bilboburgler

ah, the elevated price of American medical technology.

jhubbel

Yeah, but what a funny story that would have been.
Here finally at Diocletan's Palace, what a tourist trap they have made out of this magnificent building- but I am in a fine, fine little room with a fine, fine shower and tub. I might as well go out and explore, at the risk of never finding this place again, buried as it is among the many warrens and alleys of the palace. But I can find the restaurant, and from there, they can always lead me back.

And that's always fun. Getting lost, I mean.

Now--soft food!

jhubbel

What a great reminder that so much of what happens in our lives has nothing to do with us. Yesterday while getting intentionally lost around the shops in the castle I walked into a small souvenir store and met Martino, a young man in his later twenties. He made some comments about the wording on my hat (Life is Good) and the embroidered boot. One thing led to another and I found myself telling him about the jump. Turns out it was precisely the right thing to do. See, Martino has been thinking about doing this for a long, long time. His father committed suicide two years ago, and he has thought long and hard about that, about life, and about doing something to break him out of his funk. One thing after another comes up, and the jump doesn't happen. We spoke deeply for about 90 minutes (my brother took his life two years ago so this I can relate to). We spoke of life and opportunities and joy and living and choices and perspectives. At the end of this very emotional discussion for us both he wrapped me up hard and hugged me and asked me to come back today before I left. I did, and brought him my travel copy of my book, which is all about how we talk to ourselves. We hugged hard again, and my money is on Martino to go do that bungee jump, and a whole lot more. He has promised to write me as soon as he's done it. Stay tuned.

This is why I really do believe that stuff we do has a reason- and it's rarely ever what we think it is. What an amazingly humbling gift he was.

jhubbel

Monday the 20th, so happy to be in sunny Zagreb, the day before going home. About 9 days or so up in the high hills, valleys and gorgeous countryside north of Split, and much to report, the highlights follow. They come with a disclaimer.

Anyone who has become pretty good or especially really good at a sport and who pays a considerable investment to go on a journey that says "advanced only" has, I think, a perfect right to expect that no beginners are going to be on that trip. Now you readers already know I have fun taking myself to task wherever I can, and while I was on a learning curve with sea kayaking and mountain biking, I am a pretty good white water kayaking and a very good road cyclist. So it doesn't take brain surgery to make the leap to sister sports.

Here, on a horseback riding trip in high, isolated country, where people and horses can, and did, get hurt, this is no place where two lovely pretty but clueless girls who (and I am not making this up) put on the bridle leaving the bit dangling beneath the horse's chin and head off to go to other things before someone points this out. Now while this is funny, and all of us who have ridden have done this ourselves, THERE IS NO PLACE FOR THIS CRAP ON AN EPIC RIDE.

We had two blond Dutch sisters, 36 and 27 who were sweet, loved each other dearly, laughed a lot, ate everything not tied down and in all ways were lovely company. On foot.

On horseback, as beginners tend to be, they were unprepared, fearful which is normal, terrified of blood, speed, surprises, other horses, drama, and the perfectly normal and expected uncontrollables that any experienced trail rider would expect to happen on such a trip. After all, you are out in BFE, and even though our lunches are getting driven in to us, if you fall off or get hurt you're gonna hafta hang with that for a while. Our guide hardly even had bandages, which wasn't very smart.

So these two girls couldn't stand the sight of blood (now there's a good partner on an adventure trip!), their last rides were decades prior in the ring. Those of you trained in the ring remember what it takes to learn how to be good on the trail? Yeah, that.

