road hugging the weeds, but never actually setting foot in them. By now it was dark. The horses didn't want to be there, and I didn't either at this point. I was wondering when Jenn and Neto would pass by me again... and then my horse stopped. I kicked, and he didn't move. I got off again, thinking to walk with them down the road. Well it worked about the same as before. I didn't know what else to do. As I was trying to coax the frightened animals along, the one that was tied to the saddle following strayed about a foot over the white line onto the highway. All I heard was a loud but dull smack. The car that had just passed had hit the horse somewhere on its thigh. My first thought was the same as when the horses had run away from me: "Neto's gonna kill me if these things die." I examined the horse's side as best I could, but incredibly the horse acted as if nothing had happened.

I'm glad he felt alright about it, because I was not in good shape. I can't think of another time in my life before that that I had wanted so badly to just sit down and cry. With my entire body shaking I lead them across the highway to a driveway where I decided I would wait for Jenn and Neto to return. Within 10 minutes they had found me. I told them that I was done. I took off the worthless spurs and gave them to Neto and got in the truck with Jenn. As we drove the last mile or so, it began to pour. I couldn't imagine how he was going to get the animals home... A few minutes after arriving, Neto came trotting down the driveway, soaking wet. It was then that I noticed the open wounds on either side of the horse caused by the spurs.

The moral of the story... when using spurs, scrape, don't jab.