Trail Log: 1-31-2021

 

• Trail: Aguila - State Land
• Miles: 5.5
• Riders: Self - Dan
• Horses: Jack - Drifter - Bullseye Stix
• Dogs: Hank and Wyatt

Notes: Second day of ponying Drifter. I'm blown away at how easy he is to work with. He doesn't pull on the lead or get out of control. Once or twice he thought about getting playful with Jack - who promptly let him know that was not acceptable. The first time ponying - Jack seemed to give him a lot of slack...letting him get out in front or what have you. This time he kept the colt back in proper position (about my right leg) without me having to correct him. 

We went farther than I intended today but he handled it well. We crossed washes - went through brush and over downed cactus logs - he never skipped a beat. 

Trail Log: 1-30-2021

 

• Trail: Aguila - State Land
• Miles: 2.5
• Riders: Self  - Cindy
• Horses: Jack - Drifter and Jimmy
• Dogs: Hank

Notes: First time ponying Drifter! He was a rock star. Cindy had planned to ride on over to Silver Bit to rope. When she found out I was going to try and pony the colt for the first time - she felt it was best to stick around in case things went south. We started out in the arena. He followed right along. I was able to get off and back on without Cindy's help while she went to saddle up Jimmy. We headed on out to the desert and the rest is history. I think he's going to be a really nice horse. He's confident and thinks about things without freaking out. He's a keeper. 

Trail Log: 1-22-2021

•  Trail: Aguila - State Land
• Miles: 11.29
• Riders: Self - Randy
• Horses: Jack - Woody
• Dogs: Hank and Wyatt

Randy and Woody

Notes: I'm logging two rides here. I can't remember the date on the first trail ride I took Randy on. We went 6.2 miles that day and 5.09 the next. Teri lent us Woody for him to ride. I doubt he'll be running out to buy a horse anytime soon - but I appreciate that he made the effort. He's a trooper. 

The Prickly Pear Chronicles

1/24/2021: Benson or Bust – again

The forecast showed rain every day for the next week – snow expected on Tuesday. I was scheduled for a Kenda clinic on Tuesday. With the inclement weather expected, I was certain it would be canceled. I messaged Ariel and made arrangements to pick up my colt on Monday.

I decided to forgo borrowing Dave and Cindy's bumper pull and take my LQ. The dogs sleep in the back at night and with the pouring rain, I felt better knowing the colt would be in a more enclosed spot. He'd have to get use to loading in it eventually anyway. No time like the present to get 'er done.

We left for Benson on Sunday. I wanted to beat the Phoenix traffic coming and going. Especially going. This would be the colts first haul and getting slammed around in crazy Phoenix rush hour was not the ideal first trailer ride. Ariel had sent me several potential places to camp close to Benson, including her place. We settled on the Pima County Fairgrounds. The price was right, full hookups were appealing and I could dump the septic while I was there. It turned out to be an excellent choice.

I slept little that night. It was like Christmas Eve knowing I'd wake up in the morning to find an inky black baby horse in my stocking. I dreamed of Black Beauty, The Black Stallion and Bucephalus. Buckskins and blacks have always been my favorite...and I would soon have one of each.

1/25/2021: Trailer full of Nitro.

I messaged Ariel that we were coming and what time would be best for her. She replied back: It gets light at 7:00AM. Come anytime. I like that girl – she's a big reason I decided on the black colt. What interaction he had with humans in his short 8 months was quality spent with Ariel.

Loading went better than I expected. My LQ is higher than average. The colts knees didn't quite reach the step up. If he was going to get in, he was going to have to jump.

 Ariel tried leading him while Randy and I funneled him from the back. He'd almost go in and bump his knees and back out. I didn't want this to be a bad experience for him. I took his lead while Randy and Ariel coaxed him from behind. Ariel eventually lifted one foot onto the trailer bed. While I kept a little pressure on the front end – they pushed him from the back. I expected him to freak out and jump in the middle of me when he did finally decide to come in. Instead, he hoped in, walked to the front and stood looking at me as if he was waiting on me all this time.

We tied the partition open with mule string and bungee. We need not have bothered. He had the thing untied in the first 30 miles. I have a feeling he's going to be a Houdini horse and I'll be finding creative ways to keep him from escaping.

He stood perfectly straight in the middle stall where Jack normally rides. It would do no good to tie it open again so I closed the partition. No time like the present to learn to haul like the big kids.

We checked on him every 30-40 miles. I half expected to find him upside down with all four feet in the air. I he seemed to barely move. I'd find him standing straight and relaxed like he'd hauled a thousand miles.

The rain and wind picked up considerably. By the time we got to Phoenix, it poured so hard the windshield wipers couldn't keep up. The saving grace was the stop and go traffic topped out at 25 MPH. It was like driving under water. I looked nervously at Randy: “I'm glad you're driving. I can't see shit.” He didn't say anything until we got through the 14 miles of Phoenix underwater hell. “I really couldn't see either – but I didn't want to scare you.”

The rain let up and was replaced with a rain snow mix. The big reader boards from Florence to Wickenburg read: 2 Inmates escaped from Florence Prison. Be Alert. Don't pick up hitch-hikers – call 9-1-1. I couldn't help think that any hitch-hikers out in this shit would welcome a free ride back to prison.

It occurred to me as I stared out the windshield at standing water all around – that if it was this wet out – there was no way I was getting back into Crandall's – trailer or not. I messaged Cindy. She said she would keep me posted on the conditions. I knew I needed to find a place to hold up until the storm passed.

I remembered Donna lived in Morristown. I sent her a message asking if she or anybody she knew had a place I could stay the night that had a cover for the colt. She messaged back that her neighbor, Anita, should have room. Thank you Donna, I owe you one.

Anita's assistant came through. With the address plugged into Google, we pulled into Anita's, backed the trailer next to a covered run and prepared to hunker down for the night.