You have to give up any notion of the Great Grand Adventure for the moment you embrace rookies you have to ride to the lowest common denominator, although we did have some drama in places, and certainly at my expense, which I will happily share because that's more fun anyway. But fair warning. If you do ride with Equestrian Club Split by all means call ahead and vet who's going. Tut their claim to "advanced riders only" is, well....you'll see. Truth is I wouldn't change one bit of this trip, it was a gas, and I'd do it again in a heartbeat, although I might invite the girls to stay at the ranch this time around.

jhubbel

Ivo is the male half of the Ivo/Isobel partnership. Grizzled, a bit grey, crinkled eyes, four day growth, always complaining and storytelling, always making jokes. For the life of me I have no idea what the arrangement is but we learn over time that Ivo has been through three wives...so far...and as Isobel is Swedish she is here...part of the year...so....I have no idea. This is the last ride of the season. We are picked up and carried off about an hour north of Split (read: very small villages, smaller villages, REALLY small villages, prettier and prettier).

You arrive at the farmhouse and are immmediately greeted with great enthusiasm by three great huge yellow working dogs, mostly young, and two Black Lab mixes named, respectively, Poppy I and Popppy II (that took some thought). Another, older, larger and very cranky grey dog guards the door, you look into his eyes at your peril. This is NOT a joke. You go towards the door, you die. You come out of the door (you may have food) man you are his best buddy, love love love love love. But you look in his eyes for one second too long, and I did, this 200 lb beast is across the porch in a half second, paws planted on your knees and roaring inches from your face. PISSED OFF.

Quite enough to make you poop your Pampers right there.

I nearly did. And i did not look at that dog again.

Well then. Now that we have the doggie rules set forth, the other dogs, who are marvelous, affectionate, constantly giving belly for rubs, make up for Crankypants.

You go upstairs, which happily for all of us is an outside stairway not past Mr. Joyful, get your private room or shared room, and we all share a bathtub. BYO towel. No worries.

Meals are local and homecooked.

We go out to see the horses which are all goodnatured, friendly and curious. There is a line across the pasture which I didn't recognize. One blue roan foal approaches me, nuzzles my hand, and I am playing with her when my elbow touches this long white piece of fabric.

KA-POW ZAP ZOWIE, my elbow explodes, poor baby goes flying off in one direction and I've got zingerss going up my arm to my shoulders and down to my fingers and damn, that HURT.

Okay, guess that bit of fabric is electrified. Didn't see that coming. The girls, who were with me, both heard the POP and they were looking around for the source. Frankly I was looking for the hole burned out of my elbow. It took me a while to coax my eyeballs back into their sockets but they came

Next thing you see is bread. Everywhere bread loaves. Half eaten mostly eaten some wet some dry, piles and piles and piles of bread loaves. We come to find out that this is one of the ideas that Ivo is so very proud of. There are a lot of them. Ideas that Ivo is proud of, that is First thing that comes to my mind is plaque on their teeth and decay due to bread sticking to their teeth and the sugar in the bread. But hey, I'm not from Croatia. Not my horses. Ivo is delighted that everyone in their valley is doing it now, no longer feeding feed, and angry that the price of bread has gone up. "What you do?" he shrugs.

Tomorrow we have a local ride up a mountain, get used to our assigned horses, get ourselves sorted out. Can't wait.

jhubbel

Day One I got a little mare named Fan, who was a fine little tourist trail horse. You know the type. The kind who knows the trail but has put up with every idiot, moron, reins pulling hard kicking have no clue rider out there. As long as she can put her nose into the butt cheeks of a horse in front of her she is fine. She had a nice canter, though. Quite all right, I can ask for an upgrade, that is what today is for.

We get to Ivo's local mountain, which if you climb to the top, you can see the lake where we will be in three days' ride. The girls want to climb, although the younger of the sisters has decided to wear brand new paddock boots, not broken in, which of course brutalize her feet. The older, who is a superb walker, shoots up hill at warp speed. I stay about in the middle, I love to climb but you don't leave people way the hell behind.

AT the top, there's another hill. We do that. At that top there's another hill. Younger sister's feet are fried and she informs me that her ankles are also very very bad. She quits. I stay. Older sister says, I'll do this for you BOTH! Okay. Whatever. This, she is very good at. Let her be. That's important here.

