No Soccer ball? That is okay…we will use a dog.

January 17th, 2011: I spent the past weekend at some friends’ apartment in Osorno whom I originally met in Peru…and yes, I prescreened them prior to my arrival making sure they are not clam dealers or flour distributors (referring to my post on pregnant prostitutes and drug dealers). The brothers’ hospitality taking my homeless self in was above anything I would ever expect.

The schedule they made for the three days was filled with some great activities – some I did willingly such as the visit to the thermals and Puyehue National Park but others I deferred such as rub a giant bull’s balls that stood in the city - even though they claimed it was good luck. Not needing anymore luck I settled just for a photo.
One day we ended up going to their farm house…houses. I don’t know why but I ran around the pastures like a little kid in his new pair of running shoes chasing the cows and goats - not to have a girlfriend experience, but to catch them. As they ran from me it made me want it more. This” Chase” can be similar to chasing girls or dreams I suppose…if they are not interested or the dream is hard to get you sometimes see yourself chasing them, just to chase them never thinking about ever actually catching them. At the end when the chase is over and you are face to face with the catch, you are then sometimes oddly not quite sure what to do with it.

For almost the past two years on this adventure of mine, I have ridden all sorts of horses…from rentals, to what I thought was the real thing. Riding plenty of rental horses, it must have given me the false idea that I was actually becoming good at it. Sitting on this “real” working farm horse, I felt the power between my legs as it would seems to spring on its toes as we made it to the pasture going from 5 kilometers per hour to 80 in 2.564 seconds. I liked it for say…about 6 seconds as it was not even yet in 5th gear holding on for my life that seemed as if it was going to be abruptly shortened or I end up like Superman if I let the horse get up to its top speed. So, I quickly slowed him down to a reasonable fast rental horse speed. After this, I began to wonder if I really like horses because a “rental” horse and “real” are completely different creatures. It is like a pink battery operated Barbie car to high performance go-cart with the racing flames along its side.

On the horses as we roamed around the farm – since I couldn’t catch the cows earlier on foot I decided to chase them on the horse. I felt like I was in a rodeo with my smile somewhat pasted to my face as my friend watched me looking like a child in professional fashion teasing the cows going in circles - being a middle child, teasing is my second nature. I am sure all kids on the farm do what I do at some point in their lives…I am just a little behind.

Getting an audience of other animals as I ran in circles, one guest was not on the invite list. It was a big dog observing us from a hill. My friend seeing the trespasser who I was later told sometimes enjoy the little animals too much and started his own chase but he was well aware what to do once the trespasser was caught. Approaching the dog quickly, a dust cloud filled the trail as the dog was kicked by the horse, playing soccer using a dog as the ball with the horse’s hooves being used as an extension of his feet as the dog was giving a Messi (famous soccer player) style beat down. It is surprising that dogs don’t roll as far as you would think after being kicked by a horse’s powerful legs. Well, I didn’t really participate in the game since my friend was being a ball hog and I myself was obviously not skilled enough on horses for such an activity. After a few kicks the dog seemed to casually make it to the safety of the woods.

It is time for me to head back south in this heart monitor like travel pattern that I seem to have been performing in Chile. I have come to the conclusion that Chile might be one of the most hospitable countries that I have yet to visit during my travels. The most hospitable? – I am not sure about that yet…but it will definitely put up a good fight against the now reigning champ, Colombia.

Low expectations = Happiness?

May 20th, 2010: I decided to do a little work today and take a tour that included a horseback ride to some waterfalls outside the small coffee town named Jardin. Sitting on top of this gigantic mammal´s hairy back for a couple of hours went extremely well. I was thrown off guard a little bit when this Canadian girl told me how good of a rider I was and how relaxed I looked - giving it away that she was a complete beginner since I am still a horrible rider who still looks like the Hunchback of Notre Dame as I held the horn on the saddle in one hand and the ropes in the other.

Thinking about it though, I was doing really well by not even giving the horn a death grip ruining my baby soft hands - until...I wanted just a little more speed. Making the smallest noise and given my hairy friend just the slightest nudge to his body with my heels...my horse seemed to take off faster than a, "I have a small penis car." My heart seemed to break a few ribs as it tried to rip through my chest quickly transforming my soft grip on the horn immediately into my signature death grip.

Telling the horse "no" in english enough times to legitimately be considered by the medical community to have a stuttering problem, it didn't seem to work. What did work was the obvious. Since the horse didn't understand english, I had to revert to brut stregth with my 35 inch bicep and pull back on the reins to make him realize I didn't want to fly, but to stop.

