49er

I started to write a philosophical blog entry about turning 49, but it was sounding whiny and making it seem like I think I’m getting old rather than just having a birthday so I canned it. Suffice it to say I had my birthday a few days ago and spent the most memorable part of it on the back of a horse named “Tank.” Tank, I, and the rest of the family (mine, not his) were led around a series of trails by Kaitlyn, a kind young woman riding a whitish-colored horse and facing backwards until my neck started to hurt in sympathy for her. Obviously this wasn't the first time her horse had walked these trails, and it's a good thing. He made plenty of twists and turns while she was facing backwards talking with us, making me wonder at times if it was her or the horse leading our trip. Either way, it turned out fine and we all made it back to the stables before dark.

The kids are taking riding lessons back home, and we said we’d try and find someplace to go riding along the way on our big trip. We figured Texas would have all kinds of riding opportunities, but we couldn’t find anyplace that was reasonable and open when we were. So we kept looking, across Texas into New Mexico then into Arizona. Finally, just a couple of miles from our campground in the suburbs of San Diego, we found a place that does trail rides. We wanted the kids to have a chance to really ride, and to ride for a good long while, so we dedicated the afternoon of my 49th birthday to riding. And off we went, following a winding trail through a nature preserve, with Nan’s horse (“Stanley”) being a big pain in the oats. He kept stopping to eat and wouldn’t go again until he was good and ready no matter how bossy Nan tried to be. But the rest of us had been assigned trusty steeds who behaved themselves well and did what we asked of them—namely, they went where we wanted them to go and they went there calmly. Slowly. Casually.

It turned out Tank and I were especially well matched. On this particular day we were both happy to mosey along going nowhere fast. And I enjoyed that he’s a horse who eats as he walks, dropping his head and grabbing mouthfuls of whatever was available, stripping whole branches of their leaves or ripping out large clumps of grasses and flowers without missing a step. At times he’d have three feet of weeds complete with roots and dirt clods hanging from his hay-hole as he ambled along, chewing and walking, chewing and walking…an impressive blend of function and form. My kind of horse.

Ultimately, riding a horse named Tank was the perfect way to celebrate my birthday. Nan never knows what gift to get me, and I’m never really sure what kind of celebration I’ll be in the mood for until the big day arrives, so overall I'm usually a big birthday-pain-in-the-fanny. But this year I got to join my family in pretending to be cowboys riding the open range lands of California, riding long enough to feel like we’d been somewhere but not long enough for me to need hip surgery to straighten my legs. Perfect!

And, of course, afterward I followed Tank’s example of eating whatever’s available and horsed down a giant piece of chocolate cake. Happy birthday to me… It was a fine one! And to make it even better, we’re following it up with a few days camping on Malibu Beach, where the temps are supposed to be in the 70’s with lots of sun and sand.

Wyatt, Morgan, and Virgil Earp, with Doc Holliday