#511: The Day a Bike Looked Sexy

The agitated horse lifted his front legs into the air.

In 60 seconds…I was expected to get on him and ride.

Scary.

The truth is…

I’m not a horse-riding rookie, but I wouldn’t consider myself a very good amateur rider either. “Keyo” was the horse identified as being appropriate for a rider with my level of experience.

But looking at Keyo now…

I wished hard I had humbly said, “It’s my first time.“

No freakin’ way did I like seeing the horse I was about to mount being “spooky” while the vaquero was tugging his bridle and getting him ready for me.

“Holy sh*t!” I yelled silently.

10,000 pinpricks of fear started dancing in flash-mob style on my insides.

_______

I’m still in Mexico.

After the unique experience of looking like an Arabian Sheik and riding a giant camel named “Hades “on an ocean beach, I thought it would be relaxing to go on a country horseback ride.

I had zero intention of pushing myself outside of my comfort zone.

But THAT is what I ended up doing.

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When fear strikes, my brain goes into immediate “super solve” mode, and I start figuring out how to safely navigate my predicament. With this five-alarm moment, my brain began begging: “Please ride the bike instead!“

Because I did have a choice.

Bike or horse?

Twenty-five yards away, the countryside bike riders were strapping on helmets, sizing up mountain bikes and sitting butts on seats. Initially, I didn’t choose that option because getting dirty and dusty on a mountain bike and riding at the pace of the slowest rider in the group had zero appeal.

I was enthusiastically thinking “Ride the horse!” days before this day began.

But now…

When I saw Keyo bucking as if he was new to this person-on-his-back thing… the get dirty, dusty bike option started looking sexy. I made a move to unstrap my horse-riding helmet…and put on a less-panicky bike helmet instead.

And then something stopped me.

I stopped ME.

“If you don’t get on the horse, you’ll regret it.“

My internal shouts to make a fast escape on a safe bike were muted. I hooked my left foot into Keyo’s stirrup and pulled my right leg over his tall back.

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Although I soon discovered Keyo loved trotting fast and wasn’t exceptionally keen on walking slow, he delivered a heckuva’ day’s adventure.

We crossed fast-moving streams four times that rose to the bottom of his flank and covered my ankles…and he gave me a level “10” adrenaline rush when he attacked – both up and down – a super steep sandy incline.

At the end of our ride…

Keyo 100% deserved his well-earned apple reward…and I was very happy to have my two sloppy-wet sneakers on the ground when I gave it to him.

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Adventures.

Never do I advocate living life riding “bucking horses”…but never in 1,000 years will I advocate building permanent residence on “Comfort Zone Drive.”

The privilege to live adventures is living.

Don’t talk yourself out of something before the something can be lived.

Sometimes you just gotta’ tell your brain to “Shut up!‘

Sometimes you just gotta’ get on the horse.