California Riding Magazine • May, 2010

Horsey Humor:
The Right Stuff

by Bob Goddard

I once saw a bumper sticker that read “And on the 7th Day – We went TRAIL RIDING.” While the comparison was a bit of a stretch, the enthusiasm was real. As a group, trail riders tend to be enthusiastic about what they do. Some are downright ambitious.

My daughter, Jamie, now officially belongs to this ambitious segment of the trail riding community. She used to be satisfied with uncomplicated afternoon jaunts through the woods or an occasional camping excursion. But now she is planning an extended multi-state trek. “And for 7 Days, she went TRAIL RIDING.”

Actually, it’s more like a 12 day trail ride. I discovered her scheme during a recent visit to her house – which has plenty of perfectly good trails around it, by the way. As I pulled into the driveway, I couldn’t help but notice that her yard was unusually cluttered. It looked like a delivery truck from Cabela’s had accidentally turned over and spewed its contents everywhere.

I carefully stepped over a set of large saddlebags. “Cleaning out closets, Jamie?”

Jamie put her clipboard down and began counting ziplock baggies filled with an unidentified substance. “No, I’m just getting this stuff organized.”

She was being intentionally vague. I’m sure she thought I should be able to look around and put two and two together.

“For…?” I asked.

“For a trip - a trail ride.”

A trail ride? A quick tour of her yard, living room, and basement revealed the following items: a lightweight saddle by Crates, saddle pads, a Decker packsaddle, the large saddle bags I had been careful not to step on, heavy duty panniers, a portable electric corral, new halters, new lead ropes, a first aid kit, a light weight tent, waterproof sleeping bags, a roll up mattress, a roll up table, two small fold up chairs and the tiniest propane stove I have ever seen.

“What are you riding? Elephants?”

“I know it’s a lot of stuff.”

“How can you possibly fit it all on one horse?”

“It’s simple: he won’t have a human on him at the same time. We’re bringing a pack horse.

This, I thought, was brilliant. It’s about time somebody found a way to give The Horse – that financial black hole of the Domesticated Animal Kingdom – a practical function. To pull his own weight, so to speak.

But still, it seemed like too much.

“Jamie, I think you should take a wagon or something,”

“Actually, we can put most of it on a single horse, as long as we’re careful not to overload his back and kidneys.”

It didn’t seem possible. I thought the end result would be a ridiculously high pile, like something out of a Dr. Seuss book.

“Like this, Dad.” Jamie handed me a magazine and pointed to before and after photos. The “before” photo showed a guy standing in the middle of a bunch of stuff spread out on the ground. The “after” photo showed it all neatly packed on a horse. The guy stood with his hands on his hips as if to say “See?” The horse did not look overloaded. In fact, he appeared perfectly content. He probably knew this meant he wouldn’t have to worry about anybody riding him that day. Humans can be so unpredictable and they don’t always know what they want.

The packing job looked very complex. Like a large 3-D game of Tetris. It wasn’t something you could get right the first time you tried it.

“You’re going with a group, right? A well organized group with experienced people, right?”

“We registered a couple of months ago.”

I hope the group has a guide like the guy in the photo.

It certainly seems like a lot of work just for a trail ride. But then again, these are ambitious people with the right stuff. If that’s what it takes to get away from the busy, anxiety-ridden, stress producing, heart attack making, stroke giving, real world, then I’m all for it. In fact, seven days probably wouldn’t be enough.