So. Last Thursday, Cory and I took Jade and Sunny to Calero Park, near Morgan Hill. We've ridden there before (see our rider's review of Calero Park) and enjoyed it, so we thought we'd check out how the trails had survived the winter - what there's been of it - so far. It was a beautiful day, and the trails were mostly in good shape. We climbed up to the ridge top, where we could see forever in about all directions, and rode along it for a couple of miles, then descended. The descent was the only sketchy part of the ride: there were a couple of sections that were (a) not dry and (b) really stinkin' steep. Fortunately, Sunny and Jade have been practicing their slaloming techniques, so we made it down safely.
But this post isn't about our ride, and I'm just coming to the point. The trails at Calero are hilly, winding and tree-covered - so you can sometimes see the trail a half mile ahead of you, but nothing any closer. In this case, we came around a corner and saw a group of three horses, probably about a quarter mile away, heading in our direction. The trail curved at that point and we lost sight of them, so we just rode cautiously, knowing that we were going to meet up with them at some point.
In a few minutes, we heard, "I know why he's so worried - his bit is hanging out of his mouth!" And then we saw the group. The first rider was a woman on a horse with a bit dangling from the left side of his headstall, leading a horse with another woman on it, and the third rider was a guy. As they came into view, the woman being led said, "Can you fix it?"
And the woman leading the horse said, "Well, I *think* I brought my string bag, but I'm not sure . . ."
At that point, I piped up and offered a zip tie, which I've always carried in my fanny pack since the exact same thing happened to Sunny and me. The woman leading the horse said that would be great, so I dismounted to walk the zip tie over to her.
At that point, the woman being led said, "As long as you're off your horse, would you mind just fixing the bridle? I'm a paraplegic and it makes me nervous when Cathy is off her mount."
Why, yes, she did say "paraplegic". I was sort of slack-jawed, so rather than ask questions, I just fixed the headstall. Cory managed to respond intelligently with "Really?"
The woman said, "I was a Search and Rescue pilot. I crashed three years ago near Truckee."
By that time I was done with the bridle and we headed our separate ways, Cory and I shaking our heads at the courage of the woman. We got to the trailer in a few minutes and were futzing around with the mares when the guy from the group arrives in the lot, ties his horse to his trailer and comes over to thank us for our help. He had been politely asked to leave the group because his mare was . . . acting like a mare and disturbing the gelding zen.
His name is Steve, and he is the paraplegic woman's husband; her name is Karen. He had to leave his mare tacked up, and his phone on because if Karen got dumped, he would have to find them and lift her back onto the horse. I had noticed some velcro bands around her legs, just above the knee. I asked if those held her in place. Steve's response? His words, not mine:
"Ah, those just keep her legs from flopping around. They're designed to break away if the horse does something foolish. She's a PARA-plegic, not a QUADRA-plegic - her core muscles are fine, and that's where the balance comes from. Horseback riding keeps her fit and she loves it."
Whew! We talked for awhile longer about horses knowing who's riding and modifying their behavior to match, then his phone rang, telling him that the women were on their way back, so he went back to the trailer and we loaded our ponies and left.
What a humbling and inspirational experience. To bring it all back to me (which is where I prefer things to be focused), I guess maybe I can work up the nerve to canter Sunny, at least in the arena . . .
wanna ride?
donna
