Vaqueros I

On Thursday Bill and I played cowboys, or in Spanish, vaqueros. There were no Indians in sight though, just the beautiful, pastoral Costa Rican countryside with a spectacular waterfall as our destination.

It was Bill’s very first horsey ride. The only problem was that his horsey didn’t like him very much. These are trail animals that are supposed to be trained to follow the leader, be docile and put up with rookie riders like us. Luck of the draw, I guess, but Bill’s horse didn’t want anything to do with that.

My horse, on the other hand, was very much like me. Citron liked to eat a lot along the way and didn’t like walking through the mud. I spent the majority of the ride bringing up the rear. And hurting my own rear in the process. I’m having a painful time sitting on this hard chair writing.

Bringing up the Rear

Bill on the other hand is not so saddle sore. You see, about midway through the ride his horse decides that he would be better off without Bill’s dead weight. I’m plodding along behind the pack when Bill and his horse abruptly step off the trail, head up a bank and stop by a barbed wire fence.

“Whatcha doing, Bill?” I yell.

He perplexily replies, “ I don’t know. I just thought I’d let the horse choose his own path.”

Normally, it would have been a smart and reasonable answer, except that the horse didn’t want to be reasonable. The horse charged down the bank, began to twist and turn, and bucked his back legs. (Sorry, I wasn’t quick enough to get a picture of it.) Carlos, the trail guide, managed to grab Bill’s horse by the rein. The horse was still bucking. Although Carlos managed to calm the horse, Bill had had enough. “It’s downhill. I’ll walk."

Enough. I'll walk.

At some point I started envying Bill. By that time, I thought my legs were never going to be straight again and my haunches were aching with every stride of my horse. I’m no vaquero and have no plans to be again soon, but I could swear its much easier riding a horse uphill than down.