After the huge shot of adrenaline my legs were like rubber the rest of the ride...including the downhill portion where I was leaning so far back as the horse was literally sliding down the step trail and at times dropping off ledges that seem to me, huge. It was one of those love-hate moments.

Once reaching the waterfalls, they ended up being spectacularly unique as it came pouring down through a hole in the rock. I went on this trip expecting only a decent horseback ride and happily got much much more. Having low expectations can sometimes make life so much more simple and happier. I wonder if this is something I should consider taking into consideration went I start dating again.

Chicken fighting Mr.Tyson…the biting horse

June 13th, 2009: Yesterday, I had to make a tuff decision…burn thousands upon thousands of calories walking to the multitude of Archeological sites that dotted the San Agustin area or take a horse and burn a lot less. Not liking to be wasteful, I chose option #2…take a horse. This was also a good opportunity to improve my riding skills and get a more relaxed look instead of the, “just got caught masturbating in the hostel look.”

Today I was looking forward to the horseback ride more than the sites, which have failed miserably to capture my attention the past few days. Not that I didn’t appreciate what I saw, perhaps I just saw too many pre-Colombian megalithic sculptures (a.k.a. standing stones) numbing the pleasure. Sitting patiently at the hostel, our horses showed up over an hour late. My guide’s tardiness didn’t bother me but it really disturbed the French guy from my hostel, Pierre, who was ranting about how the people we were waiting for must be English speaking people – claiming only English speaking people would make others wait, so that they could eat breakfast.

The horses here seem a bit taller than those in Salento, but still vertically challenged – good for the Colombians and good for me. Mounting our horses, we rode down the hill to pick up the others…hoping Pierre was wrong. As we pulled up, I was relieved about his flawed international generalizations. They were fortunately not English speaking travelers and unfortunately, not French. This made me wonder…is he still upset about how we disgraced the, “French Fries” by calling them “Freedom Fries” right after our invasion of Iraq, or is it something much deeper?

My horse was an older horse that knew the coarse well, but I was still able to override his routine. Not wanting to do too many altercations in case he would get angry, I would let him pretty much do what he wanted…running and chicken fighting was just a few of them.

Something changed inside my brain today. I really enjoyed the speed the horse produced - without having to fill in the event with a false sense of it being fun, to overcome my fear. I seemed to figure out that you can’t just sit in the saddle as if it was a modified La-Z-Boy when running. I needed to use my undefined thigh muscles as if I was an Ultimate Fighter in a UFC match clinching my opponent hoping for the tap out.

My smile lines became deeper when we were dashing up and down the mud slide like trails as the rain gushed out of the clouds as if it was holding it all night, waiting till the morning so everyone could see. The other horses would slowly inch their way down the slippery trials when mine would move at a steady pace and when possible…run. Even with all of his life experience my horse would slip from time to time, stumbling along the way, but somehow was always able to save us from a fall. With more confidence then ever before, my right hand still maintained the lock on the horn of the saddle – so much, I now have one callused hand. This is not good…especially being a solo backpacker. Maybe next time I will switch off using my left hand, so no assumptions can be made…on why one had is softer than the other.

Is there always a rotten piece of flesh in every group of horses? Today, it was Mr. Tyson (name was changed to protect his identity) and thankfully he wasn’t my horse. He would not just stop at trying to bite his own rider’s legs, but he would also lash out at the others who would get too close, biting the French guy. The Italian woman on him would let him go about his disobedient rampage with no ramifications. As soon as my horse would decide to pass, I would give him a rib massage with my heels trying to make him go faster for some extra assurance that we are going to clear them without any altercations.

At times, we were either blocked during the pass by Mr. Tyson or we would be forced to engage in a full on chicken fight. Rusty on chicken fighting warfare, since I haven’t performed this since I was a kid in my neighbors pool, I had to quickly access my memory banks…pulling up any proven strategies to avoid a potentially painful loss. As Tyson would lean into me, he displayed his cockiness by smiling, giving me a full dental view of his perfectly aligned teeth prior to striking. Pulling my leg out of my stirrup to avoid being bitten, I would counterstrike leaning down and hitting his nose with an open hand, too kicking him…yelling my signature, “NO!” I am sure PETA would not have condoned this act of violence toward an animal. Perhaps just a simple time-out was in order, but I did not give consent for a temporary tattoo on my leg. Hindsight…I think I can now relate to my last guide wanting to box my horse, Billy Bad Ass when I was in Salento.

