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| Clearly a case of horse love |
My father didn’t approve of my cycle touring, believed it cramped the innards. Urged me to take up rowing. No chance! A cold day in Hell, etc, etc.
I didn’t expect daughter PB (professional bleeder) to share my interests: ski-ing, rock climbing, arguing with Frenchmen in their mother tongue, writing sonnets and – latterly – singing. But I was astonished at how much one of her leisure pursuits diverges from my world. Horses, for goodness sake.
Once, a horsewoman of my acquaintance offered to let me ride her mount. Refusing her was one of the most important decisions I’ve ever made. Horses are just too heavy and too slyly wayward. Saddling up would have been as suicidal as joining Boris Johnson in a two-man bob-sleigh team.
As a girl PB took riding lessons. More recently she started making monthly contributions towards a share in a race horse. And not just any old nag. This one – called Tikka, short for Matika – is stabled near Newmarket, the cradle of horsiness in England.
It’s not just viewing four legs from afar. From time to time there are champagne receptions. Chats with the jockey. And a sense of living beyond one’s means. These things I could manage.
But not the dark side. Race horses need exercise and often there’s a free saddle going. As a retired journalist, knowing a little about lots and lots, I’m aware of the jargon. There’s trot, then canter, then… PB fills me in. “Race horses want to gallop. And, yes, it’s exhilarating.”
I’ve ridden large capacity motorbikes at speed. But they’re man-made and man-controlled. As far as I know few horses come with brakes. And there’s the snorting and the thudding of steel-tipped feet. Two minds instead of one, plus the capacity to disagree. Far better as glue.
Why read a blog and not comment? You make it sound very glamorous, and yes it is. And muddy. I love this post and oh; that I could argue with French men in their native tongue
ReplyDeletePB: I'll change your blogonym
ReplyDeleteTo all and sundry: PB ceased to be a bleeder (ie, a phlebotomist) many years ago. But the blogonym endures.
ReplyDeleteAh, thank you for that explanation about PB being a professional bleeder, a phlebotomist. My step-daughter has had horses almost all of her life. She used to show them at local fairs. No racing, just always loved them for their beauty and rides. I just appreciate them from afar.
ReplyDeleterobin andrea: Very much a subjective matter, horses' beauty. Fine from afar (as is your preference) but the closer one gets to that ponderous cylindrical head the more lopsided they become.
DeleteMy wife, when much younger took up learning to ride and invited me to come along one day. The stable owner offered me a ride. "She is a very gentle girl and you will love it", she entreated.
ReplyDeleteNo way. like you, I am a motorcyclist and the control of these is in your own hands. A horse has no brakes, no throttle control and, as you say, has a mind of its own. My bikes do not take off or shy at black bags blown across their paths or stop abruptly when seeing on coming vehicles - also it seems an awful long way to the ground. At least, on a bike, you are closer to the ground."Between the saddle and the ground mercy I prayed and mercy found".
T.E.Lawrence is on record, writing, “A skittish motorbike with a touch of blood in it is better than all the riding animals on earth, because of its logical extension of our faculties, and the hint, the provocation, to excess conferred by its honeyed untiring smoothness.”
I'll stick with that.
Avus: I suppose you could say TE proved his point: swerving to avoid a butcher's boy on a delivery bike, and doing his head no good at all. In daydreaming moments I wonder if Brough Superiors were the ugliest bikes ever manufactured. Not that I'm terribly enthusiastic about Harleys or Indians given that their riders always appear to be resting in armchairs.
DeleteI suppose if crash helmets had been compulsory back in his day (they were definately infra dig then except on the race track, anyone wearing one for ordinary motorcycling was ridiculed as , "playing at racers") he may well have survived. But probably the best time and place for him to die at 47 has he was not a happy bunny after leaving the Air Force.
DeleteHow much I agree with your taste in bike design. Broughs, Harleys, Indians were ugly - the former was marketed as "The Rolls Royce of motorcycles" and very highly priced. It sold on snob value.
The comment below came from Sandi Nagle, but emerged elsewhere. I'm having email problems.
ReplyDeleteYes, race horses love to run! My parent's cottage had a stable across the road. Their main clientele was from a bible camp down the way that was only in session Tuesday-Sunday. And, no horses were ridden on Sunday???? Anyway, the horses would be in sore need of calming down before the campers came back, so on Mondays I would get to ride bareback while leading reins for two more horses on the side...for FREE! My usual horse was an ex-trotter racehorse, who got kicked out for breaking and taking off, which he continued to do at the stable. Exhilaration might be described as the combination of fear and stupidity, for clearly galloping across fields leading horses while bareback was just that! I hadn't thought about that for eons--almost 60 years. But it made me smile!
Sandi: I've always wondered about bible camps - do they live in tents? If so, why? As to breaking, do you mean braking? Not coming apart at the seams, rather decelerating.
DeleteI suppose I shouldn't poke fun at wouldbe centaurs.I climbed rock faces, a certain route to heebie-jeebies. Fell off a couple of times too.
Late review and answer out of turn - "breaking" as in breaking stride. Trotters are supposed to trot, only - at least while racing. They mustn't gallop, pace. Deviation from the allowed stride leads to disqualification.
DeleteMikeM: Trotting is comparatively rare in Britain. The horse racing season is divided into two: summer (roughly) - "flat" racing on grass; winter (roughly) National Hunt racing where the grass course is complicated by forcing the horses to jump over a series of fences and hedges. The "Everest" of the NH season is the Grand National, a much longer steeplechase, often with as many as forty horses; fatigue sets in and many jockeys fall off. Latterly this event has become somewhat notorious since impromptu executions of horses, damaged in spectacular falls, were a regular occurrence. As a gesture to equine propriety makeshift tents were erected to deflect the attention of ghoulish spectators. I must confess I know very little about horse sport.
DeleteBrilliant post - brilliant comments. I loved "Things I Can't Do" as well. Keep crushing it Robbie!
ReplyDeleteMikeM: "Crushing": a new and unexpected word of encouragement. Thanks for that.
ReplyDeleteLoving all of this! Post and comments!!
ReplyDelete