So big sister takes flying off downhill and little sister starts to struggle down. I get about 8 feet in front, wait. Go, wait. I've got a walking stick of sorts, it finally occurs to me to hand it over. I may have a cranky knee but this kid is in far greater need than I am. So we make our way down, slowly, and of course big sister is at the lunch table by the time we get to the bottom.

That night I put my supply of six of those really, really good blister plasters on the girls' door.

Next morning she tells me that "she's waiting til she gets a blister to use them." Okay.

Those of you who share the West with me or who have come to Colorado, who live near really big mountains will appreciate that what Ivo called a mountain, we in my back yard might call a speedbump. But this is Croatia, and to Ivo it was terribly important to challenge the older sister and prove that she had actually made it all the way to the top. This woman is a serious climber and she was kind enough not to point this out. It's Ivo's mountain and it will stay Ivo's mountain. Given the very rocky nature of the ground, it was tough going coming down for the younger girl, and she paid the price.

jhubbel

Crankypants met me the next morning all love and kisses and landed squarely on my right foot, planting his entire weight there, looked longingly up and me, head forced against my belly. Houston we have a problem. I don't dare touch this creature, look at him. His corkscrew tail is whipping around in happy little circles. For now. He shifts his entire weight against my shins and I nearly topple over (he is two of me,I'm 115 lbs) and I struggle to stay upright.

Part of me thinks this is funny and the other part of me is frankly scared shitless of this dog. Normally I love them but I've already seen his mercurial nature. Happily the other four come to the rescue and the next thing I know he and I are both swarmed with wet dog hair and everyone wants attention, and for the love of God he finally picks up his bulk and plants it at the front door again. I am left to lift one of the Poppys into my lap and commence belly rub in the slanting sun that cuts butter across the big porch table.

Luggage for five days into the Jeep, we are off for the adventure. I had asked for, and gotten, a new horse. Isobel had kindly given me Pharos, her big, black, muscular, proud, magnificent, words fail me here, gelding. However she failed to give me a whole lot of information about his fondness for running like a mad banshee every time a horse in front of him looked as though s/he might start to trot. Mind you, I asked, and was told he was one of the ranch's best horses. He was. We did find out about the propensity to put on the afterburners, to my combined chagrin and delight. I say both, because this horse made my trip, beat the holy crap out of me, was two rungs over my pay grade, made me work like hell to earn his respect and bend him to my will.

Which I did, but boy did that cost me. And it was worth every torn muscle, ripped nail, whiplash injury, migraine headache, two hour morning yoga session from 4 am to 6 am just to be able to move again, my entire supply of RocTape...you get it. Riders get it. I dreamed of riding such an animal. You rarely get to ride a creature like this, but then, where there are rookies, there is fear, fear and more fear, and letting him have his head was out of the question. But he had his moments on my dime. Because I am not an expert. And a smart, fast, witty, crafty horse is going to do what he can, and he knows when he's got someone on his back who doesn't know what he's going to do. God love his evil beating heart.

jhubbel

What established itself very quickly is that the girls came dressed for the part but clearly had not tacked up, or been around horses, or certainly done trail riding (if ever) for a very, very long time. Now everybody, me too, has gone through the putz stage of figuring out gear. But when you are out in BFE and we are all responsible for our own horses, well guys.

To wit, one sister puts on the bridle and starts to do something else, she's done, right? Only the bit is dangling under the horse's chin. Now. What do you do. Rude to laugh, but I'm sorry, this is comedy. The horse is looking around his compatriots like, "hey guys, got a live one here!"

One day both of them try to saddle up one horse at the same time. We clean hooves, curry and brush, saddle blanket and saddle up and then bridle up. This takes Pharos and me about six minutes tops. This one morning the girls are back and forth back and forth looking like two drunk monkeys throwing turds. It took far longer, but was much funnier, but you cannot say or do anything.

