It was the one thing I planned to do on holiday. Stables were close by and they had routes for absolute beginners.
I managed to get on to the horse but as I waited for the rest of the group to do the same my horse shifted legs. Hell, the thing moves! And I’m six feet off the ground. And all I’ve got is a nub of saddle and reins (which are attached to the horse I’m scared of…)
I didn’t think two leather straps would ever be enough to hold me if my horse took a dislike to me but I gripped them tight. I wanted a harness like on those funfair rides – or a coat of armour.
The route was mountainous and rocky. The idea of a metal hoof against a slippery rock sprang to mind and I envisaged the horse skidding and me falling gracelessly in a heap with the other riders and their horses just stepping over me. (‘Ahh, we’ve lost Becky…’)
My horse called ‘¿Yo qué se?’ (‘What Do I Know?’) snacked frequently on the olive leaves and other tougher plants. ‘They’re like sweets to the horses’ the leader said. I thought my horse was bored. With the route. With me. With its work. So it was recreational eating.
“Pull left to go left, right to go right, a bit of a nudge with the thighs to go.” But wrestling with a muscular, fit animal whose vast intelligence told him I was an idiot seemed futile.
Then if I nudged him gently to get him going again, how would he know that wasn’t a cue to get him galloping through the pines to the next mountain? If he decided to gallop, what should I do? I didn’t think even my most bestial yell would have much impact.
I thought my horse had an hour-long private joke to himself, playing at being well-tempered and helpful and laughing at me when I’d got off. I had an hour panicking.
Grip the horse lightly with your thighs to reassure him, keep your back straight, lean back going downhill and forward going up… So much to do, I thought. And I didn’t want to hurt my horse. Ion a couple of occasions I had to pull quite hard to get my horse away from eating the trees and didn’t like doing that.
My horse was in fact beautifully tolerant. For this powerful and smart creature to accept me as its rider and do what I asked (usually, anyway) was a magnificent experience.
The fear of horses is paired with an affection and interest in them. My brother who rides regularly and well will be interested to know that I found the view from on top of the horse fascinating.
There’s the neck and two twitching ears only and the sound of the hooves and the delicious smell of the animal. There’s also the view of the horse in front. That muscular, rounded rump pushing the animal forward patiently.
I can’t ride here. The activity is so much part of the elite and those who emulate the elite, the costs are prohibitive for a prolonged commitment of learning.
But I’ll watch Horse and Country channel with a new perspective. I’m worried I’ll start buying horse-themed calendars and horse-riding gear just because I like everything associated with it.
‘There goes mad Becky on her weekly shop to Tesco in her quilted jacket and helmet. The trailer comes in handy for putting the shopping in and we daren’t ask what she uses the saddle for at home.
Wonder whether anyone does horse-shaped, horse-flavoured, hanging car scents…
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