just call me the horse whisperer

Yesterday may have changed my life.

When Rivs asked me whether I wanted to borrow the neighbors’ horses, I was a bit scared. The last time I embarked on a horse ride was on the beaches of Guatemala, where I watched poor little blonde Kim from Utah flop around like a ragdoll when her horse decided to Geronimo off the beach and up the main street of Monterico. Horses, I learned, do whatever they please whenever they please, thank you very much. Despite this realization, I knew I needed to be brave like Tristan from Legends of the Fall, and so I enthusiastically replied that oh, of course I’d love to ride horses and yes it’s been a while but no I’m not scared and hey, can we even run them?

So Rivs called Mauricio and asked if we could take them horses for a whirl, to which Mauricio obviously replied, Si. I say obviously because this little town of San Gerardo is filled with some of the most generous and kind people I’ve ever met. And get this. They’re not even Mormons. Nope. Catholics.

Not long after, I watched Mauricio’s wife Flor and their 7 year old daughter Kaila come cruising down our dirt driveway on the two not-so-stallions, and I figured I would be okay. If those girls could ride them horses, then so could I. So I traded Harper for Pinto, saddled up and off we went.

The horses started at an easy trot which made me bounce up and down and to and fro. I looked over at Rivs to make sure it wasn’t just me, and there he was gently gliding along on Mochillo as though they were one. Okay, I guess it was just me.

“Rivs”, I call out. “What am I doing wrong?” I try to ask but my voice sounds like when you’re young and think it’s funny to talk while rapidly moving your finger up and down over your trachea. Rivs suggests that perhaps my stirrups are too low, and so he jumps of Mochillo and hands me the reins. So now I’m holding two horses that are fighting over some apparently tasty fern and I keep worrying that one of them is going to decide to book it at any moment, leaving me flailing behind them like an advertisement off the back of a Cessna. Luckily Rivs is stealthy as a cowboy and has my feet back in the stirrups before Pinto and Mochillo even know that they were on the cusp of freedom.

So off we go again, and I’m still bouncing away. “You must just have a bumpy horse,” Rivers kindly suggests. Do those even exist? Probably not, but yeah, I’ll take it. As we keep going I start to ease up and feel comfortable, despite the constant feeling of car sickness. When Rivs asks if I’m ready to run, I figure hey, why not. WWTD? Anyways, Rivers told me before we left that horses don’t really crash, so as long as I hold on tight I’ll be fine. So Rivs gives Mochillo a gentle kick and the horse takes off , Pinto following closely behind. And let me tell you, it was one of the most liberating feelings I’ve ever felt, even more than the two weeks I decided not to shave my legs. (That one was short lived. Not so liberating after all.)

It started to pour with rain, but we didn’t care as we raced through the mountains on our two makeshift mustangs to reach a beautiful waterfall. Poor fellas. In normal life Pinto and Mochillo’s primary duty is to carry cargo up to the summit of Chirripo slow and steady, and here we were treating them like Seabiscuits. Still, they were troopers and even though they stopped every few minutes to graze and pass wind, they were Black Stallions to me.

P.S Sorry about the lack 'o pictures. We're working with a dial up internet connection here, so uploading takes forever.