However, I had my share, too. Two whiplash injuries, two runaways (more on this later), four eight hour days of keeping this big horse (close to 17 hands) from eating when he pleased and from jerking the reins out of my hands and not being able to eat (broken denture, remember), I am beat to crap. I am festooned with RocTape. Loaded with drugs for pain. I am dragging patootie. Next to last day and it's our longest. Isobel is short tempered and in a hurry.

I get Pharos and am cleaning his right rear hoof. Tired, nearly blind. Quite literally didn't see his rear shoe, too much clay, who knows. No excuse. So of course I tell Isobel, who shouts at me to walk the pasture and find it. I go march around the horse apples, prep comes to a stop, people are angry.

Twenty minutes later they're even more mad when Ivo yells out at me "Is right here Yuliya! Shoe on foot. You come see!" I'm sorry, this is just funny. Nobody else thought so, but nobody else knows about the whiplash or the busted denture or anything else. None of their damned business. My job to get ready.

It still takes me six minutes to tack up and I sit on Pharos and wait for the Keystone Cops. Ivo winks at me. God love him. I wink back. Smile. At my own foibles. Because we are all so achingly human. And it is all just not so important in the long run. Just another story.

jhubbel

Now let me be fair here. These sisters were a joy in so many ways. They were tall and pretty and funny and sweet natured. They were helpful and did their level best to be there on the other side of the horse when you were getting on board. Like all of us they were eager to help out. Funny because they were always last to get their gear ready, last down the steps or out of the tent. Unfailingly polite. And the single most endearing thing about them, which was truly a delight to be around, was their love for each other. They laughed and talked constantly all day every day. Until they got mad or frustrated or fearful, which is when they were mounted, and that's where the problems began. Otherwise there was absolutely everything to appreciate about them both. Frankly I'm sure they could say the same about me for much of the same reasons but I'm not privy to their thoughts, only their behavior and what I kept hearing them say.

julia_t

This is making fun reading!

I no longer ride (was never a trail rider, we don't have those in the UK, but I did event and ride racehorses), yet I can so imagine Pharos and what a challenge he posed; I am pleased and proud for you that you relished getting the best out of him. You'd have hated to be on a slug, kicking along, getting no reaction when you gathered the reins. Plod, plod, plodding along.

Looking forward to more!

jhubbel

The short version of it was that it began when one of them overhead me asking Isobel for an upgrade. That led to a Major Discussion in the Hallway about danger and Wild Horses Getting Out of Control and What if What if What if.

The other piece, and you have to keep in mind there were seven days of this all day long, six to eight hours a day. I am now on a lead horse who must walk behind Isobel's horse. She lets her mare, who is in heat, eat anytime. That causes us to have to stop. I am doing my best to keep a powerful lead horse who wants to run all the time at least two lengths behind her because my money is on that he was cut proud. Every time he gets close he bites her on the ass and she kicks him. So I have to constantly control him which is a little like being on a rack having your shoulders pulled out of your joints all day. My keeping Pharos back pisses the younger sister off, who complains to me that I am getting in her horse's face (you are a lousy rider in other words).

Wait. I cannot seem to find my rear view window. Is there one installed on this horse?

Or, perhaps, you could pick these little pieces of thin leather that we call REINS that you are leaving on the horse's withers, pick them up, pull on them, and say this magical mysterious word we use to hypnotize our horses called (whoaaaaaaa) to slow or stop him to get his nose out of my horse's butt. Otherwise Pharos will continue to kick him. And no, I am not going to speed up because the precise same thing will happen to Pharos and Isobel will rightly bark at me. I was asked to move here, move there, my horse doesn't like your horse, please move. And I did, without complaint, and then it was someone else's turn to opine about Pharos and my inability to control him.

Now some of you might ask why I didn't bite Dutch head off. Well, because I have to live with them for seven days on the trail, for one. But far more importantly, it's not my job. We have a guide, it's her job to instruct them. Their horses eat at will. The girls bark at me if I move Pharo off to the side when a horse is riding up my butt. You wouldn't like it if some guest decided to make themselves second in command and start instructing, managing, pushing people around. Isobel would be rightfully furious. It would certainly annoy the heck out of me.

