Our Horse Adventure
I’m exhausted. It feels like I’ve been sitting in a washing
machine all day. Actually, I’ve just gone on a LONG adventure.
The story starts when my Dad saw a poster for a trip to a volcano,
involving horseback riding, in Morelia, Mexico (where we will be living
for a year) a few days ago. He told Mom, who readily agreed. So, a few
days later we were woken up at 6:30 in order to meet the guide at 8:00.
Four other travelers joined us before we piled into a huge van and set
off.
It was a long, long, long drive. We stopped halfway there to look at
some ruins of an old town, and then continued driving. After 2 1/2
hours we arrived at the small town of Anahuac and were immediately
accosted by lots of cowboys who wanted to rent us their horses. We got
9, and trotted off. After about 10 minutes I finally remembered how to
post, and I cantered and galloped ahead. At one point my horse jumped
over a log, and I almost fell off. It was really fun for about an hour.
But then our butts started to get a bit sore. We also had lots of
troubles with stirrups, because they seemed to never be the same
length. And my horse’s saddle was REALLY hard! Finally, I got
miserable, and was just about to turn around when the guide told me to
switch horses with another traveler, Martha. I did, and immediately
felt better. But then Martha started complaining because of that stupid
saddle. So we all switched horses again (I got the guide’s
horse), and finally we were happy. But the guide seemed to think I was
four instead of eleven, so he insisted on pulling my horse behind him
so I didn’t have to do any work.
In that way we spent the last hour and a half up the volcano.
When we finally got to the top and dismounted, our legs felt like
rubber. We could hardly walk at all. But to get to the crater part, we
needed to climb a last steep hill that was too steep for the horses.
That meant that it was practically too steep for us! Even the guide,
who was really fit, had to stop every ten seconds or so to catch his
breath. Just to let you know, this volcano we were climbing was the
famous volcano that had grown out of a farmer’s cornfield in
1942, covering the town with lava. When we made it to the top at last,
the crater was an anticlimax. It was just a big hole with warm,
sulfur-smelling steam coming out of it. Plus, by that time it had
started to rain, and our raincoats seemed to have lost their
waterproofness. So then we went back down the steep hill to the horses,
which was a lot more fun than climbing up. We half slid, and half ran
down a big, almost vertical slope covered with thick black sand. When
we got to the bottom, our shoes and pants were covered with sand, and
looked like big black lumps.
It was still raining when we climbed back onto our horses. This time it
was worse though because the saddles were rubbing in exactly same
places that they had rubbed on the way up. Painfully, we rode down the
volcano, and after a few hours stopped at an old church. This was the
only structure that had survived after the eruption. However, to get to
the church, we had to climb across a bunch of really teetery lumps of
lava, and our legs still couldn’t be trusted since they were so
sore. So we fell down countless times, and scraped our hands on the
rock. After we took pictures of the church, we got on our horses AGAIN!
I finally convinced the guide to let me ride alone, and so I did. But I
guess there was a reason that that horse was always being led by a
guide. She was incredibly bossy and pushy, and loved to bite the other
travelers’ feet when their horses tried to pass her. Anyway, we
finally made it back to the van by 7:00 PM. We were exhausted, and
dreadfully sore. As we climbed into the van to go home, there was a
symphony of moans from the travelers. We moaned as we sat down, we
moaned as we took off our soaking and sandy boots, we moaned as we
leaned back and tried to rest (it was no use--we were too sore), and we
moaned just trying to shift positions in our seats. We drove and drove,
stopping for dinner in the nearby town of Patscuaro. We got back to
Morelia at last, at about 10:00. We immediately collapsed into bed, and
slept very soundly.
But, our troubles were not over yet. When I woke up in the morning, I
felt fine. But I knew I wouldn’t for long. I knew that as soon as
I stood up, I would hurt all over. But I was getting bored in bed, so I
stood up, and guess what? I hurt all over. My butt hurt, my back hurt,
my thighs hurt, my hands hurt, my wrists hurt, my ankles hurt...I could
hardly make it to the living room. Moaning and gasping in pain, I
hobbled over to the couch. Slowly, I lowered myself down and reached
over to pick up my book. I felt just like a really old lady. I had to
actually sit down on the floor to get it, since I couldn’t reach
over far enough! The days continued like this. Finally, a week later, I
could walk normally again, and sit down on the couch without moaning.
However, when someone asked if I would do it again if I had a chance, I
looked at them like they were crazy and answered, "Duh! Of course!"
So, that’s the story of my weekend. My shoes never really got completely clean.