I am here at work. I am so tired. The horseback riding on Sunday killed me. I ended up with Xavier. He was the twice the size of the other horses, and I paid for it. He went into a full gallop, when we were supposed to just be doing one of those single-file-excursions. It was so painful. I may need morphine. I am sure it was funny for everyone else, but reining a 1500 pound monster is no picnic.
Dutch, our guide, and resident cowboy from The Sunset Ranch, and a bunch of movies (Deadwood, Seabiscuit, anything with horses, etc.), told me I did a good job riding the brute.
"But why did he suddenly break into a full sprint?" I asked.
"He's a big, fast horse," Dutch said. "That's what he wants to do."
Leave it to a cowboy to have me speechless. When we stopped off at this cantina 3 hours into the ride, everyone didn't hesitate giving their version of my near-death-experience. The best was Posatko's. I'm sure he's blogged on it by now.
"Your, face, dude," he said. "The terror-"
"I would have freaked," another rider said. "You were pretty graceful. Well, not graceful, but you were calm."
"Dude, your face," John says again. "I was pretty sure you were going to fall. Your ass was like 3 feet off the saddle."
"Yeah, that was the funniest thing I've ever seen," this girl with a Beatles tee shirt that I thought was cool until she said this says.
On the ride back, I catch Dutch for a smoke outside the Cantina. I try and conveince him to give me another horse.
"What about a horse named Lilac or Pansie?"
Dutch cracks up, "Nah, you'll be fine. He's a good horse. I race him with my horse, Cocoa. We made it back from here in about 15 minutes flat. Just Pssshew."
"Yeah, but I'm serious," I say. "I think I'm down with Pansie or Lilac."
But Dutch didn't pay me no heed, as they say at The Sunset Ranch. He just pulled out Xavier's reins, and giggled when he brought him over, "Anybody on Xavier?"
Luckily, I made it back in one piece. I continue to pray for morphine. Tonight, I might just take 17 Ibuprofrens and see what happens. Either that, or just punch myself in the head. My body is out for the count. Xavier 10. Pirooz zilch.
I just hope Agassi was able to beat his Xavier yesterday. If he lost too, then that means I will not associate with anyone named Xavier again. I might not even see X-Men.
"Yeah, but what did you call him?" a voice asks.
"That might be why he was so fiesty."
"No," I tell Maria, who just poked up from my subconscious, "He was just a big, fast horse that wanted to run."