After the travelling of the past two days I was looking forward to a slightly lazy day today, time to recharge my batteries, have a look through the photographs I have taken already, review the video footage I had taken and generally catch up on my emails and blogging. I rose later than usual, fought off the cats, showered and went downstairs to see how little Diane had planned for me today.
Frank had already said that he was popping to his office to sought through some paperwork - and hundred plus mile round trip to them - so whatever we were going to do today would have to exclude him unless we held on until his return. He also had errands to run and had promised that he would be out tonight with his work colleagues at a bar down the interstate, so if we wanted to join him later for a bite to eat & a few drinks then we were quite welcome. As one of my requests was to have a few beers in a local bar and peruse the nocturnal habits of born and bred Americans I - of course - graciously accepted his offer (well, beer was mentioned so there was no hardship in accepting!).
I sat in my, now, regular swinging leather office chair with associated footrest watching Gordon Ramsey's Kitchen Nightmares on BBC America Diane decided to let me know what the pair of us would be doing today...
"Do you fancy going to the Catskill Mountains and doing some horse riding?"
Again that moment of dread; I have never ridden a horse before with the nearest thing coming to it being a donkey ride on Blackpool Beach when I was a child. But, of course, Diane had asked and I cannot refuse her. I also know that Diane is a keen rider and has been for several years (it was a good job it was springtime and sunny otherwise we would be indulging her other passion - skiing) so she telephoned the riding school (I was in for a shock), booked us in, programmed the Sat-Nav & off we went in - again - the most glorious weather imaginable.
The Catskill Mountains are about 100 miles North by North West from Carmel and it took us over a hour and a half, listening to 92.3 K-Rock and shooting the breeze about life, the universe and everything. Off the beaten track we wound our way through some real frontier towns, were the population are counted in double digits and houses had woodland instead of gardens. The higher we climbed into Catskills the more sparsely the population was and the more peaceful the surroundings. We stopped for 10 minutes so Diane could answer an email from Frank "Don't worry. Police did not find a body. Everything is OK." But more about that later.
We arrived at the riding school which was quite high up in the Catskills, off a minor road and down a dirt track that bottomed out Diane's car and into what can only be described as an encampment. Our horseman was called Joe, a character with no front teeth after an encounter with a horses hoof, bad eyesight and a passion for horses and one of Diane's friends. Joe had already saddled up a horse for Diane, not her usual horse as it was beginning to get old and a point that Diane kept complaining about. The different type of saddles Joe used were explained to me, English and Western and I was told I would be having a Western saddle - just like the good ol' cowboys... yee haw! He saddled up a horse called Dakota for me, helped me mount it, adjusted the stirrups, then gave me the bare minimum of instruction on how to control a extremely large animal by just moving the reigns ever so slightly and how to sit in the saddle, then I was walked into the corral and let loose for a few minutes to get used to the horse. That was it... we were off...
Joe is very gregarious and very animated. His passion for horses extends from his childhood in Brooklyn and his parents indulged him in riding lessons. He joined the army as a field photographer - a passion he still has today and was the one who took the pictures of Diane & I on the horses - eventually earning himself a commission into the Cavalry Regiment. He had to demonstrate his ability to ride with one handed, your left hand because your right hand was your sabre hand, and joined with the horse display regiment. From his technique you can tell he is a natural horseman and his demeanour puts you at ease as well, he offered advice and not criticism, praise when you rode correctly and gentle humour to berate you when - as I did - you look like a sack of potatoes on the back of a horse.
We rode through woodland and into the hills where Joe kept an overnight camping site, a place he brings hunters to during the summer months; when I say camping site I mean a level clearing where you can pitch your tent and water the horses for the night. He talked at length about the bears in the hills, wild turkeys, deer and the other assortment of animals living wild and open for the hunter. We rode on, all the time I am trying to make sense of the rhythm of the horse and trying to match my movements to it - failing miserably of course. We took paths over streams and down towards the nearest river and every so often stopping for a photo opportunity when the background scenery was particularly spectacular.
Joe was such an open and honest man you could not help but like him, he was funny, knowledgeable and full of anecdotes that would keep a dinner party amused for weeks. For the first time on the holiday I found myself genuinely enjoying someone else's company other than Diane & Frank. He was interested in me and asked questions - mainly about Diane when she was younger, how long we had known each other and the nature of our relationship. When I explained how close we are and what we think of each other he simply agreed and said that it was the way of things when people are so close to each other they consider themselves family.
We were moving up hill again and Joe was explaining to me about standing up in the stirrups when the horse cantered and along about a minute later on a dirt track road that bent over to the left and up a hill he shouted over his shoulder to stand up and lean in as the horse will want to let go a bit; then he was off at a full gallop. So was I. I have heard of the expression "the horse bolted" but never experienced it. I had now... Dakota went from canter to full gallop in about a second following Joe up the hill, stretching its legs out and accelerating away. I began to bounce in the stirrups, I also realised I would never be able to have children and I also realised I was in danger of going arse-over-tip if Dakota stopped suddenly. I remembered to grip on to the shoulders with my thighs and hold the reigns loosely in my left hand - never hold the pommel, never hold the pommel, never hold the pommel - I was standing up as far as I could and using my right arm to balance myself. I was, in fact, beginning to enjoy myself. I saw ahead that Joe was slowing down and reigned Dakota in as I was shown, Dakota slowed to a canter then a trot and eventually stopped a few yards ahead of Joe. My legs ached, my heart was racing, I was sweating but I felt exhilarated.