The colt took everything in stride. He walked out of the trailer and into his run, looked around and made friends with the old crippled roping horse in the pen next to his.

Randy had left his over-night bag in his truck back at Crandall's. We un-hooked my truck for him to take back to his hotel. I didn't want to leave the colt alone, and anyway, I had the dogs. I'd stay in my LQ until the storm passed. I listened through the rain that night – the little black colt didn't make a sound.

The next morning, Lorrie, Anita's assistant, moved the crippled roping horse to another pen that had drier ground. She said the horse had shattered a fetlock during a roping run. He appeared to be getting better and she was confident he would fully recover. I pray he does....he's a sweet and kind horse.

I was again surprised at the colts reaction to a new situation. His only companion in a strange place with a strange new owner had just been moved to the other side of the facility. He whinnied a couple of times and that was it.

Cindy messaged early afternoon: “You can come home now!” Yay!! I made sure the colt was content before Randy and I made a run into Tractor Supply to pick up a few things for him. The halter I had bought was too big and I needed a water bucket after leaving mine at Leslie's in New River. I also picked him up a ball similar to one he had in Benson. Even though Cindy said it was safe to come home, I didn't want to chance making a mess out of their driveway with my trailer. Randy and I drove in to Aguila to double check the conditions and set up a pen for the colt. I figured the longer we waited – the more dried out the roads would get.

I wasn't sure if Randy and I could get him loaded without a third person. It took less than five minutes of coaxing, and Randy setting the colts foot in the trailer, before he hoped in, moved up to his stall and waited for me to close the partition. We were on the road and headed for home without incident.

I led the colt into a pen between the roping steers and Jack. He seemed to hit it off with both. In Benson, he was neighbors and friends with a couple of miniature donkey's with pot bellies and huge ears. I guess ten long horn steers and a big buckskin weren't going to phase him.

I suppose I need to stop calling him “the black” or “the colt” eventually. His registered name is “Peplynx Nitro Drifter. Half the time I call him Drifter – the other half I call him Nitro and occasionally a Spanky or Squirt sneaks in there. I guess it doesn't really matter. Jack goes by many names: Jack – Jackson – Handsome – Bubba and occasionally other more choice four letter designations.

Maybe when we are on the trail or out gathering cows, he will be called Drifter. When we are in the arena shooting balloons or other competition – he will be called Nitro...cuz Nitro just sounds bad-ass.

Previously in the Prickly Pear Chronicles: 

 1/23/2021: Dust on the bottle and naked drunk guy 

Cindy rounded up a group of us for a David Lee Murphy concert at the Flying E Dude Ranch in Wickenburg. I had to Google him to find out who he is. The only song I recognized was “Dust on the Bottle.” That doesn't mean much though – I don't listen to much radio other than talk radio. I haven't been to many concerts, either. Toby Keith, Bon Jovi, Kelley Clarkston...and of course my favorite – Dave Stamey. I can tell you this David Lee guy was no Dave Stamey.

We arrived at the Lazy E venue in plenty of time to pick up our tickets at will call...that is if they hadn't lost them. “Don't call us, we'll call you” might be more appropriate. Cindy was forced to scroll through her phone looking for confirmation that she did indeed purchase the tickets. By the time they let us through - the opening act was on stage. Sort of. Most of the time he was falling off the stage totally shit-faced. If he wasn't falling down – he was downing shots of fireball and threatening to take his clothes off.

He couldn't finish a song – but I will say, for as drunk as that guy was, he could still play the guitar pretty well. I imagine he sounded good enough sober...we'll never know. They managed to herd him off stage before he popped the last button on his red flannel shirt. Honestly, I wish they would have let him finish. He wasn't bad looking and the whole thing did have some entertainment value if nothing else.

I had a perfect view of a giant propane torch heater directly in front of David Lee Murphy's head. I tried to envision what he might look like from the google images. He mostly played songs he had written for other artists – some I recognized.

The night looked up a bit when Cindy and Teri scammed a few seats in the VIP section. They had been watching the bouncer throughout the night. As soon as he left his post, those girls seized the opportunity like two seagulls on a discarded Twinky. Now I was able to put a face to the voice. Did no good. Still didn't recognize the dude. He finished off the night with “Dust on the Bottle.” The crowd seemed to appreciate it. Eh...maybe I'm getting old – but I'll take Dave Stamey singing “Come Ride With Me” any day of the week... and he doesn't even have to take his clothes off.

The Prickly Pear Chronicles

 

Jack and Nitro 

1-20-2021: If you can't ride a horse – buy one.

It's been awhile since I took the time to blog. I'm not sure where I left off or what I did between then and now. It's like that here in Arizona. One day blurs into the next. If there were grass in this desert – not much would grow under a snowbirds feet.

The weather has turned south with not much improvement in the future-cast. Riding was limited to a short ride here and there between rain and wind. It's enough to make a snowbird bat shit-crazy...and impulsive. What the hell if you can't ride a horse... buy one.

In reality, the decision to acquire a young colt to raise was not an impulsive one. It was part of my plan when I sold J'Lo. I wanted a horse colt under 1 year to start from the ground up while Jack is in his prime. He's great with baby animals and has towed more horses than a lead mule on a pack string.

I had been looking around in Idaho before coming to Arizona. Nothing caught my eye locally. I figured on looking around when I came south. I followed up on a few leads sent my way and checked on -line. Searching for a horse on-line is not much different than on-line dating. People can say whatever they want and with the proper lighting and angles...every flea-bitten nag can look like the next Brad Pitt of the show ring.

Two weanling horse colts showed promise. A 10 month bay with appendix breeding I'd found on Ranch Horses of Arizona and an 8 month black AQHA ranch bred horse colt listed on Dream Horse.