Billy Bucking Bad Ass

May 29th, 2009: Arriving in the small coffee town of Salento, I kept hearing from the other backpackers on how great the horseback rides were. Not too keen about horses – a trust issue – I decided to go against my better judgment and take one for a spin around the countryside. When our trail guide pulled up to the side of the hostel, we were officially introduced to a mob of some vertically challenged horses. This was good – less distance to fall - unless they have a short horse complex and some good bucking power. I don’t smoke, chew, listen to Bruce Springsteen on a daily basis, wear tight jeans or enjoy drinking Budweiser…nor, do I pretend or inspire to be the Marlboro man, so I was not ashamed to ask for a horse that enjoys a good game of Follow the Leader.

A few minutes into our 3+ hour horseback ride, I thought something was wrong with my horse’s shoe since he was lagging so far behind the others. Leaning over looking at his hoof, I tried to see if I could spot a loose shoe flopping around. There seemed to be no obvious issues. If I was a gambler, I would have placed a bet that he was gravely ill or injured. When the others would get too far ahead, I would out of necessity, painfully give my horse some body blows with the back of my heels complimenting it with a loud self made tapping noise. My kicks or noises did not phase the horse. Kicking him harder…moving the strikes up and across his body hoping to locate a soft spot, he continued to ignore my requests showing no signs of even thinking about speeding up. After about 20 minutes of the horse’s defiance, the guide decided to swap horses. I didn’t want to at first, but it was too late…he already dismounted his horse and was standing by to take over mine.

Getting on my new horse Billy, he turned his head glaring back, giving me..."the eye." My vision of a relaxing trip, resting back in the saddle, suddenly...vanished - though a new sense of excitement was introduced to the ride. Off we went leaving a cloud of dust. I attempted to slow him down, pulling back on the reigns. Not working, I tested his ability to perform verbal commands as I barked the simple four lettered word, “WHOA!” - obviously, he did not understand English. Seeing a blur go past me, I realized it was my...first horse? He must of had...a 20 minute stomach bug.

A smile cracked through my face of terror as I thought, “I am actually on a real horse – a real short horse…but a real horse.” My simplified definition of a real horse is one that doesn’t bury their nose deep into the anus of the lead horse and every so often, wants to test the rider for dominance.

Billy did not seem to be that friendly with the others. His lack of social skills had me out casted from the rest of the group. Whenever someone would come close to us, “Billy Bucking Bad Ass,” would decide to perform a two legged back kick in the direction of the offender – sometime multiple kicks. As he performed his tantrums, my right hand naturally locked to the horn of the saddle as I would ineffectively pull back the reigns.

Pushing his need for dominance, Billy kicked my guide who I thought held a permanent smile. His face quickly transformed -inverting his smile he reached for his rope that was coiled along his saddle. Raising the rope in the air, giving a war cry...he came at my horse - my slow motion button was engaged. Coming at us, we quickly moved sideways stumbling down the hillside as Billy was attempting to escape a well deserved beating. My eyes, looking as if I was an owl, I yelled at the guide in a language he seemed to understand, “NO – NO – NO - NO – NOT NOW!” Seeing my fear, he controlled his brief but justifiable anger and stopped short of contact, letting my horse go without any disciplinary action. Asking me if I wanted to switch back to my previous horse due to...bucking Billy’s poor attitude, I hesitated for a brief moment and said…no. Saving my horse from a brutal beating, I would have thought he would have given me thanks and praise by not kicking anyone else anymore...silly - silly - silly me.

Tensely sitting in the saddle, the trails would exhaust me just by seeing Billy doing all of the work as he would power up the gigantic hills, slide down the loose rocky trails and plow through the rushing steams. The fancy foot work over the rocks and boulders was quite impressive. Without being issued a helmet, it was slightly nerve wrecking doing this without using any protection. I should make an investment in my health and just buy one. I could wear it everywhere…on the horses, in the buses, taxis, rivers and even strolling around town to help protect my head from low ceilings and mischievous birds.

Riding ahead of the guide, the trail broke off in two directions. Deciding to follow the horse that was in front of me, I went to the left. The guide was yelling something but by the time we stopped, we were resting on a narrow trail that hugged the river that was about 16 feet below us. His yells became more frantic…we all looked at each other with lost looks on our faces. Disembarking his horse, he ran past us to the front horse and pulled the horse down the trail as the rest of us followed…finding out later that we were on a extremely weak unstable part of the riverbank - reason 1,104 to learn Spanish.

I really like these short horses. Perhaps I will be doing this again sometime soon in a different area, but now with just a bit more confidence. After riding Billy Bucking Bad Ass…I am not sure if I will ever be happy on those pony rides at the annual State Fair.