If Isobel didn't choose to do it then that's what we get. We have beginners on the trail who should not have been, they have no trail manners, and they are so busy riding other people's horses for them they are not riding their own. Which makes them far more dangerous to everyone else. What this means is that not only do you have to watch out for your own horse you also have to watch out for theirs. This isn't something I suspect either sister considered, but I had to, because while Pharos was largely bombproof, he was damned impatient, and I was learning him. You don't know what you don't know. Which leads to my story about getting caught out big time.

You have to remember, you have to live with everyone, so you just keep quiet. I am the journalist, I get to keep the stories. Everyone is taking things so seriously, so personally and this is precisely what makes this so funny. You cannot laugh at it, you must hold it until you can go pee in the woods and giggle.

jhubbel

So Miss julia_t this entry is for you, who ride racehorses,which I never have. The first time we had set up to gallop all I knew about Pharos was that he was eager, wiling, and muscular and beautiful and I couldn't wait to feel him run. A little faster. Yeah right.

So we reach this open field. What I didn't know as that Ivo (whom we could all see was around somewhere nearby) was set up to take a triumphant photo of Isobel the Conqueror on Pandora, her Anglo Arab mare. Pandora is very swift, and she is to be leading us across the field. Well, that was the plan. How the hell am I supposed to know this?

Isobel tosses a comment over her shoulder, something to the effect of "keep behind me and don't pass." Frankly I think she knew full well what was about to happen. Pandora takes half a step and before I have gotten my heels down that black giant monster has, in three massive strides, overtaken her, Isobel screams at me, and all I can concentrate on at that moment is the incredible, intense, overwhelmingly ecstatic feel of nearly 1600 lbs of pure sheer power surging forward so fast that everything is a green blur. I nearly tore off my arms to stop him while at the same time everything in my being is screaming at me to yell at him GO YOU BASTARD Gooooooooooooooooooooooo!

Ah. Well. For about three seconds. For anyone who's ever lost a main parachute, and I've done it twice, you have about a split second to figure out what to do next. We had a huge field off to our left. Isobel had plenty of room. I grabbed the rein right next to the bit, curled his head in towards his shoulder, and stopped him. He tried to take off again coming back and I curled him around himself again. And then we cantered quietly back to the group.

He had me there good to rights for about five to six seconds. which Isobel gleefully pointed out. However- that will, and does, happen to us all. It's whether you regain control. Or panic, or go stupid, or hit the group like an out of control bowling ball.

OMG well now the sisters are utterly beside themselves. Julia this. Pharos that. Dangerous this. Dangerous that. This sets the stage for the rest of our ride because it happened on the second day. Man, I was happy as a pig in poo. Here I finally had an animal that was pushing back, that tested me harder than anything I've ever ridden, and who would NOT jump at a chance to ride such a being? SIGN. ME. UP.

I was delirious, expressed that to Isobel, who was surprised, and to her credit, she let me continue to ride him. At this point I pushed her to kindly make some suggestions, and this time she did, which I gratefully put to use.

It took one more takeoff, same thing, the next day, before I sorted out what I needed to do to get his package of sinew and fire under wraps. And it wasn't hard either. Once I could read the land, and Isobel's body language, I knew within thirty seconds we were going to canter. That gave me just enough time to get in position, gather up the reins, have a conversation, and force him to hold back those three critical leaps before I angled him to get in line. Every single time it was World War III. But he did it. And I was mad crazy passionately in love with this animal for besting me and making a fool out of me and making me work so hard that some days I cried to lift my arms to take my Tylenol with Codeine.

Worth it.