The bay was located in Mesa – the black in Benson. It was a good opportunity to show Randy, a friend my sister and I grew up with, the old town of Tombstone. Randy is more the Harley riding, four-wheeling, spend the day on the lake fishing kind of guy. He was about to be exposed to more things equine than he new existed...or feared.

I told him from the start that if he was hanging out with me, I'd be throwing him on a horse. He was willing to swing in the saddle under one condition: “You don't get me bucked off in a pile of rocks and I end up paralyzed the rest of my life.” The best I could do was promise to put him out of his misery should that occur. So far he's ridden with me twice. That's once more than most of them.

Before I'd left to check out the colts – Dave asked me at least four times if I wanted to take his bumper pull. I said no. I was too impulsive. He gave me the Dave look: “So – your going to drive four hours there...four hours back....and turn around and do it all again? I again said thanks, but no. I didn't want to be tempted to buy something just because I was there. There is a good chance that Dave knows me better than I thought. He just shook his head and rolled his eyes: “OK young lady...you do what you want.”

I picked Randy up at his motel on my way through Wickenburg and the equine scouting trip began. We stopped in Mesa to check out “Enzo,” the bay appendix. He was playful, curious and inquisitive. He had a beautiful, free gate as he floated around the pen with head held high. Maybe a little too high? Jack can be high headed at times. It's not a deal breaker and it's something that can be overcome for the most part.

Enzo's owner acquired the dam not knowing she was bred. She said they knew of the stud but didn't have pictures of him, only a copy of his papers. Both the dam and sire are nicely bred. Enzo's papers were being processed. Papers don't mean a huge amount to me. I would take conformation over papers. I really liked Enzo. He was personality plus. I think I did the right thing by not borrowing Dave and Cindy's bumper pull. Otherwise I'd bring home every horse between Wickenburg and Tombstone.

I hadn't planned to see the black until the next day. It was still early and patience isn't one of my virtues. I sent the owner, Ariel, a text. She agreed to let us look at him when we got to Benson. I pulled up the black's Dream Horse add to refresh my memory. They called him “Riff.” A head shot that wasn't anything spectacular and his papers. I don't know a lot about blood-lines – but I recognized the majority of his. He was working ranch with some cutting and reining mixed in. I don't believe papers make a horse. I believe the human partner, positive experience and wet blankets make a good horse.

The moment I laid eyes on the inky black with the white star dead center of his forehead, I knew I'd be going back for that trailer. He moved with his head low, ears forward and eyes alert. He has a nice head – not too big and not too small. He's stocky, big boned and will have some height to him if he's anything like his mom and dad. Damn you Dave Crandall. Do you have to always be right?

Ariel rides, breeds and trains ranch versatility. She handled him like the ranch-girl from Texas she is. She didn't try to convince me he was a completely trained 8 month old that could halter himself on command and poop gold nuggets. She taught him to respect her space first and foremost – then to neck catch and lead. He's had his feet trimmed once – which he didn't like all that much - but she said he gives up pretty fast and his first trim was a good experience. He walked in and out of a stock trailer that she fed and watered him in.

He came up to me, let me pet him all over before walking off to retrieve his ball. I guess he wanted me to throw it but was content handing it to me. He was proud of that ball. He reminded me of a black lab retrieving a duck for his hunter. “Look what I brought you!”

I watched him interact with Ariel's little boy. He nuzzled him but didn't offer to bite or hurt him. Ariel said she often finds the boy and colt curled up together in the barn asleep. They call him Riff. I believe that is derived from “Drifter.” I will likely call him Nitro Drifter. Drifter when he's being good. Nitro when he's being bad. Like all good parents, I shall call him by his full name of Nitro Drifter when he's in serious hot water. Once you name something, you are pretty much screwed. I had purchased Nitro Drifter the moment I saw him.

I had to at least make the appearance of not being impulsive. I told Ariel I would let her know by the next day if I'd take him or not. Yeah right...like I hadn't named him already. I took a melatonin in hopes it would help me sleep. It didn't. I was too excited and anxious.

We would spend the next day touring Old Tombstone under the delusion it would give me time to think about it more and possibly talk myself out of any further equine transactions. Yeah right.

1-21-2021: All thing's OK and Details, Laurie May!!

We ate breakfast at “The OK Cafe.” Pretty much everything in modern Tombstone is called “The OK” something or other. I can't say for certain what Wyatt or Doc would have thought about The OK Cafe – but the food was good and nobody got shot in a gunfight. After breakfast, we wandered over to Old Tombstone to look around and do a little shopping.

Last year I bought a Bullhide cowboy hat at the Branding Iron in Old Tombstone. It's the only cowboy hat I've found that I like. I hoped to find another like it. I purchased one of the same brand and similar style. It's not exactly like the original, but that's the way it goes. It never fails...if you find something you really like – you should by a dozen because they will inevitably stop making it. It's one of the unwritten laws of the universe.

Randy migrated to the least likely shop to have existed in the days of Doc Holiday and Wyatt Earp: A Harley Shop. We found several shirts with graphics that incorporated Old Tombstone. One graphic depicted a stage coach being pulled by 4 souped up Harley's. I'm sure Doc rolled over in his grave when the lady rang them up. One shirt cost more than a gunfighter back in the day made in a month. As I sit here wearing mine – I'm thinking they are worth every penny.

You can't go to Tombstone without stopping in at Big Nose Kate's for Margarita's. A One man band entertained the lunch crowd. I smiled when he sang “El Paso.” It was almost as good as me and Blake's drunk karaoke version. Almost.

I made arrangements with Ariel to stop on our way back to see Nitro. Maybe he wouldn't be as gorgeous. Maybe he grew a third eye or huge donkey ears over night! Maybe pigs would fly and I would give up horses and fireball and become a socialist. I confirmed my decision, Ariel accepted my offer and I'd be picking up my new horse next week.

