Ride the High Country

Khameronn suddenly stopped and turned his head to gaze down the valley. I couldn't see anything in the darkness, it was Four A.M., but Khameronn's big, light gathering eyes were watching something that moved through the grass in the distance. Was he watching a herd of elk, or was he seeing ghosts of the horse-soldiers who died here? We were standing in the middle of the Cumbres Pass battlefield. All was quiet now, but in 1848 it thundered and the ground shook as an odd alliance of Utes and Apaches fell on the fledgling, Union Army's mapping expedition. How do you cock and load when your body's gone limp and your hand is trembling. Better, perhaps, to give your horse its head, grip hard his mane, and let him stampede in a wild gallop out of danger. I shifted my weight in the saddle to urge Khameronn on up the ridge and leave behind the creepy valley with its ghosts. The night air was fresh and hard, my body prickled with energy to meet the cold; the rhythm and stim of Khameronn's gait lit my spine with pleasureful energy. As we climbed the ridge on the ancient trail, the stars were bright; the dark forest enchanted; my heart was content, and my soul sang with the elder spirits. I thought of the millions of people working their lives away in the city, riding the schreeching Subways, smelling the urine in the streets, breathing the stinking air so that they could sit inside the 72 degree cubicle. Yes, my thighs were chilled, yes it was a bit uncomfortable to hold myself errect in the saddle. I heard the lonely hoot of a Great Horned Owl in the distance, and felt a kinship with him. I was alone, but I felt so good, so wonderful, I patted Khameronn's neck and his ears turned to listen to me. "Hmmmmm, Khams, isn't this wonderful?" Khameronn answered, "Hmmmmfp! Better, if I could get this monkey off my back and find a mare to hang-out with." Last night, as I lay in the grass in my sleeping bag, after Khameronn had his fill of the rich mountain grass, he stood over me, protecting me. Before I fell asleep, I patted his face and looked up at his head, shrouded by the stars. He was the dragon of myth, my friendly beast. Horses were perfectly designed animals, any smarter and he'd simply lay down and roll me off of him. Any dumber and horses would be extinct. Khams stumbled in the dark and I slapped his neck, "Pick up your hooves!"

"Hmmmmmfp!, Khameronn was thinking, I could buck right now and get this monkey off my back. But then, when I was a foal, this monkey bought me, and took me out of that box stall that was killing me. He feeds me the good grain and alfalfa in the winter, gives me shelter from the storms. He lets me out in the pasture every day to see the mare. The monkey rides me all the time in the sunny mountains with the clear, clean mountain streams, and now I'm strong and hearty. I guess I won't buck him off just yet." Khameronn lunged across a creek and I felt the surge of a thousand pounds of muscle between my legs. It felt so good to be one with the beast, to fly the dragon.

We finally made it to beautiful Emerald Lake. At 10,000 feet the air was clean and clear. In an Aspen grove, near shore, I highlined Khams to two trees and got out his grain, which he always highgraded, and his Alfalfa pellets, which he saved for last. After eating, he'd be content to stand in the sun. The lake shore was only fifty feet away. I couldn't help from being excited as I got out my fly-rod and hastily put it together. Sure enough, as I stepped out onto a boulder I could see several seventeen inch trout patrolling the shoreline. I eased my naked legs into the frigid water and waded out. A hybrid cutthroat/rainbow, the trout were beautiful as they rose for my dry fly. A smile beamed from my face as I pulled another one in. An eagle screeched watching me from atop a Ponderosa. I laughed, nobody else was here, I was alone on the lake. That's the advantage of a horse doing the work for me. My only competition was an eagle. The July morning was cool, no wind yet, the trout tastey, my horse content, what more could I ask for?

Your main purpose on Earth, is to experience it in all its splendors. Not just with your eyes watching some TV show, but with your entire soul, plugging in to the real world on many levels---true, deeply felt experiences with nature is the core of life. This is health and happiness. If you spend most of your time, stuck in some office working your life away with the mundane crawl of time, trying to make ends meet, you're just not going to be happy. Your soul will become bitter and bored. Worse yet, your health will fail and you will shrivel-up and die of cancer, get an auto-immune disease, or clog your arteries with fat. Get in a boring rut and your soul will phase itself out. Your soul will crave to get the monkey off its back. It will make you feel bad, frustrated and unhappy. Escape or die. Join the wolf-pack. Run with us.

North to Alaska!

The wind rose as I edged out into the infamous Dixon Entrance. No windward island to protect me, now. The breeze freshened quickly and the swells grew. I looked west at the fetch that extended unbroken all the way to Japan. Two-thirds main, and half jib, the sheets tight, the sails were trim, and I was making nine knots. The hatch was secure, the batteries charged, the depth meter read 425 feet, the GPS indicated Alaska was only fifteen miles away. A sandwich, water bottle, and the hand VHS were stuck into my inflatable vest. I was ready. I could see the Islands way-off in the distance, the safety of Lincoln Channel was only a thousand angry waves away. It was like riding a bronc, only there wasn't any eight second buzzer to end the tossing and bucking seas. But, I had confidence in the 24 foot trimaran. After hauling all the way from Colorado to Prince Rupert, there was no way I would quit now. The Corsair rode the waves like a champion and I was kept high and dry. The rigging sang in the wind as the sailboat surged up and down the swells. I grinned at the green water that swirled past the hull. This was the ultimate experience. Sailing on a fair wind in salt water, commanding a trim, pocket tri-hull. After an exhilarating hour of surfing the swells, I could see that the islands were much nearer. Soon, I'd be nestled in between them, on a secure anchor. Exotic sea birds would alight in my rigging and commune with me. Sea Otters would run around and play on my decks. Still waters awaited me, and some of the best salmon fishing in the world. The end of the Fiord had a few salt-water lakes that were stupendous, wilderness areas. All alone in the Misty Isles, I could keep myself happy and entertained for a week or more. The .308 would keep me safe from the Kodiacs. Then, sailing again, I'd head for Ketchikan. There I'd find a marina and a nice, warm restaurant. My Corsair wasn't a yatch, but it'd do for an average guy like myself. Life was good.

