Rubio is the name of the horse that I rode up into the mountains on Wednesday. Kendra, Amy, Samwell and I rode all day Wednesday from the ranch all the way to the coffee plantation two mountains away. Kendra was collecting information for an agriculture project by taking a survey of the farming practices in different villages. Amy and I were along for the ride and to help take pictures and entertain kids while Kendra spoke with the parents. Samwell was there for security and as the only person who really knew what to do on a horse. The ride there was long and uneventful, as was most of the day, but Rubio decided to spice things up a bit as we mounted up at the last house of the day.
He had been doing so great.
I had ridden Rubio before so I knew that he had a tendency to start before you were quite in the saddle. But at the last house, he decided to really mess with me. I don't know if he was cranky or tired or just ready to go home, but as I untied his lead rope from the tree where he was hitched, he took a mind that he was ready to go with or without me. I grabbed hold of his reins and tried to get him to hold still while I tied the lead rope into the saddle. He was having none of it. As soon as I would let go of the reins to use both hands to tie the rope, he would take off and I would have to scramble to rein him back. I finally threw a half hitch around the lead rope enough to keep it off the ground and with the eyes of everyone else now on me, tried to mount. It was a fantastic display of bumbling frantic despiration. My left foot was barely in the stirrup before Rubio started forward, this time with earnest. I had been expecting it and had a firm grip on the horn and had been planning on using a bit of his momentum to swing me up above the saddle. I don't know exactly where it all went wrong but I found myself with two hands gripping the horn, my left foot in the stirrup, but the rest of me riding Rubio's haunch, sliding back away from the saddle. It would have been bad enough had Samwell not tried to lead his horse, Sistona, in to help me at the last second. Rubio was gaining speed toward Sistona and did his best to rub me off by crushing my left leg into her flank. It took a gigantic heave to pull myself forward into the saddle, then I had to find the reins and take control of my deranged ride. I think I even got a round of applause from the Hondurans that were watching. One tried to make me feel better by telling me I was a good rider and a cowboy, but he couldn't keep a strait face.
That was just the start to a long ride home. At one point I forgot that a horse bounces up and down as it walks and had to find my hat with crossed eyes after Rubio put my head squarely through a tree branch that we were going under.
Another time he decided to get spooky because of a concrete pipe that was next to the road. When I finally convinced him to walk past the pipe and not wheel around in eight different directions, it was like we were shot out of a cannon. One instant I had a hand on Rubio's neck trying to calm him and coax him forward, the next we are at a full sprint tearing down a gravel road into the gathering darkness. It was a quarter mile before I could slow him down, and I promise that I was reining him back with every bit of survival instinct inside of me.
Stinking Rubio. I found out a week later that the horse has confirmed mental issues.
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