I dropped Randy off at his motel and headed for Aguila more excited than when I left. I had no more than stepped out of the truck when Dan steps out of his trailer: “Laurie May!! Get in here and fill us in on all the details!” Good hell...I assume he's talking about the horse?

They were finishing up dinner when I stepped into their LQ. I didn't realize how hungry I was until Teri made up a plate of pot roast, carrots and potatoes and slid it across the bar to me. I filled them in on all the details, horse details that is, between stuffing my face. I thanked them for dinner and for taking care of my horses and dogs while I was gone.

I was exhausted. There's something about this horse trading thing that wears a girl out. I'm not the best traveler, either. However, Tombstone isn't the worst place a person could visit three times in 2 months. The Prickly Pear Margarita's alone are worth it.

The Prickly Pear Chronicles

 

1-11-2021: Rope that smarty

The arena was full of team ropers working on young horses and fresh cattle. I hung back watching for awhile before practicing on the Smarty. I remembered most of what Dave taught us and caught 9 times out of 10. Soon as somebody rode by the fence close enough I thought they might be watching, I'd miss. I can't back a trailer if somebody is watching and the same seems true for roping. Shooting as well. I lose my focus I guess... and I need all the focus I can muster.

The roping practice started to thin out toward evening. I couldn't stand it anymore and saddled Jack. He's been roped off, but not by me. It wasn't a pleasant experience for him. It was more like initiation by fire: Backed into the box for the first time and blow down the arena chasing a steer 9-0. He did pretty well in the moment. It was the aftermath we'd have to overcome. He would balk going into an arena. Once inside, he was all muscle and gnashing teeth.

He does OK if it's just me swinging a rope around him or from his back. What freaks him out is if others are swinging ropes around him...especially if they come at him on horseback. An old cowboy told me he thought he acted like he'd been roped and hang tied. A method used by a few sick morons as a valid method of horse training. I hope I never find out that happened...for all concerned.

Dave and Dan were following the Smarty Cindy pulled around the arena. Dave coached Dan as he roped the head. My plan was to dink around in the round corral and maybe swing a rope until I got comfortable. I didn't get that far. Dave said I wasn't going to learn to rope running around in a round pen...especially without a rope. I think my heart rate jumped 20 beats per minute. Oh shit. I didn't want to start making excuses. I know how annoying that is. It's always the headers fault, the healers fault – the balloons were too small or the gun broke. Maybe the winds not quite right or perhaps it's a Tuesday. We could do this and if things started going south, I'd stop it there. I was not risking all the work we've done over the last few years to get that horse comfortable in an arena. I trusted Dave – he wouldn't have us do anything to blow him up or get us hurt.

To say I was nervous was an understatement. Jack does not like things being pulled by other things. In my infinite wisdom years ago – I had the brilliant idea of teaching him to pull a cart. I won't go into it here – that's an adventure for another blog. I will say that by the time Jack got free of cart and harness – there was little left of either that would be recognizable.

Cindy made sure to keep the smarty in front of us and Dave trotted along on the healer side without swinging his rope until Jack (and me) were comfortable. Once I felt like we weren't going to die chasing smarty around, Dave started to swing. Jack seemed more intent on biting the Smarty's plastic butt. Dave said that was a good thing and to let him do it.

Once we were comfortable with that – Dan and I took turns while Dave rode beside each of us. Dan and Bullseye would catch the horns and Dave would heal it. I still wasn't comfortable swinging a rope and chasing smarty. Baby steps.

I suppose I could have gone to swinging right off the bat. Maybe he would have been fine. I'm not proud – I admit I was scared. I've gone too fast too many times with that horse in the past. I wasn't going to set him back and have to start all over. He got a little amp'ed up just once with some commotion behind him but came back down fairly quick.

Before the lesson was over, I got up the nerve to rope the stationary Smarty, dally...and pull the rope off the horns. We ended it there on a good note. It might not seem like much to anybody watching, but for me and Jack it was a pretty big step.

It will be interesting to see how we do with live steers. Between Jack's re-activeness and my phobia of all things bovine, we make a most unlikely pair to be trying this team roping thing. However, I don't plan on becoming a world champion team roper. I just want to know that I could go out there and rope a cow should the need arise. I don't know when that would be, but a girl should always be prepared.

In the meantime – I prefer killing balloons. It's just you, your horse and 10 balloons. You get to shoot shit, make lots of smoke and noise and none of the targets have horns.

1-13-2021: Holly Glasses, Batman!

Holy Cow...or should I say Holy Glasses! I had no idea how whacked my depth perception has been for the last 30 years. I'm supposed to wear glasses when I drive but I never do. The lenses in them are so small I can't move my eyes without leaving the prescription part of them. It makes me nauseous. I have two pair I got at the eye doctors and both have the same effect. I thought all this time that was just the way it was with wearing glasses.

Cindy gave me a discount card for on-line glasses called Liingo. If you don't have your prescription, which I don't, you download their app and scan a pair of your old glasses. Then you scan your face and take a few measurements and you can virtually try on all the frames you want.

I was skeptical. My “prescription” is close to 20 years old. With a 100% money back guarantee I had nothing to lose. There was a bit of a mix-up at the Aguila post office which meant my glasses were a long time coming. It was worth the wait.

From the moment I put them on it's like a whole new world opened up. I had no idea what I wasn't seeing! Leaves on trees...butterfly's, yellow daisy's, street signs and being able to discern the difference between a car coming at you or a cow. No wonder my driving scared the shit out of everybody that's ridden with me.

Until today, I've only worn them driving. Dan and Teri set up a practice course in the arena. Halfway through I decided to try shooting with my glasses on. It's a little weird walking in them. I feel like I have stubby little legs and the ground is coming up at me. I thought once I got in the saddle, things would look more normal. Nope. It feels like I'm riding a pony. Everybody in the arena is riding ponies, too! It cracked me up! It's the weirdest feeling. The upside to that is it's not nearly as intimidating riding a pony as it is a tall horse. It's not nearly as far to the ground. Cool! Now to shoot some balloons.

