Horsing July 1 - 22, 2007 How to obtain the honorable title of Experienced Drivers™ + we have upgraded from ground to saddle

	NO, MY! Lisa can quite well take care of herself.

Kids were fondly remembering our trip to the Sierra, but not every day is a holiday. For the following two weeks our base stayed at our home, and we got out only for small excursions. Lisa had excelled right during 4th of July celebrations at Tom's school. She grabbed a toy car just for herself and when another, slightly older girl attempted to push her out of the sought-after vehicle, Lisa defended herself with an uncompromising "NO, MY!" and by dramatic closing of the car's door. So it would seem that despite all the hanging on her mommy, Lisa can well look after herself.

	Tom in his dream vocation of a truck driver

On one weekday I took the kids to Boardwalk in Santa Cruz. We went together with a friend of mine, so I had somebody to chat with and the children could enjoy a company of a two and half year old girl. Tommy fell in love with a merry-go-round which pretended to be a line of tank trucks. Lisa, strangely, was rather afraid of the carousels, and I even had to ride with her once.

On one Sunday in Shoreline Park, we had rented a pedal boat to go about the lagoon. Neither I nor Sid had ever ridden such thing before in our lives, and thus we were relatively unpleasantly surprised how very uncomfortable way of propulsion it is. The pedaling seats are apparently designed for hobbits -- even I was in danger of kicking out my teeth with my knees; how Sid had managed to squeeze into the minuscule space, shall remain a mystery to me. Nevertheless our kids had enjoyed this outing on a boat and we have learned to ask for a better vehicle next time.

	Sometimes the kids just stop fighting and know how to share.

Then one day, Suchýš had arrived, and began his campaign to get us on horses. For years we have been going on trips to Kennedy Meadows, which, besides breathtaking views, also contains a Pack Station. During our hikes on the trail we had often seen large groups on horseback, but the looks of the riders had deterred us from making a personal experience. Tired, sour faces did not indicate that these people would be enjoying anything; when you add a great cloud of dust risen from several dozens of hoofs, it simply did not have much of an appeal. Still, Suchýš maintained that riding a horse is fun, and we succumbed. Though, he had also mentioned by the way that the greatest fun of all is to watch and take pictures of beginners, and a dark suspicion had a few times flashed through my mind, but what would one not do to entertain a friend?

	Eating dust clouds at Kennedy Meadows makes you quickly realize why did all those western movie cowboys need their fashionable scarves

I still did not feel like going to Kennedy Meadows; I had my eyes set on a pack station that I had spotted on the other side of Sonora Pass -- Leavitt Meadows. Alas, I could not reach them on the phone, and no reply came to my Thursday e-mail, so I booked us three horses on Kennedy for Saturday at eleven thirty. Suchýš wanted to drive out of the Valley by Saturday early morning, Sid and I opted for Friday evening departure and camping near Strawberry.

I think that on our way there we had earned an honorary title of EXPERIENCED DRIVERs (Suchýš had earlier become an experienced hiker™, when he had thrown his boots into a mountain creek, in Nevada wilderness). We, being quite seasoned, had driven out with half a tank, planning to pump gas somewhere along the way. First we did not want to buy it near a freeway (confusion, high price), so we left civilization with a warningly blinking hungry eye, approaching East Carter, thinking that we would get our last chance in Farmington, a town marked on the county and country roads of Central Valley like a local metropolis. Yup, Farmington consists of one four-way stop intersection, one bar (closed by the time we got three), and a fire station.

	Kennedy Meadows Trail

We were still not regarding our situation with enough responsibility to meekly return to the highway. Instead, we had continued farther into the Central Valley and Sierra Nevada foothill. East Carter partially lifted our glum spirit -- this dirt road, which had last time been decorated by a broken toddler pool, had acquired into its collection, a used recliner/sofa set and an overturned refrigerator. Sid noted that were we to run out of gas there, our overnighting spot would include all the comfort. Nevertheless our wagon kept bravely driving on, despite the fuel gage three times wrapped around its peg. A crisis was erupting.

	Suchýš on a horse.

