One benefit to growing up on the Eastern plains of Colorado was that many members of our community maintained Summer cabins in the nearby Front Range of the Rocky Mountains. My family was not a member of this cabin owner set but my parents were friends with a family that was. The Wolfs. They were a nice couple (the same age as my parents) with two children. Their son, Boomer, was a couple of grades behind me in school and their daughter, Lydia, was a couple of grades ahead. They didn't live far from us but they did live on the outer edge of town in an area where residents were allowed to have horses on their property. The Wolf family had two horses and a burro along with all the requisite truck and trailering gear to transport the humans, the equines, and the burro (and their dog) to the mountain hideaway whenever the spirit so moved them. The event which I am about to relate occurred on one such occasion when I was around twelve years old and had been invited to join the Wolfs on a weekend trip to "the cabin".

We left town late Friday afternoon and arrived at the cabin very near dark that evening. It turned out that what the Wolfs referred to as "the cabin" was really two rather rustic structures (three, if you count the outhouse) set on an amazingly level acre of ground somewhere to the West of Pike's Peak. There was also a kind of corral with a small shelter at one end for the animals. The main structure was a three room log cabin with a bare wooden floor throughout. The second, smaller, structure was more of a framed shed where various items were stored. The three rooms in the cabin were a kitchen and two bedrooms. Mr. & Mrs. Wolf were in one bedroom while Lydia occupied the other. It turns out that Boomer had a large bed in the framed shed that he and I were going to share for the two night visit. Since it was nearly dark the entire first night was taken up with unloading the horses, setting up bedrooms with fresh linens, and cooking and eating a quick meal. Then it was off to bed. To my surprise, Boomer and I were joined in the shed by the family dog - a medium to medium large Airedale Terrier whose name I can not remember.

After a long, cold night the sun finally rose on a beautiful clear day. After a "mountain breakfast" Boomer, the Airedale, and I spent the entire morning exploring the immediate area. Mostly we were killing time until the main event of the trip (at least for me), a horseback ride up a nearby rugged mountain trail, could get underway. This was scheduled to begin just after lunch as, indeed, it did.

Our hot dogs, beans and potato chips were just settling in our bellies as we mounted up for the afternoon ride. Lydia and Boomer, both accomplished riders, each sat tall on their horses. I, whose riding skills rated far below even the Novice level, was saddled with the burro. But I was undaunted and, after a brief driving lesson from Lydia, was ready to begin our climb. The only word of caution that she had expressed during my brief training session was the fact that there had been recent reports of bears in the area and she stated that she had sensed a nervousness in our mounts. She recommended that I keep a firm grip on the reins at all times.

As we set out Lydia, being the oldest, was in the lead followed by Boomer with the burro and I bringing up the rear. I did have a bit of a problem getting the burro started at first - Lydia suggested that it was probably because the animal had caught the scent of the bear - but after a few gentle kicks in his ribs he grudgingly began moving in the right direction. The Airedale had elected to join us but he was not satisfied staying in line so he was running along first ahead of us, then behind us, then beside us, then...who knew where. He seemed to be having a good time at any rate.

As we headed up the mountain the view got better and better while the trail became increasingly more rocky and narrow. The terrain around us had some aspen trees but, since we were gaining altitude, these were few and far between. Mostly the ground was covered with low scrub that varied considerably in density from practically nothing to extremely thick undergrowth. After an hour or so we reached a particularly narrow section of trail which was bounded on each side by some very heavy ground cover that was about two to three feet in height leaving the trail looking something like a narrow trench not more than two feet in width. I noticed that Lydia's horse was balking at her urging to move forward and Boomer's horse was acting strangely as well. Since I was last in line it was difficult for me to hear everything Lydia was saying but I did hear her shouting at her horse something about a bear. I am sure she was trying to calm or reassure the beast but even I found her tone a bit disconcerting. In fact, I was starting to lean forward to suggest that we turn back when all of sudden a large, dark, fur covered animal crashed out of the underbrush onto the trail directly in front of me and my buddy the burro.

It took less than a second for me to realize that this startling intruder was the Wolf family Airedale rejoining our group from one of his side excursions. Before I could regain my composure though, I became aware of the fact that the burro upon whom I was perched had decided not to bother making an identification of our surprise visitor but had, instead, elected to abandon the scene altogether. Had I not been there I would never have believed that a creature the size of that burro would be able to turn one hundred eighty degrees on a trail as narrow as the one we were on at the speed with which he accomplished the maneuver. Unfortunately, at that particular moment I did not have any time to appreciate this amazing feat of agility because I was violently pitching off the right side of my ride. The thought of me smashing head first onto the rocky trail a few short feet below was not a result that I was willing to accept. I don't know exactly how I managed to remain with the burro, I imagine some automatic survival mechanism kicked in, but I soon realized that I was in for the ride of my life. The main reason that I had come to this conclusion stemmed not from the fact that I was careening down a rocky mountain trail on a panicking burro but from the fact that I wasn't exactly "on" the burro. I was under him. As the burro spun around to the left I had slipped down to the right and flipped underneath so that I ended up clinging for dear life to his bouncing belly.

A lot passes through your mind as you crash down the side of a mountain clutching the underside of a terrified burro. Not much of it is good. As your limited options present themselves for consideration and dismissal you come to realize that you really have only two. You can let go and drop onto the trail probably being trampled by the rear hooves of the burro as he continues down trail, or you can hold on. I chose the latter option and made a mighty effort to become one with the belly of that beast.

Eventually the trail widened, the burro tired, and we trotted to a halt in clear area well away from our starting point. I slowly relaxed my grip and dropped to the ground laying on my back with my head sticking out from under my four legged conveyance. I am not sure which of us was breathing harder. To my surprise I found that I still had a grip on one rein, though I am sure that had nothing to do with the burro stopping. I have no real concept of the amount of time I had spent clutching the underside of this exhausted burro though I am sure it was shorter than it seemed. As I lay there in the dirt looking up into the clear Colorado blue sky my attention was captured by the sight of Lydia peering down at me from atop her horse.

"What happened?", is all that she said. Granted, she had been facing away from me and struggling with her own horse at the time of my abrupt departure, but I really felt at the time that the question was completely unnecessary.

Even though this mountain thrill ride took place over forty years ago I can remember it like it happened yesterday. Considering all that happened it still amazes me that, no matter how hard I try, I can't remember the name of that damn dog!

Visit My Home Page
Join Xomba and Express Yourself!