The balloons look huge! They look huge AND really close. It's weird – even though the balloons look closer – it doesn't throw me off much – I just feel like I have more time to aim and shoot...which is awesome. Most of my missed balloons are because I shoot too soon or I don't want to take a long shot. With these glasses on – there are no long shots and I feel like I can wait on my shots because I can still see them when I ride past them. Sweet! I should probably practice in them a few more times before testing that theory in competition – but what the hell.

The downside to this miraculous new vision is dismounting. Just because the ground looks closer – doesn't mean it's moved since you put on your new eyes. It's still way down there. The first time I hopped out of the saddle it felt like the ground dropped out from under me.  

Laughing and pointing at everyone riding super stretched out stubby little ponies is going to have to end before my first competition as well. I've made some good friends in this sport and I'd like to keep them.

Trail Log: 1-10-2021

•  Trail: Harquahala Peak Observatory Trail
• Miles: 10.38
• Riders: Self - Teri - Dan
• Horses: Jack - Jewels - Bullseye
• Dogs: Hank and Wyatt

Notes: Rode from the Trail head to 2 miles short of the summit. Next time we will start earlier and haul up to the parking area. Beautiful day - rugged terrain. 

Trail Log: 1-7-2021

•  Trail: Aguila - State Land - Powerline
• Miles: 6.36
• Riders: Self - Teri - Phil
• Horses: Jack - Jewels - Twister

Notes: Short ride behind Crandall's. Rode to power line and back. 

The Prickly Pear Chronicles

 

1-9-2021: Quartzsite to DD's

Ok – in an attempt at not getting behind on my blog, I'm setting myself a time limit of 30 minutes for each blog. Another upside to that is maybe I won't be so wordy. I imagine some of these things are hard for the reader to wade through.

It was time to introduce Dan and Teri to Quartzsite. The worlds largest flea market. Dan woke in the previous night in extreme pain that turned out to be his TMJ. He would be staying home on drugs while the rest of us made the trip. Although Dan would have fit right in. Half of the population of Quartzsite appear to be on drugs...and not for any sort of pain associated with their TMJ. Unless TMJ stands for: “Too Many Joints.”

Quartzsite is a unique place, to say the least. From hippies to snowbirds, the populace looks like Woodstock and The Golden girls had a lovechild that failed to launch. Toss in a handful of meth-heads and old biker chic's and you have the makings of Quartzsite.

Dave drove us to the Quartzsite diner formerly known as The Shamrock. It's hard to discern what they call it now. It appears to be something along the lines of Times Three Family Restaurant. Nobody, including the staff...know what the hell that means.

We split up and went on our shopping ways. Dave and Cindy headed one direction, Teri and I the other. We kept finding all sorts of cool stuff we wanted to buy. Collapsible garbage cans for six bucks. Leather gloves for five bucks. Sink strainers for .25 cents and various other nifty gadgets we didn't want to pack around all day. We decided we'd pick them up on our way back...which we never did.

Our favorite store ended up being a biker chic booth. I don't recall the name, if it had one. It was hard to focus past the manikin sporting a set of 34 DD's that pointed toward the Christmas star...had the star still be out. The Maji would have had no trouble tracking down the baby Messiah had those puppies been pointing the way.

I really liked the shirt on the manikin. However, I was a bit embarrassed to inquire about it. “So...how much for the shirt on the manikin? Which manikin? Umm...well, the one with the...with...the one with no arms!” None of them had arms. It was even more uncomfortable when the owner of the booth, a real live biker chic, came around the corner sporting her own set of 34 DD's....also pointing toward the heavens. You know...it's hard not to look! I took a couple steps back. What if those things explode? They could cause some serious collateral damage! I assume they are filled with some sort of silicon, saline mix? If them puppies sprung a leak it could turn the entire Sonora desert into a tropical rain forest.

The biker chic was obviously aware of my discomfort and awkward fascination. “I want this shirt...even though I'm not going to fill it out exactly the same way.” I mumbled. Biker Chic: “You wouldn't want them” she said. “They cause all sorts of unwanted attention. Although they come in handy by distracting the hubby while you spend gobs of money shopping.” I imagine she was all to familiar with that sort of distraction. Nice gal though.

Before we'd gotten out of the biker chic booth – Cindy had arrived. We didn't get out of there without buying two hats each. Teri and I each got a shirt – sans 34 DD's. If I had the money to buy a set of boobs like that, I'd spend it on a really nice horse.

Well, I have three minutes to finish this day's blog. We came, we shopped, we allowed poor Dave to spend five minutes at a gun booth and came home shortly after stopping at “Don's Cactus Bar” in Salome for a drink. I ordered Jeep'in Juice. It came without the “juice.” The bartender said it was dark when she was pouring the fireball so she just kept on pouring and forgot about the cranberry juice. My cheeks were tingling all the way home.

1-10-2021: Live to Ride another Day

Dave had pointed out the Harquahala wilderness trail head on our way to Quartzsite. The trail takes you up to the old Harquahala Peak Smithsonian Observatory build in the 1920's. It was used to study the effects of the sun on climate: “The Quest for Solar Constant.”

Perched atop the Harquahala summit, the location is remote with extremely rugged terrain leading to it. At 5.4 miles from the base camp trail head and over 3300 foot elevation gain – a person wants to be prepared before tackling the climb on foot or horseback. There is another road up the backside accessible by ATV – but from what I've read, it's not much safer than hiking or riding.

It's been on my bucket list since last year and today was a good day to check it off. Dan, Teri and I loaded the horses in their stock trailer and headed for the trail head. We didn't know what to expect. I hadn't done much research so I didn't now how far it was from the trail head to the observatory.