God bless that horse. I know some of you think I'm mad, but other riders, especially julia-t, will understand that there are times when all you can do is exhult, breathe in the air that is being forced into your nostrils, the mane whipping tears into your eyes, your body moving in rhythm with this raging, pounding, extraordinary creature who tolerates your presence on his back, and your heart rises and rises and rises and you throw your soul and love to this animal with everything you've got. That's what I signed up for. That's living out loud. Pure sweet fire and joy.

jhubbel

A side note here, julia_t, I typically ride bareback saddlepad, including to do dressage work. Being on a saddle again was just a bit awkward for a few days. Trust me, stirrups are handy, but you have to get used to having all that leather between you and the horse again, but it all comes back fast enough.

jhubbel

So one late afternoon we are heading into a camp, which is where Ivo meets us at nights. He sets up an electrified perimeted (yeah-that white ribbon stuff) and we take everything off the horses and they go hooves up and over. Then we either camp (once, next to a romantic stone quarry which pounded most of the night) or to what were really, truly nice rooms and a little hotel.

All the horses know this drill, and they can get eager. So we're cantering, and I'm second. The light's going down a bit and I can't quite see the ground but there are rocks. Pharos is right on Pandora's tail and he's reaching out for that nip so I pull him and give her room. Next thing I know he stumbles and my head snaps forward hard, then back, THWAP, and I am seeing stars, and the pain is mighty. I hold my breath for about three strides and damned if Mr Man hasn't made up the different and he's got his neck stretched out to take a piece out of Pandora again. We're not seven strides along and the same dammned thing happens, he goes forward, my head shaps back and this time I nearly pass out, but I gorilla gripped Mr. Man and just held on.

Over the July 4th holiday I was visiting my friend Jill in Canada, and while there, picked up two bottles of Tylenol with Codeine. Somehow I got them over the border. My best friends after this, those and my Imitrex for migraines, which I get anyway but when you pull that kind of stunt on your vertebrae, well. Something is going to yell back. Pretty much every day after that.

The lineup of bottles, pills, muscle creams, RocTape, lotions potions and other agony reducers made my bathroom look like a football locker room. Felt like one. Smelled like one, too. Well, the menthol cream anyway.

jhubbel

Ivo would bring in food that he bought at local markets and what was available at local stores, so every day was something different. Some days there would be a huge bar of chocolate. Uvo ate the chocolate. Uvo. Oh yah, Uvo.

Did I mention we had a German man named Uvo with us? No. That's because he was THAT quiet. Wordless, patient, not an advanced rider but competent enough. Often rode in great pain because he had a bar of steel up his leg into his pelvis. That was all we knew. Otherwise we only knew he wasn't doing well when the Leaning Tower of Uvo, riding ahead of me one day, canted so far to the left, making sounds that one normally hears only in cheap bordellos, that Isobel and I simultaneously made a move to see if Germany was about to fall. Indeed he was.

He of course said he was fine, his normally very ruddy cheerful face was the color of old silly putty, and we had to call Ivo immediately to come pick him up. Another twenty five minutes away.

Uvo, being enormously stoic, resettled himself on his big black with the Roman nose named Arab, and held onto the horn of his Western saddle. We spotted the plume of dust in the distance approaching us across rocky high plain( no trotting or cantering on this) that was Ivo, and Uvo pinballed from saddle to shoulder to horse butt to Ivo on his way to the Jeep. Whereupon he sat hard in the front seat.

The next time we saw him he was lying quite comfortably on thick foam pads next to the big cool blue lake where most people swim, but not this late in the year. He looked much better. He told me he also had Codeine. It kept him in a pleasant mood.

jhubbel

Well now of course, and understandably so, I have a rep for not being able to control my horse at all. The sisters are furious at me. You really can't blame them- they're not aware of what goes on when I'm riding, the signals and legwork and rein work and effort that goes into keeping this muscle mass from tearing off in front of the pack and it's none of their business. Uvo hangs on to the saddle horn and very quietly does his thing and enjoys the scenery every day until his leg gets the better of him and he starts making those late in the day bordello noises.

