The Ride of Your Life

Just a ride

I remember one day in the mid 1970s like it was yesterday. It was a sunny, autumn day on Granite Hill Road, near the town of Trout Creek in northern Ontario. My mother, two sisters and I had taken our horses for a ride along the country roads to admire the colours of the trees. There were vibrant reds, yellows and orange as far as the eye could see.

I was perched atop my Palomino horse named Gypsy, sitting high in the saddle, rocking from side to side as we ambled casually behind the others. The horses were perky, their heads bobbed in rhythm to the sound of their hooves on the gravel road. Long tails swished at flies and their heads would turn occasionally, ears pointed, alert and curious about this world outside their pasture.

Mom rode at the front of the group and would point out birds or other wildlife to us. We saw a lot of killdeer and groundhogs in the pasture, and the usual chipmunks and squirrels running along the cedar rail fences.

Gypsy’s easy pace carried me down the road. I was relaxed in the saddle. Comfortable. The farmhouse and pasture disappeared from view and the trees thickened.

There was no traffic. We settled into silence, travelling farther into the thick of the tree growth. The road appeared to narrow as the tree line moved closer.

A couple of miles up the road mom turned her horse to the left to lead us down another road. This road was even less travelled and more narrow. Grass was growing in the centre between tire tracks. The forest was thicker here and I stared through the trees lost in thought. It was beautiful. Peaceful. One of those moments that you wish would last forever.

Time to turn around

We’d ridden for about five minutes before I heard my mom’s voice calling out. I saw her turn her horse around suddenly and my sisters horses followed suit. I didn’t know what was happening until mom’s horse met mine.

“Turn Gypsy around. There’s a bear coming down the road towards us!” was all she had to say. That’s all I needed to hear. Me and my bear phobia sprang into action.

The horses broke into a canter and I struggled to keep my balance. I wasn’t the best rider. I grabbed the saddle horn to steady myself and lost control of the reigns.

All I could think about was not falling off and being left behind, especially if there was a bear coming. The thought of hitting the ground was the farthest thing from my mind. The bear was not.

Everything was moving in slow motion. I was aware of the trees alongside the road passing in a blur. Gypsy cantered behind the others and I was now clinging to her. My feet had come out of the stirrups.

I don’t remember falling off. I don’t remember hitting the road. All I remember is shortly afterwards, climbing up on my sister’s horse to ride the rest of the way behind her. The bear was probably long gone and I imagine that it ran the other way when it caught our scent. At any rate, mom wasn’t taking any chances. We headed home.

Heading home

Our ride wasn’t over though. We reached the corner of the pasture, falling in line of sight with none other than a bull moose. He was watching us intently.

The horses snorted nervously. They didn’t want to go any further and danced sideways in an effort to create more distance between us and the moose on the other side of the fence. Eventually we managed to get the horses to move forward. Now the moose was following us, advancing towards the fence and then retreating.

We kept riding. Occasionally I’d glance behind just to make sure that the bear wasn’t on our tail. No sign of him. There was just the moose to worry about. Much to our relief, his curiosity was short-lived and we were able to put more distance between us.

I was a nervous wreck by the time we arrived home. My legs were like jelly but somehow I managed to lower myself from my sister’s horse and grab Gypsy’s reigns. She had followed us back to the barn.

To this day, I can vividly remember the blur of the passing trees as I clung to the saddle. Why am I telling this story?

Because I was reminded of how sometimes in life we hit rough patches; times when things change and move so quickly that we have no choice but to go for the ride.

It usually happens when you become complacent, thinking you have life under control. Then things shift and suddenly life runs away with you. All you can do is hold on and head towards home. Whatever “home” feels like to you. It’s always there — that centre — somewhere inside of you. That is one thing that will never change and sometimes the only thing you can hold on to.

Photo credit 1: Nature Visions

Photo credit 2: Just Chaos