We pulled through a gate off Hwy 60 and parked just on the other side. Had we known, we could have driven to the trail head trailer parking and saved ourselves over 2 miles. 

The trail head parking area has a nice vaulted toilet. Deceivingly civilized for what was to come, I can assure you. A couple miles past the trail head brings you to the base camp. This camp was used as the jumping off point to pack in supplies for observatory scientists. A barely readable plaque tells of the scientist building a garage here where they parked a Ford automobile. The rest of the journey was made by mule.

Directly leaving the base camp – the trail starts to turn gnarly fast. The horses clamored over large rocks...sometimes needing to navigate stairs of solid rock. The worst was probably the big boulders – which can be slick for shod horses. Still, our horses put their noses to the trail and carried us safely up the steep mountain.

A few of the areas where the trail side-hilled were a bit intense – but as long as you didn't look down, it wasn't so bad. I just tell myself Jack has four feet - hopefully at least one of them will remain on the trail at any given time. inhale – exhale

We found a spot that leveled out and was wide enough to accommodate three horses and two dogs. We stopped to rest and decided this was a good place to turn around. We were a mere two miles from the summit. None of us wanted to make the decision to turn back – but it was the smart thing to do. The trail looked to get worse before it got better. This was no trail to be on in the dark. Had we known we could haul the two miles to the trail head – we would have been at the summit. Live to ride another day; the Harquahala peak observatory wasn't going anywhere.

The horses made short work of the trek down off the mountain. Hungry and too tired to cook – we settled the horses in at home and drove to the Coyote for dinner: the best Santa Fe burger on the planet.

The Prickly Pear Chornicles

 

1-3-2021: You can sleep when your dead

So...still not caught up with this whole blog thing. This time I'm really going to do it. I'm staying up until I get this thing caught up to date. Even if it means staying up way past my bedtime...like, 9:30.

Today was the second in the CSJ winter buckle series at Ben Avery. We shamed Dan and Teri into entering. They barely pulled in to Aguila before we planned their entire week. “You can get your hot water fixed anytime and you can sleep when your dead.”

Teri's payback for monopolizing their time was to kick our butts at the CSJ and take home clean shooter money. We both made it back to the third stage. I was 5^th out for the 30 some shooters that made it to the final stage. You had to shoot it in under 25 seconds...which basically meant you couldn't trot it and make the time limit. I shot the random clean and figured I had it. All I had to do was split 6 and 7 of the off-set rundown and shoot the rest cross-shots. Instead, I key-holed and stayed on the strong side of the rundown. It made no sense for me to do so – I prefer to shoot the rundown cross. Whatever – that's what I did. We sort of bounced out of the turn – I accidentally fired before I meant to, missing the #6 balloon...blowing it on the last stage. Next time!

Cindy got hold of Dave and we met at the Mecca for dinner. I think. I don't know. Some of these weeks down here go by in a blur – and no, the prickly pear margarita's are not to blame. Not this time at least.

1-5-2021: Where a mountain goat wouldn't go

With no other plans for an entire day, I saddled Jack for a long ride in the Harquahala Mountains. It would do us both good to get out of the arena. If I had to choose between arena riding and trail riding – I'd pick the wide open trail any day of the week. Wide open spaces are good for the heart. I know this to be true because it says so on the beautiful picture hanging in my LQ that Cindy and Dave gave me for Christmas. :)

We rode to the west most point of the hills before crossing the power line road and turning up what I call Burro Valley. I've yet to see a burro out there, but last year I thought I saw tracks. It also looks like a place burro's ought to be, even if they aren't!

I pulled out my binoculars to take a closer look at a big shiny area at the top of a ridge. I've seen it before from afar. The binoculars I carry on me are not the greatest. I couldn't make out what the shiny spot was. A spring? A structure of some sort? Only way to find out is to ride on up there. Probably not the wisest thing to do out here all on our lonesome but what the hell. No pain, no gain. Probably wouldn't be the first adventure that started with a stupid move and likely not the last.

Jack may not be the greatest arena horse or have the “look” that is sought after in the show-ring – but he is hands down unbeatable in the mountains. I would not want to ride anything else in some of the places that horse will go. Once you get off the trails around here – you are pretty much in mountain goat territory. I don't think they have mountain goats around here – but I would not have been surprised to see one.

Jack climbed straight up through loose rock, clamored over boulders and ducked under thick mesquite. We'd start up one direction only to be stopped by a drop off or an impassible wall of rock. Figuring out how to get turned around while precariously balanced atop a wobbly boulder was a feat in itself. For a big horse, he's surprisingly agile. More than once I found myself in “Jesus take the reins” mode. Jack would plant his butt, pivot on his hind legs swinging his front legs 180° over some sheer drop...landing safely in the direction we needed to be.

We eventually rode close enough to identify the shiny spot: A large cluster of boulders in a section of waterfall. Eons of summer monsoons had polished the cluster so it shone like metal in the sunlight.

We'd ridden 5.5 miles in. As customary, Jack took the most direct route back – cutting off a mile or more by jumping washes and tackling any obstacle threatening to veer him from the most direct path to his feed bin. Most of the time I just duck my head, cover my face and deal with the carnage when I get home.

1-6-2021: Mayonnaise contribution.

Teri got us invited to an impromptu shooting practice at Millican's new arena. She was invited...Cindy and I may have crashed the party. We were late arriving. Practice was well underway when we pulled in. Rob Boucher was in the arena coaching. What we thought was a simple practice turned into a clinic. Awesome for us..not sure if it was planned or poor Rob got roped into coaching. Either way, Rob would never let on. I think he gets as much out of coaching others as we do being students.

