1995jun08. Travelled to a small town on the outskirts of Traverse City (hold out your right hand, palm facing you; Traverse City is roughly 4 hours from Detroit) this weekend. Passed through a lot of small-type towns with big, big signs proclaiming their big, big plans:
Copemish: On track to the future!So I ended up horseback riding, for the first time, with some friends. The worst part of it was just getting on the horse; not that it’s a big deal, but I can’t recall ever getting onto the back of another animal. Hey, lookit me, I’m a cowboy, howdy, howdy! The ranch hand gives me the basic operating instructions for Horse v1.0, which turns out to pretty easy to remember, especially the part about jerking the reins to do wheelies. We set out unto a two-hour ride down (mostly) two-tracks; Patches has been through this whole boring thing 10,000 times before, so when I just suggest moving left or right, he knows I want him to move to the other track. For the first ten minutes, I resisted the movement of the horse and became quite sore; then, suddenly, I remembered that lanky cowboy saddle-swagger, began swingin’ my Marlboro Manly-Man Man-type Man hips with the horse, and started getting into the horse-type groove. The lead horse, Penny, is constantly spooked by inanimate objects, bringing the pack to a halt (“TENT!” “CAR!” “OUTHOUSE!”), and it’s the leader’s first day, so we get lost. At one point, we brought our fine steeds into a canter [n. a unit of weight in Moslem countries, varying from c. 100 to c. 700 pounds]; then, in a stunning display of uninhibited freedom, the woman ahead of me pulled a half-Lady Godiva. I really like horseback riding.
Coleman: See where we’re headed!
Smalltown: Currently sucky, but just you wait! Stop laughing!