So the one day that we make it to the lake, Uvo had been carried away by Ivo and rather to than to the clinic here he is by the lake taking his comfort and here we all come clopping along. The horses, who are accustomed to taking a swim, make a beeline for the water. They've been on the trail working hard for four hours, are thirsty, hot and want to cool off. You can see this coming a mile away.

All the animals crowd in together and start drinking, then energeticially pawing the water. I was photographing this and the only reason I knew what to expect next was because it had happened to one of my Swedish friends on safari in Tanzania last year. He said, as we all let our horses drink at the water hole, that his impression was that his animal had at first stepped in a hole, and then he realized that he was going down and about to be rolled over on in the water. At that point he jumoped off. Had I not both watched and heard that story I'm not sure I'd have recognized Pharos' next move.

Sure enough, he buckled his left leg, precisely as though he had stepped in a hole, damn the rider, saddle, gear, everything man, I AM TAKING A BATH YOU DON'T LIKE IT GET THE HELL OFF. I scream NEIN at the top of my lungs (his owner speaks primarily German) and hauled back on the reins, and to my blessed relief he hauled himself back up. I did not have another set of dry clothes.

Everyone else wants to know the trick, I share it, for their horses are still pawing away, and I urge Pharos out of harm's way and back on dry land before I find myself snorkeling among fetlocks.

The weather, which had been smiling a perfect sunny 70s grin since arrival on October 1st, continued to do so this day. Ivo tucked us all in his Jeep, we unhooked the trailer (full of hay, gear, grooming supplies and water for the horses) and drove off to the local spring.

On the way we passed a church so ancient that the stonework was blurred- in that way that masonry gets when it is centuries and centuries old. The structure was gutted, roofless, but beautiful in its way for its sheer age, its stamina over the years. Only a few hundred years AD, and here it stood, watching over a small cemetery.

The local spring was a cobalt pool that colored to green at the edges. A horizontal map to one side showed where divers had gone down as deeply as possible- and some had died- in an attempt to map out the entire set of channels. It was quite impossibly deep. The waters were crystalline, sweet to the taste and absolutely pure. Naturally, companies have come to bottle and sell it abroad, which is hugely amusing if not annoying to the locals.

jhubbel

I forgot to explain why Uvo had been carried away by Ivo. That would help. You know he has a bum leg (the result of being thrown from a horse and landing on a camera that happened to be right on his right hip). Okay so this makes Uvo ride slightly canted to the left. We ride four hours in the morning and sometimes up to three more in the afternoon. By the end of the morning ride, Uvo is making noises, he never ever ever complains, but depending on who is in front of him, or nearby, we're well aware of how close he is to the end of his strength.

So lake day I was riding behind Uvo for a change of pace and we're on very rocky high flats, no place for a trot or canter and a very long way from help of any kind. Been riding rough ground and doing long trots and canters for a while. I am hearing those groans and growls, and I note with some dismay that the Leaning Tower of Uvo is canting far more than usual to the left. In fact this looks like an emergency about to happen.

Isobel and I apparently have the same conclusion right about the same time because just about the time I’m thinking about riding up next to the man (and do you do this? Is it polite, or acceptable, or welcomed, or rude, or intrusive? Who knows?) she turns around and is shocked by how gray he is. Uvo of course says he’s fine, but in her powerful Swiss/German way she takes issue and promptly calls Ivo, thank god for cell phones, and arranges a pickup, which is about twenty five minutes away. He has to hang in there, which he does, stoic that he is. Another consideration when you look at what is really an epic trip when you have a healing injury like this as to whether this is such a good idea.
Nearly half an hour later we see the rising plume that is Ivo’s Jeep approaching. A careful slip off the horse, bounce off his shoulder, pinball off some horse butts and assisted by Ivo, Uvo lands hard in the front seat of the Jeep. Off to a clinic, we thought.