Being late, I didn't get much of a chance to warm up Jack. He's usually dripping sweat before I put his earplugs in and go to firing. I didn't want to miss out on the opportunity to learn from Rob – so I strapped on my guns and went for it. Other than being a tad more pissy about the ear plugs, he didn't act any different than if I'd worked him for an hour first. I guess he's decided we're going to do this thing...might as well make the best of it.

Cindy left Cowboy home and took her cutting horse, Jimmy. She's shot maybe three times on him at home. This was his first shooting experience in a strange arena...a covered one at that. Some horses react badly in a covered facility. The sound is different. He could not have cared less. Amazing little horse.

Dan M. fired up the huge BBQ'r and grilled steaks provided by a couple of the lady's at the practice. Others brought various salads and sides to share. Being as it was a bit spur of the moment – I didn't have anything in my trailer worth bringing. My contribution to the foray amounted to the mayonnaise for Teri's pasta salad. Hey...it's something.

1/7/2021: Here Kitty Kitty Kitty and  Swishy – Swishy...WEEEEEEE!

I can't believe I'm typing up the day's blog and it's the actual day of said blog. I've finally caught up. My OCD is back in check.

Phil said he'd like to go riding the next time we went so I shot him a text that I was heading out. We waited for Teri to get off work and the three of us struck out on state land behind Crandall's.

Here kitty kitty kitty

I got to play tour guide. I pointed out the different flora and fauna as I could recall. More flora than fauna since I don't think we ran into so much as a jackrabbit out there. Which isn't to say there isn't some pretty interesting fauna to be found. A week or so ago, Cheri Philippi sent me a photo of a critter they caught on their game cam. Blair and Cheri's property borders Crandall's here in AZ. The photo is a rather large bobcat strolling through the wash where I walk my dogs most every morning. When Cheri showed me the picture, my first thought was not: “Good hell – I've been stalked by this big predator every morning for the last month.” No, my first thought was: “Good hell – how many pictures do these people have of my bare ass on that camera!?” Cheri just winked and grinned. What does that mean, Cheri? Your not denying it! I need you to deny this. No wonder Blair has a hard time looking me in the eye. Yep...pretty sure my butt is going to show up on some website for perverts: “Granny's got back” or some weird shit.

I never know how long to stay out when I'm taking others trail riding. Usually, they only go once. I'm running out of people who will go with me. I cut it short in hopes that Teri and Phil would be repeat victims.

Phil and Twister

Dave and several others were finishing up roping when we made it back. I'd asked Dave earlier if he would teach me how to rope. I did some roping about thirty years ago. The only thing I managed to catch was the roping shoot as I blew out of the box. That was a rude awakening. I didn't drag myself off the horse but it wasn't something I'd care to try again.

Dave stepped back and had Dan and I swing our ropes at Smarty the roping dummy. “Ok...that's fine. Now don't ever do it like that again.” Bob was next. His name is actually Dan – but for reasons I'm not privy to – Dave calls him Bob. Bob it is. Bob swings his rope at Smarty. “That's fine Bob...don't ever do it like that again.”

Dave then broke it down in several smaller steps. From the different parts of the rope (The spoke – the tip – the belly – the hondu – the coils and the tail. I'm sure I'm missing something. According to Dave – we would forget most of what he showed us anyway.

He then demonstrated how to feed the loop? Build the loop? Whichever – It's the hardest part for me. “Bob” did a much better job at building his loop. However, Bob swings his rope like a fairy. Dave proceeds to explain to Bob how his swing resembles that of a fairy. “Your doing it like this...'swishy swishy WEEEEEE!” I wanted Bob to keep swinging like a fairy so Dave would keep imitating him. Cracked me up. By the time it was over, I was swinging like a fairy, too. “Swishy Swishy WEEEEEEE!” Still cracks me up.

I learned a bunch. I don't know how much I forgot – but I remember enough to get me started. I learned the different parts of the rope. I learned not to look at the horns. Look at the right side of the steers head. I learned the technique for building my loop...even if I still can't quite get it done. I learned how many coils to hold and how to hold them if you want to lose your fingers. I always thought it was in the dally you lost fingers...apparently there's two spots that can happen. Oh goody. Best of all, I learned that if you want a good belly laugh – get Bob to rope like a fairy so Dave will imitate him.

Teri and Jewels

The Prickly Pear Chronicles

 

Waiting for our next stage

12-31-2020:  Drum roll please: And the runner up is....

I'm a tad behind on blogging. One would think that was no big deal. A normal person would simply pick up at the present day and forget about the rest. I'm not that normal. Quirkiness requires that I play catch up. So...no frills – no thrills...here it is in a nutshell. A nutshell? What does than mean, exactly? Whatever it is...it must be one big nutshell because people put a lot of crazy shit in there.

Millican's have finished their beautiful covered arena outside Wickenburg. When I was here last year, Lynn and I watched them put it up in anticipation of one day being able to shoot in it. In the meantime, we sneaked over in the side-by-side and got a closer look at it. It wasn't really trespassing. We were out Javelina hunting at the time...got a little lost and low and behold, we ended up with a front row seat of the construction. That was our story and we were sticking to it!

The arena was complete and ready for Millican's New Years Eve debut. They put on a two day shoot. New Years eve would be Jr. Seniors and Seniors. I'm not sure what the cutoff was, but I managed to fall in the Jr. Seniors. I guess that means your still an old fart...just less of an old fart. It was further split by open and limited. Limited are the 1's through 3's and the opens are 4's through 6's. That made me a Jr. Senior limited lady. Curtsy when you say that, pard.

The payout was also different than the standard CMSA shoot. Payout would be per stage. Basically, if you F'd up on one stage, you had two more to redeem yourself. It was limited to 40 riders. A perfect format for us seniors and Jr. seniors alike. Three stages, 40 riders...should be out of there by 5:00'o'clock. Plenty of time to catch Jeopardy before our 7:30 PM bedtime.