We rode down into a valley and crossed a river, stopping to let the horses drink - one thing I did realise is that when a horse wants to eat, drink, urinate or defecate no amount of clicking, kicks or saying "C'mon horsey" will make it move. Although Diane was against the idea - still complaining about her horse - Joe led us to the track, a flat piece of scrub and grassland when over the years an oval circuit had been worn down and allows the horses to gallop to their hearts content. We stopped again for a photo opportunity and I noticed that the scenery looked like we were in the middle of nowhere (we were) and that with very little signs of human occupation it would not take much imagination to believe you were in the frontier and that just round the corner John Wayne, Jimmy Stewart & Gary Cooper were riding along the trail we had followed, with Doris Day behind then singing "The Deadwood Stage".
On the track the horses galloped and again I was enjoying myself. Being flat grass and scrub the horses and Dakota in particular relished the gallop and exercise and the adrenaline rush of speed and the fear of falling off was thrilling.
But then Diane fell off... spectacularly... Well, when I say fell I mean she was launched over the crest of the horse and bounced a couple of times in the scrub, knocking the wind out of her and bruising her bum. I was worried, Diane was embarrassed and Joe was annoyed at her; berating her for using the English saddle. I could tell the banter between then was friendly as Joe conspired to tell me (loudly) that it wasn't the first time she had fallen and probably wouldn't be the last. Leaving Diane to rest on her horse, Joe took me out on to the track again and made Dakota gallop, he didn't ask if I wanted to gallop. We galloped and I finally got used to the movement of the horse and realised that I could enjoy this on a regular basis - however I don't think riding schools in the UK would allow me to do what Joe was making me do, first time on a horse, minimal instruction and full blown gallop. I can hear the bleeding heart liberal health and safety nazis tapping their self-righteous clipboards now. People like Joe are refreshing; they expect you to enjoy yourself; you know the risks and you have signed a waiver - after than I suppose anything goes. It is a lot more fun.
After a while Diane rejoined us having regained her wind and we headed back to the corral, all the while chatting and laughing, avoiding low branches and looking out for other people. We made it back and as I got down of the horse (slipped and rolled, not realising how tall horses are) I walked about to ease the muscle tension and - yes - I walked like John Wayne. Diane quietly let me know that Joe expected us to sit for a while, chat and have a drink with him. Of course, I agreed. We had plenty of time to meet Frank and to be honest I enjoyed Joe's company and wasn't looking forward to sitting in a bar.
To describe Joe's setup is to describe living at it's most basic. The corral consisted of a parked and fully plumbed Winnebago where Joe lived and worked, the enclosures for the horses including basic stables, a tent set out in the style of the 7th Army circa the American Civil War containing memorabilia from the late 19th and early 20th century, a enclosed cooking fire, flag pole and a newly constructed pagoda that contained a fridge doubling as a mini bar and a barbeque arrangement for cook-outs and hog-roasts. There is a lean-to containing hay and oats for the horses, a telegraph pole that linked Joe to the outside world, a shed holding all the detritus required to care for and ride horses and all this residing in a clearing in the middle of a forest in the Catskill Mountains. You look around and you understand why Joe is such an easy going and happy man, in the spring, summer & most of autumn months he teaches horseriding and arranges horse-trekking and in the winter months he is a skiing instructor. From our conversations he admitted that he was due a lump sum payment from the Army are being disabled out and that this lump sum would be back-dated to 2002, enough for him to buy a condominium in a ski resort and live off the proceeds whilst still being a ski instructor and horseman.
Joe cracked open a Hieneken for him & me, and a diet coke for Diane who was driving. We laughed, chatted, shot the breeze & listened to more of his anecdotes. I explained I was visiting the USA for the first time because of my landmark birthday celebration and Joe lent behind the bar and pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels and two shot glasses, I initially refused but he was insistent and poured out a generous shot of JD - no ice, no water, no mixer - he toasted my good health and we sank our shots. It's been years since I drank JD and I haven't done it seriously since I was a student, the sweetness of the taste in your mouth followed by the shudder as you swallow and then the heat of your breath that makes your eyes water. Down in one and the slammed the glass upside down on the counter surface, to which Joe informed me meant that someone was buying me a drink and I didn't need the barman to refill my shot - I never knew that... So, in good spirits Joe refilled my glass as he was buying me a drink and we toasted old and new friends - again, down in one. Another bottle of beer made a surprise appearance. More laughing, chatting, and a quick review of the photographs taken that day. I felt as welcome and at home as I did when I was sat in Diane's front room and I also felt happy for Diane because here was another friend she had in America, it made me worry less about her being lonely - which is surprising stupid of me because she's lived in America since the early 90's. The bottle of JD came out again & for the last time as I opened my third beer, this time toasting the Queen. Once finished, and more stories relayed of Diane and her horseriding capabilities & her exploits in college - a prid quo pro situation between Joe & I - we were reluctantly informed by Diane that it was time to head home to meet Frank in the bar; we stank of horse & whiskey; we were battered & bruised; we were tired and stiff; but we were also happy.
Joe & I made our farewells and we headed back to Carmel to freshen up and head back out to the bar.
We were running late as usual as Frank's more and more frantic calls attested to, but we eventually returned to the house and had just enough time to change clothes, wash our faces and get back out. It was time to visit a genuine roadside bar and sample New York State nightlife - which differs from NYC nightlife of course.
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