We both remembered that there was NO GAS PUMP at the next town, Knights Ferry, but we were hoping to perhaps find the bar open, where local experts could advise us. Knights Ferry is most likely a very orderly village -- at eleven PM, every light was extinguished. In the last moment we had noticed two people sitting on a front porch. I slammed the brakes and sent Sid out to negotiate. A jovial local chap gave us no good news -- they'd drive for gas either seventeen miles to Oakdale, or twenty five to Sonora. We made clear to him that we had no chance to last neither distance, now that our empty signal had been on for some fifty miles, and the good man admitted to perhaps having five gallons of gas for his lawn mower, offering to save our lives (or, at least, our marriage -- for who's fault is it when we run out of gas? The lady driver, or the vehicle commander?). Indeed, we could also overnight at Knights Ferry and call Suchýš in the morning, where we were, and ask him to bring us some fuel -- yet we had already promised him greenhorns on horseback and one should not go to extremes when trying to amuse a friend.

Either way, there was no need for dramatic solutions -- we let our wagon drink from this nice man, filled up in Sonora and shortly after midnight we crawled into our metal bunks near Strawberry. The night was crystal clear and all the stars were out in the clean mountain air. So many bright dots that one could only spot familiar constellations with great difficulty.

	Bristlecone pine

In the morning, we had reached Kennedy Meadows before ten. Just to be sure, we asked at the horse shack whether we could start earlier, but all trips were booked. Time for plan B - breakfast. I know that I had complained many times about American morning cuisine, but this time we truly appreciated some serious food. Sid had a steak, thus he failed to groan all day about being hungry.

	A pine torso

After eleven am we had signed a long sheet about us getting on horsebacks on our own risk, each paid twenty dollars, and the pack station crew began to load us, one after another, on our horses. An old man ahead of me needed a stool and altogether looked like he'd prefer to use a crane to get in a saddle like a knight in full armor. Despite my fears, I had mastered getting on my horse just fine. Sid was next -- again, no accident, but they did offer him the stool. Suchýš was last, but he was our expert, and we had not expected any show.

Fortunately there were only six of us in our group, and so the dust was not as thick as with bigger groups. Even so, we took much advantage of our "mouthpieces". We own these fabric hoses that you slide your neck into, and in winter they can serve instead of a scarf, or a turtleneck, out of which only your face sticks out. Riding horses, we put them over our noses and mouths, and so we looked like western villains going to hold up a bank (only western villains don't sit on their horses like bags of potatoes on a donkey). Unfortunately, in this Kennedy Meadows approaches an amusement park -- they let anyone who pays ride their horses, and I sensed that the crowd fatigue was showing on both the personnel and the animals. Basically, no-one would explain anything to us; in the end, it was Suchýš, who at least suggested how to sit in a saddle and what to do. All horses shuffled on, each with its mouth at the tail of the previous steed, which bears no fun for the rider (due to dust). Both Sid's and my horses had decided at about half the track that it was time for a snack, and royally ignored our prompting. Our guide started shouting from around a grove, what's up with us; eventually it was Suchýš again, who came to help and moved our lazy quadrupeds by some vigorous slap.

	High altitude desert in seemingly warm and colorful rays of the setting sun

Our ride had lasted one and a quarter hour, and I think it was just enough. Suchýš was rather mildly disappointed for we had walked away from the corral without any help, and without any obvious complaints. We agreed to meet in Bridgeport and drove out. During the brief crossing of the pass, Sid and I exclaimed to each other, how we had liked the horse ride and how we would love to try something less touristy than Kennedy Meadows, and so we stopped at Leavitt Meadows. They told us there that they were booked out for Sunday, though. Then, Sid had found at the Bridgeport grocery store, a brochure advertising McGee Pack Station between Mammoth and Bishop, which was our next stop anyway..

	Our beautiful campsite above Bishop.

Jennifer, the owner of the station at McGee, told us they were closed on Sunday morning, too, but when she saw our disappointed faces, she dialed a number to a competition near Bishop. Eastern Sierra really is a different world -- people are nice, accommodating and outgoing. Using Jennifer's phone, we arranged for a ride with Rainbow Packing Outfitters and continued through Bishop to the Ancient Bristlecone Pine Forest.

We had seen these long-living pine trees a few year ago, but still it was nice to return into the frosty silence of the high-altitude desert. Not that it would really freeze in the middle of July here, but we had driven from hundred degrees in four thousand feet down in Bishop to eleven thousand feet and fifty two degrees. We ate our sandwich among the pines and waited for Suchýš to catch up with us, as he fell behind while taking some pictures. For sunset we drove a few miles farther, to the end of the (dirt) road -- and almost missed it. He was not there, either -- we declared him mature and able; we would try to call him later back in Bishop, where a cell signal was to be expected.