Dance While You Can

I cranked her into an outside turn and spun myself, too. We came back together in one flowing movement, took hands into the sweetheart position, and I used a direct lead to set-up a crank. We spun in perfect harmony. Dancing with a woman was one of the greatest experiences in life. When it flows you're on cloud nine, almost as good as sex and it lasts a lot longer. Barbara could swing her hips in a Cha Cha that would bang your brain blind. I knew she was a single Mom with a couple of kids at home. I had been listening to Michael Savage explain how you could pick up liberal women in the bars, if you learned how to talk like a liberal. I thought, "Why not try it." Barbara was a school teacher so I said to her, "Yeah, you know I'm a liberal democrat." She said, "Really? I didn't know that." I said, "Sure, I love socialism because with welfare women stay home and raise the kids while men are free to play." Damn, she almost bit my head off. Like that was sore subject with her. I was momentarily confused, I mean, isn't lone control of the family, at men's expense but without men's interference, what the women's libbers wanted? Why did they vote for Democrats? I tried to quickly redeem myself and said, "Yeah, you know I love gayboys and gay marriage, because that means more women for us real men." She whacked me and stormed off the dance floor. I went back to my table to take a couple of swigs from my "one beer for the night." Then, I did a nice West Coast swing with Margaret, and thanked her then headed outside to clear my head. A friend, Tom, was talking to a woman by the front door of the club. I had seen her before but she wasn't one of my regular dance partners. I walked over to them and realized she was talking with an accent which I commented on. Tom said, "Oh, this is Jennifer, she's French." "Oh," I said, "well, I guess you Frenchies should be kissing our American derrieres for saving your French butts in the big one (World War II). She was so surprised at what I said that all she could say was, "Fuuuuukaaa Yuuuuuu". Man, oh, man. I had struck-out again. Luckily the Muslim fella, Jaadaan rescued me. He pulled me away and said, "You know Chris, you have problems with women. You should join the Muslim religion. We dominate our women. We make them wear the burhka." "Well, Jadaan," I said, "I was really looking for the religion what make women wear the lingerie." He said, "Oh, but when you die for Allah, you go to paradise with the 99 virgins." "Well, yeah," I said, "but do they have to stay virgins? Jaadaan, that wouldn't be paradise for a fella like me." Jadaan got mad and walked away after saying, "You know Chris, you ask too many questions." "Yeah, yeah," I called after him, "I'd be asking why are we taking this airliner to New York, when we could be heading to the Bahamas." I went back inside and asked Mary to dance. I smiled at her while we did a slinky west coast swing, but I kept my mouth shut. She was in a good mood and let me do a slime dance with her. That was great fun. The following week, I was at the Paramount again. Sunday night was country night, though the dance group was also into Latin. After doing a couple of Cha Cha's, I was walking off the dance floor and saw the Frenchie. So I went up to her, grabbed her hand, held it up to look closely and said, "What? Tall and beautful and no wedding ring? What's the problem." Well, for some reason, she took offence at that. She hauled me off the dance floor and said, "I have a bone to pick with you." She told me off and I had to apologize about a hundred times. I tried to turn the conversation away from my shortcomings and started asking a lot of questions about her. I got to dance with her a few times. When it was time to leave, I said, "Let me walk you out." I figured that I'd be the gentleman to make up for some of my lackings. We gabbed in her car for an hour. Then went to a late night restaurant and gabbed another hour before calling it a night. The following week, I was back at the Paramount, so was she. We danced a bunch of times together, then, when I walked her out she asked me out. I was dumbfounded. "Of course, I'd love to go out dancing with you, just the two of us." On the way home, I had to think long and hard to figure that one out. I guess that my provacative mouth engaged her, got her a bit mad, but her anger overrode her own inhibitions. "I'm not going to let this jerk walk away from me. He's not going to get-off that easily." She told me, on our tenth date, before we went to bed for the first time, "You know, Chris, I'll never marry you, or even live with you. I have my own house." I said, "Well, I guess I'll just have to accept that." Meanwhile, I was thinking, yeah, plenty of time to ride my horse and motorcycle. Damn, she's every man's dream.

Too bad, that with socialism. We don't have more time and energy to do this sort of thing. If you liked reading these stories, email me for my book, "The Hospital Nurse", which is a combination of hospital experiences, medical knowledge, sailing, dancing, and horseback riding experiences. It's fun to read and full of knowledge and insight.