When my friend first floated the idea of a riding our horses to the pub, I was thrilled.
One of the biggest appeals of getting back into horses was the idea of doing stuff with horses and other people.
Also, at the time I was a full blown alcoholic – so naturally the pub sounded appealing 🍻
I imagined tethering our horses to the hitching rail while we sat in the beer garden, smashing a few sherbets and generally relishing how wonderful life was.
However, again… I failed to take into account my actual skills or appreciate that the horse that I owned was not, in fact the same version I saw in my daydreams.
By this stage, I was aware that I needed help with my horsemanship skills.
However, I was confident that even in my current state I would be able to walk on my horse for an hour without getting in too much trouble.
And while I was ever so slightly apprehensive, I cast my mind back to my job running trail rides while I was at University in Bathurst…
We had tourists who couldn’t speak a word of English and who’d never even touched a horse who easily managed 2 hour trails through the bush.
So surely this would be a piece of cake 🤷♀️
Right?…
When the day came, we were due to set off from the furthest part of suburbia in Melbourne’s west.
The plan was that we’d head through a few quiet streets – over a few paddocks and then reach a quintessential country pub 🍻
As we arrived at the designated departure place and unloaded our horses, I made the familiar and slightly queasy observation that everyone else seemed a whole lot more capable than me.
For a start they were western riders with big saddles, big hats and big smiles. Meanwhile, I had tight pants, wide eyes and an enormous sun protection brim fastened to my helmet.
I was not cool, not even a bit.
And as they swung up onto their horses, I enviously noted that there’s something effortlessly competent about cowboys and cowgirls.
They softly landed in their saddles with a relaxed swagger….meanwhile I frantically scrambled onto Shades and crouched forward flapping my legs to try and find the stirrups.
Again, no coolness points were awarded for that.
And from the moment we set off in convoy down the quiet streets, I knew I was in trouble.
I had the familiar and terrifying feeling that Shady was was about to explode.
And as the blocks passed by, we were both getting gradually more terrified… meanwhile I did nothing to help him…except quietly hope for the ‘quiet paddocks’ that surely couldn’t be far away 😳
But instead we rounded a corner to see a freakishly busy road with a whole lane filled with trucks spewing exhaust smoke and making ‘chhhhhh’ sounds as they changed gears.
“We just have to go along this road for a while” called my friend flippantly, barely drawing a breath from the animated conversation she was engaged in.
At this stage I was lagging behind and excluded from the conversation.
And sure enough, Shades eventually did what he usually did when the anxiety got all too much… and let off one enormous, explosive buck.
Thankfully, he’d never learned to string more than one buck together because in that case I’d have no hope of staying on.
But his method of ‘one and done’ detonation usually meant I could stay aboard – but it terrified me nonetheless.
Of course, considering I was the loser riding alone and behind the group, no one even saw or slowed down.
And as I felt the meaty ball of horse underneath me get ready for lift-off again, I dismounted just in the nick of time.
No sooner had my feet hit the ground than he started spinning maniacally with his mouth gaping and the whites of his eyes on full display while he buck-farted around in circles.
And on they continued up ahead, laughing and chatting as their delightful horses dutifully poked along…
“I’m heading back” I called out, wary of raising my voice too much incase it opened the floodgates for a torrent of unstoppable tears.
To which a few of them mustered mock concern and offered support in irritating, sing-songy voices…
“Oh you’ll be fine, it’s not far up here – honestly it’s just a bit further ahead and over that hill” said one of them as the trucks whizzed with all their clunking and hissy noises.
“Um no, because if this horse dumps me, then he’ll be loose on a highway. Then he’ll probably be killed and perhaps so will a few young families” I said, feeling a bit pissed that I needed to defend my decision to bow out.
“Oh seriously! It never helps to think of the worst case scenario…If I did that I’d never get out the front gate” said another, all but rolling her eyes at the inconvenience I had caused.
“Nah I’m heading back I said” as I turned around and dismissively waved them off. All the while, grateful for the stupid looking sun protection visor on my helmet as it provided some much needed shadow for my teary eyes.
And so began the hour long, solo trudge back through suburbia.
Only Shady wasn’t a whole lot happier about being sent back alone.
He was screaming and spinning around as he watched the other horses disappear into the distance, suddenly two thin leather reins seem absurdly inadequate for controlling 500kg of explosive horse.
However little by little he managed to calm down and as we walked side by side through the streets I was struck by how different this horse world was from the one that I imagined.
And I didn’t think I liked it…
I couldn’t imagine a further cry from those heart burstingly happy days from my childhood, where I would tear around the bush with an army of friends.
And as the tears plopped down my cheeks I couldn’t even decide what to cry about most – the fact I was such an incompetent horse person or that my new ‘friends’ had left me reeling with the realisation that I was certainly not ‘part of the group’ and likely never would be.
The walk back to Old Matey’s place, was long and uncomfortable with blisters bursting in my boots, but the physical discomfort was nothing compared to the home truths that presented themselves that day.
I realised alarmingly that my entire motivation to get back into riding was flawed.
I’d based all this excitement on the notion that horses would be just as fun for me pushing forty as they were in my teens.
And instead of doing what a sensible person would do, which would be to ease back in by going to a riding school for a while – I just came in like Miley on her wrecking ball and wondered why it didn’t work out.
See…as a child rider I’d done all the things.
I’d evented, jumped, campdrafted, played polocrosse and pony clubbed. Pretty much anything available, I’d give it a go.
Looking back now, I wasn’t so much talented as I was confident. No jump was too high, no speed was too fast and no challenge was too big – I was keen to do it all.
And after I finished school, I’d ridden racehorses for a year and even though I had a few hair raising experiences, I’d been pretty good at it.
So what I couldn’t fathom was why I was so damned appalling this time around.
My confidence was eroded and I felt like a total failure.
So as I walked back that afternoon, I zeroed in on the idea of doing some online learning.
It appealed because it meant I could safely practice in private, away from all those judging eyes…
And it also gave me the tiniest glimmer of hope that just like a caterpillar becoming a butterfly – I’d emerge from the front gates of my farm in a few months with all the skills needed to FINALLY do all the fun things I yearned to do.