We made the call in Bishop, exchanged instructions for our morning horse-riding appointment, and drove west on Hwy 168 to South Lake, looking for a spot to sleep at. Given the fact we were practically lost in a completely dark outdoors at eleven in the evening, we had parked on the edge of a beautiful meadow with a bubbling creek -- probably the only decent spot between the desert and the mountains. Millions of stars were out again, and my chronic back pain had disappeared for the first time in several years; even in our cramped room inside our wagon I felt incredibly comfortable and cozy.

	They had visibly beautiful horses at Rainbow Packing Outfitters (Hippos, too).

We managed to fit a morning coffee into our schedule, while I quickly scanned a few pages of my freshly obtained last volume of Harry Potter. Then it was time to check in at Rainbow Packing Outfitters. Right from the beginning, it was quite different from Kennedy Meadows. Young cowboys bustled around us, helped us adjust our saddles and stirrups, and made our horses ready. We had received a minute crash course in horse riding -- and a lecture that their horses respond to reins movement on their necks, and it should not be necessary to yank at their bits; when riding uphill, one must lean forward, while downhill one must bend back; Minnie (my horse) and Blue (Suchýš's) try their riders for a snack (which we should not allow), and on the other hand we should let the horses drink from a stream, if they want to.

	Where are you?

The difference was showing in horses as well -- instead of a resigned animal, standing still with its nose by the butt of the next horse, our quadrupeds walked about, snorted, and overall behaved like living beings and not like wooden figures on a carousel. Once we had crossed the first meadow, it became obvious why we had received instructions about hills. Our narrow trail steeply rose through a rocky slope and our horses were very busy. In one moment we had found ourselves on a rocky ledge -- hundred feet of cliff face up, the other side a hundred foot drop-off. Minnie was showing mild interest in a dog barking down in the valley and was sticking her head on a long neck out into the void. I recalled Suchýš's claim that a horse was supposed to be too smart to fall off a cliff, yet I was not too comfortable.

Sid's large horse, Chance, had been apparently selected specially with regard to his above-standard load, and did not fall back or slow us down. At a lake view my Minnie did not want to just stand there and she traveled with me here and there; Blue had receive a bite in his butt from her. When we turned around and back, our horses noticeably sped up -- they knew quite well they were going home and back to food. If I found the way up demanding, going down was more difficult still. Keeping bent back to prevent flying over Minnie's head, I held on mostly with my knees, for I had to somehow bounce the impacts of going down the stony stairs.

	Minnie had to watch out where to step, and I had to make sure not to fly over her head.

Minnie was a very nice horse -- and very communicative. In a sharp contrast to my apathetic beast of burden at Kennedy Meadows, Minnie was interested in yours truly, kept turning her head to me, before each big step she waited until I settled in the saddle, and overall took very good care of me. She was ready to respect even very fine hints, and all that for an occasional patting. I certainly don't regret my first ride -- and I can recommend Kennedy for an absolute beginner like myself. Their prices are mild, the setting is beautiful and their horses are quiet. Had we come first to Rainbow, perhaps we would be unpleasantly caught by the difficulty of the trail. This way we at least had a faint notion of what may await us, and we could appreciate all the Rainbow had offered above and beyond.

	We had to trust Suchýš's claim that a horse is too smart to fall off of a cliff.

After two hours of very off-road riding I had had a problem to dismount -- my legs had stiffened up into a big O, and making them walk upright was rather painful. Thus Suchýš was finally rewarded by a look at two greenhorns, whimpering and hobbling the twenty some yards to their car in an embarrassing manner, suggestive of a need to change one's underwear. That, of course, was not needed, but stretching our legs back into human shape was in order. A simple exercise was all it took, and I could walk normally again.

I must say that at the end of this trip, we were really looking forward to getting home, in a shower, and our bed. We had managed to physically exhaust ourselves, and my head began to ache from all those rapid elevation changes. Over the course of the weekend, we had driven 870 miles in our car, three hours on horseback, we changed climate zones and altitudes. Our home is at sea level, Strawberry is in 7000 feet, Sonora Pass at almost ten thousand, Bishop at four, ancient pines at eleven, then back down to Bishop's four thousand feet, up to Rainbow at nine, back to four, and then over almost ten thousand feet pass, then back home to zero. Still it is surely better to be tired than to feel like never doing anything.

Sid on a bridge at Kennedy Meadows	Thirst	My nice Minnie	Sid and Trevor at a lakeview lookout	Carol at the lookout	I felt that my legs would forever stay () shaped.

Copyright © 2007 by Carol & Sid Paral. All rights reserved.