As it turned out, as you read above, he landed at the lake, probably codeine enhanced, most certainly well fed by then which always helped, ruddy faced and smiling at us all. One tough, smiling, uncomplaining guy. I really liked him as we all did.

jhubbel

The villages we ride through are nestled in the gentle curves of these low hills, which tend to be quite rocky. Sometimes we cross a river or stream, often we are riding through fields past the last of the season’s crops. In some cases the corn is festooned with highly colorful scarecrows. The church is always the dominant structure, the older houses low. There is a mixture in each town of the old and the rebuilt, as the war blasted out many a roof while the government is helping to rebuild. In almost every town amidst the shops and laundry-decorated houses, crumbling dwellings many centuries old form the basis of the original structure and people have simply added on. Or the gutted ancient home adds character to the center of the city where very old cobblestones form the streets coming out from a square where there is a statue.

Gardens are everywhere, and this time of year the crop is cabbages. At one of our last stops, as we left our little hotel in the last village we pass a cabbage purveyor who had a line, next to him was a man who would strip it clean and chop it up for sauerkraut or salad for you right there.

Because perhaps of the remarkably warm weather, many of the gardens still sported bright and lovely flowers, gladiolas, roses, gardens still bloomed prettily on doorsteps.

In the forests, the ground cover was turning bright red and orange, but only a few trees were showing the first yellows. For the middle of October, which for this traveler from the Rockies is when we see the high color in the city after the aspens have long shattered weeks before in the high country, this is a warm fall indeed.

jhubbel

Ivo informed us two days before the end of our trip that our streak of good luck with the mid-seventies weather was going to break, and he was right. We’d all brought rain gear including breech covers. Now mine were breech covers like a second pair of breeches, zipping from hip to boot top on the outside of the leg and securing with Velcro at the top and bottom. When I’d bought them they were a good four inches too big in the waist, and on the sides, so I took them to my (usually) very trusty tailor to take in the extra slack. Natch I wore breeches the day of the fitting, assuming that would prevent any problems.

Okay you know what happens.

So I pull said newly adapted britches out of the bag and put them on and MAN ARE THEY SNUG. Look I am a skinny chick but these things would fit a whippet and be tight. I barely zip them up, and the fun starts.

First, getting on a nearly 17 hand horse ( and I don’t use, and we don’t have a mounting block) is already a hoot. Now I’m in uber tight no-give double nylon breeches. Urrgggghhhh and introduce jackass jump. This is when some poor person is on the other side of the horse holding down your stirrup, you are attempting to lift your left foot into the stirrup and big black bastard, who is aware that you barely have hold of three mane hairs, begins to walk off. You commence to jackass jump with one foot up, the girl on the other side cursing at you and Pharos, ears pointed forward always to the far distance, is saying LETS GO MAN GET ON GET ON LETS GO YOU DOLT GET ON HURRY UP YOU ARE IN THE WAY MAN THE TRAIN IS LEAVING WITHOUT YOU.

Of course after a while nobody wants to be on the other side so you go find rocks or ridges or whatever might be handy.
But here’s the other thing. Bush time.

So we’re out there riding and it’s raining. I am drinking oodles and oodles of juice, largely because I can’t eat much and that leads to the obvious. Well what’s happened is that the cheap zipper along the left leg has busted open in the middle (made in China thank you) and now, after you already have to pee, it’s raining and people are waiting for your sorry ass, there you are behind a big bush, struggling to repair the zipper (updownupdowncatchupdownupdowncatch AUGH) while your bladder is screaming I HAVE TO GO NOW YOU MORON so you finally get it all down and you promptly squat in a thorn bush.

I am not making this up. I laughed so hard the first time I did it I LANDED in the thorn bush.

This by the way went on for two days, this busted zipper, as the rain did not abet. At times it was, as we say where I was born in Florida, “comin’ day-own.” That of course made it get cooler, although we did not get big winds, so we were layering up, which made getting to that heinous zipper even more cumbersome. But you keep your counsel, and people are just mad at you for taking so long.

jhubbel

Sorry about telling a couple stories twice, I am now in jet lag territory.