Sagabite

Neal sends in this story about the horse riding trip from Las Vegas:

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When I scheduled a trip to Las Vegas in the summer of 2004, I thought it might be nice to spend a few hours away from the casinos and lights. I went online to see what might be available to do nearby, and settled on a sunrise horseback ride at the Sagebrush Ranch in the Red Rock Mountains.

It was a nice deal. They would pick me up at 4:30 am in front of my hotel and drive me to the ranch. After the ride and breakfast, they would deliver me right back to the door of my hotel. I could be back at my favorite blackjack table by 10! Whoo hoo!

I had never been in the desert-in fact I had never been west of Indiana-so I was really looking forward to this little adventure.

The ride was set for the 3rd day of the trip, and despite almost non-stop partying, I was feeling quite up for it. The van ride out was taken up by filling out various liability forms and a short questionnaire so they could be sure to give me a horse that matched my size and experience. My horse was an Arabian mare named Cheyenne.

By first light, everyone was in the saddle and we were ready to go. The young cowboy who helped me settle on Cheyenne told me that I would be bringing up the rear. As an aside, he mentioned that although Cheyenne could be a bit of a handful, she would be just fine as long as I let her know who was boss.

As it turns out, there were several reasons why I was “bringing up the rear”. The first reason became apparent as the gap between me and the rest of the riders began to grow larger with every step. All the other horses were moving along in this nice, tight little group. I seemed to be on the back of a horse engaged in some kind of work slow-down.

Clearly, it was time to show her who was “boss”. I made that tongue and teeth sound that seems to work so well in the movies. I tried “giddy up”. I kicked her gently in the ribs. Then harder. Nothing could make this horse speed up; she just kept plodding along at a snail’s pace. I looked up and noticed the rest of the group had stopped and turned in their saddles, waiting for me to catch up. How embarrassing.

“Kick ‘er!” The guide shouted back to me.
“I AM kicking her!” I yelled back.

It was during this first of many games of “catch-up”, that I figured out the second, and probably more important, reason for my position on the trail ride. It started as this weird rumbling between my legs. I felt like I was astride a jet engine readying for take-off.

“Ok,” I am thinking. “Cheyenne has a bit of a belly-ache, and that explains her reluctance to walk at a more normal pace.”

This thought had not even cleared my brain before there was the longest, most thunderous fart I have ever heard. At that point, I was very grateful to be on her and not behind her. More good news, I ’m thinking, is that maybe now that she’s cleared her bowels, things will improve for the rest of the ride.

In reality, it just got worse. After about a half hour of these gastric drum rolls, I alerted the guide about Cheyenne’s non-stop flatulence.

“That’s normal,” was his reply.
I had lost about every ounce of patience by then, and yelled back: “Ok, but CONSTANTLY??!!??”

So, this was my sunrise ride: a sort of jet-propelled crawl.

Everyone made it back in one piece, although we were running a bit late for breakfast. I found a great T-shirt to commemorate my ride: it shows a rider carrying his horse. The only thing missing is a black cloud coming from the horse’s rear end.

Troy told me this funny story about him trying to explain our legal system to a foreigner.  It seems that an American and politics don’t mix:

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Canadians love to discuss American politics:  especially with Americans.  I would be willing to bet that my neighbor helped me shovel snow one day, just so he could pick my brain about whether or not I thought America was ready for a black or female president.

I consider myself savvy when it comes to politics: no expert by a long shot, but fairly well informed.  I have voted in every election since 1976.  I read.  I keep up.

My ignorance of my own political system quickly became apparent when I tried to explain American politics to my Canadian sister-in-law Cheryl.

We were watching primary coverage on CNN in December.  The conversation went something like this:

Cheryl:  “So…what are ‘primaries’ anyway, eh?”
Me:  “Primaries are how the political parties choose their candidates for president.  The candidate who wins the most delegates is the nominee for president from that party.” (An easy one!)

Cheryl:  “What are delegates?”
Me:  “Each state gets a certain number of delegates according to its population.  These delegates go to a convention and cast their votes for one of the nominees.” (I think- two questions and already I am getting confused).

Cheryl:  “Ok…then whoever comes in first is the presidential candidate, and whoever is second is the vice presidential nominee, right?”
Me:  “Well, not necessarily.  The presidential candidate can choose anyone as a running mate.  They could choose me if they wanted to.”

Cheryl:  “Why would they choose you?”
Me:  “They wouldn’t.  The point is they COULD.”  (Couldn’t they?)

Cheryl:  “Why only 2 parties?  Here we have several parties.”
Me:  “We have several as well.  The Green Party, for example.  Or, anyone can run as an independent.”

Cheryl:  “A candidate from the Green Party or an independent could be president?”
Me:  “Well, it would be highly unlikely.  All the 3rd parties do in reality, is draw votes away from one of the 2 dominant parties and make it harder for them to win the election.”

Cheryl:  “Why have them then?”
Me:  “I don’t have the slightest idea.”

Cheryl:  “What are ‘super delegates‘?  And why don’t Michigan and Florida’s votes count for the Democrats?”
Me: “………………..” (Feeling like an idiot, I totally ignored this question.)

Cheryl:  “American elections are just way too confusing.”
Me:  “I couldn’t agree with you more.  Let’s watch some Seinfeld reruns.”