White Stallion Ranch is gorgeous but it has proved to me once and for all that I am definitely NOT a cowgirl. Or even much of a tomboy.
I am definitely a City Slicker. A Dudette. A Couch Rider, not a Horse Rider.
I just got passed for a "fast ride" but my ribs were so sore that I released Bailey into the wild.
So instead I opted for the three hour hike up Mesa Verde the following morning. Made the mistake of wearing my boots, which were actually fine for the first hour or so. I managed to avoid the twenty or thirty species of cactus all out to get us. But then we started climbing. The mountain got steep and slippery and our guide Karen (above) told me I'd have trouble going down. It's always harder going down a mountain. I began to have qualms. Then when my left boot started rubbing my heel, I had some more qualms. The other five members of our party (all stiff-upper-lip Brits) said they were happy to go on, but when I saw what we were in for I said: "I don't think I can do this."
Yes, I wussed out.
Totally.
(But here is a secret. Almost every member of our party quietly thanked me afterwards.)
Still, I now know I am better off being a writer in London than a tomboy cowgirl.
Guess that means I'll have to change the name of this blog.
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