The shoot treated Cindy and I well. Jack and I placed 2^nd in all three stages and brought home clean shooter money. Cindy and Cowboy took two 1^st and a 2^nd. Brought home clean shooter money and placed in the top 10. We brought home over a grand between the two of us. Not a bad afternoon for a couple old farts.

I was as proud of Jack as I'd been if we'd won 1^st. The gal that took 1^st all three stages is, at this time, way out of our league. Jack and I are just getting in sync with this whole shooting thing. With time and a lot of practice, who knows...one day we may be wearing the crystal tiara and making the victory walk. In the meantime, runner up is perfectly fine with us.

1-1-2021: Happy New Years

I already wrote a blog piece regarding New Years in general. To avoid repeating myself, I will climb down off my soapbox and chronicle the day as it occurred.

Cindy and I met Jamie and Donna at the Box Canyon trail head for a customary New Years day ride. Lynn, Pete and I, rode here last year. There was maybe two other rigs at the trail head parking. This year, the place was packed.

Watching the girls back those big rigs into spots I wouldn't want to park a lawn mower was impressive. I would have chickened out and parked along the road. Not these gals. Especially Donna. She had the biggest rig and managed to squeeze it into the most precarious spot without batting an eye...and with everyone watching!

I can back a trailer pretty well...as long as nobody is watching. If I even think I'm being watched, all hell falls apart. I'm lucky to find reverse. Forget it if somebody tries to help. Standing back there twirling your finger clockwise- then twirling your finger counter clockwise. Are you trying to help or are you trying to shake off a bugger? What the hell are you asking me to do here? Are my tires supposed to be going that way or is my steering wheel? And if your looking in a rear view mirror...is that really clockwise or is it the mirror opposite? This isn't working for me. You park the damn thing and come get me when it's over. I'll be at the Mecca enjoying a prickly pear margarita...or two.

Jack and I waited at Cindy's trailer while the others finished tacking up. A large family of kids ranging from 4 to 12 years swarmed Jack. “He's so CUTE!” Jack's been called a lot of things – cute has never been one of them. They fawned over him with little hands reaching up to touch his head, neck and muzzle. Jack has never been a fan of people touching his head other than me. He usually puts his head as far out of reach as possible. He was like the ambassador of equine good will with these little kids. He seemed to soak in the attention as a dozen little hands sought to pet his face and muzzle.

The box canyon ride is popular with ATV's of all shapes and sizes. 99% of them were courteous and slowed down or came to a stop when they saw the horses. The little kids on screaming little machines that sound like lawnmowers on crack...not so much. They don't know better. They inevitably race by with engines revved – freaking out the horses.

We made it to the entrance to the box canyon. It was packed with ATV's. We'd all seen it before and opted to head back to the trailers. Maybe we would find another place to ride. Maybe we'd just go have lunch, drink margarita's and call it good.

Now we had screaming little machines driven by little speed demons coming up from behind. Donna's mare especially did not appreciate it. She'd get pretty wound up. Fortunately, Donna is a good hand. Jack did OK until he noticed the mare and decided if she was upset about something – there must be something out there to be upset about. We had our hands full most of the trip back with our horses on the muscle. I don't think anything bothers Jamie's horse, Ronald...and of all the horses, Cindy's 5 year old little bay Jimmy was the calmest. I swear, that is the brokest horse I've seen in my life.

At one point, Donna glanced at me wide-eyed: “Well, this is intense.” Trying to appear less nervous than I felt: “Yeah, but what a beautiful day to die.” Donna laughed at my inappropriate if not poorly timed humor. I remember Donna from years ago. We use to cut hair together. I won't mention how many years ago...but I will say we still did “permanent waves” and “Shampoo sets.”

People are often shocked when they find out I was a hairdresser. Still am, actually. I keep up my license for some damn reason. I'd just as soon live under a bridge than have to cut hair for a living. They are more surprised still when they find out I am also a big nerd. I don't know why? Apparently ex hairdresser turned computer geeks aren't suppose to ride horses?

I didn't know Donna well back in our hairdresser days – but I remember thinking she looked as out of place in that salon as I felt. Even though I still don't know her well, I can say she looks as comfortable on that little mare as I feel on my big 'ole gelding. I think we've both found our niche and am thankful for it.

We made it back to the trail head. Despite being a beautiful day for it – nobody died. It was unanimously agreed to haul on over to The Palomino for lunch and drinks. After a couple margarita's – I was ready to head back to the Box Canyon and drag race the lawnmowers on crack. Apparently tequila makes me brave.

We opted instead to put in at Rancho Rio and ride the Hassayampa wash. It would do Jack and Donna's horse some good to get a little tired. The deep sand of the Hassayampa takes the snort out of them pretty fast.

We snapped a few pictures and Cindy got a group selfie of us with the Hassayampa bridge's “MERRY CHRISTMAS!” in the background. It was a fun day with some great gals. I got to know Donna and Jamie a little better. I look forward to riding with them again. As long as there are trails to ride and tequila to drink, it is sure to happen sooner than later.

1-2-2021: Initiation at the Coyote and Hit the sand running

Dan and Teri arrived from Idaho. Road weary but happy to be here. I'm sure they would have liked to get settled in...but that's not the way it's done here in snowbird land. You pretty much hit the ground running the moment you step foot on Arizona sand.

First things first: The Coyote Den. You can't call yourself an Aguila-ite without a proper initiation dinner at the Coyote. I had my initiation last year...my son had his earlier this winter and now it was time for Dan and Teri.

First, they had to fix some shit. A less desirable initiation that seems to occur to all snowbirds is the: “If you haul your house down the road, it will break” initiation. Theirs involved a leak in the hot water system. Too late to get parts – we talked them into the clean shooter jackpot at Ben Avery the next morning. We'd be leaving by 6:30 AM. Welcome to the life of a snowbird guys. It's time to hit the sand running.