t was an early spring day when
Dianne, Stan and I met for our
usual Sunday ride in the park.
It was a nice day and much of
the winter snow was gone,
leaving slush and mud in its place.
I was riding my green mare so we
were mostly riding the trails at a
leisurely pace. Self preservation and
all that jazz! Maybe we were too
leisurely, because Koda, Stan’s
mustang, was having issues with our
pace. Perhaps it was spring fever or
maybe it was too much alfalfa, but
Koda was full of beans. He threw in a
couple of bucks for Stan’s riding
enjoyment; through it all Stan stayed on the right
side of his horse. I suggested that he go ahead
somewhat faster than our present pace so he could
work off some of the steam building up in Koda. We
would continue to walk, and
he could ride back to us. He
went ahead and got Koda’s
feet moving a bit more
quickly. When he returned
Koda seemed much more
settled and he had cut out
most of the theatrics.
We finished our ride and
headed back onto the trail
for home. I was in the lead
with Dianne on her mare, and then Stan. I let them
know I was going to try a slow canter and we
headed off. Suddenly, there was a huge commotion
behind me with lots of shouting, and I heard Dianne
yelling for me to stop. I turned Malika around and
Dianne was right behind me as was
Koda, but no Stan. I looked down the
trail and saw Stan lying motionless,
face down on the trail.
I am not agile, nor am I a runner, but
I was off my horse so fast racing over
to Stan. He was unconscious at first
with his face firmly planted in the dirt. I
dug around his face calling his name.
As he came to, he was moaning and
obviously in pain.
I didn’t want him to move as I wasn’t
sure what had happened nor how
badly he was injured. I asked him if I
should call an ambulance, and of
course, he said no! He tried to sit up
on one side, but that was just too
painful. As he rolled over to his other side I kept
suggesting he not get up. Despite my warnings, he
was quite determined he should get to his feet. He
said his back was fine and he just needed a moment. I
think we all did. I tried to help
him to his feet, however Stan
is probably 6’3” and not
exactly a bean pole, whereas
I’m 5’3” and not a whole lot of
help. I told him if he went down
then I was going down too!
Dianne and I had a frantic
conversation on what to do.
Did we turn and go back to try
and hit a road or did we
continue going forward? We believed we were about
halfway between trails, so it probably didn’t make a
difference. The trail was too narrow for any type of
ambulance, and Stan kept saying he could walk. I’m
really not sure why we were listening to him!
THE STORY OF STAN, PART TWO
TWISTED TALES
Story and photographs by Darice Whyte
The intrepid Stan.
I
“
PERHAPS IT WAS SPRING FEVER
OR MAYBE IT WAS TOO MUCH
ALFALFA, BUT KODA WAS FULL
OF BEANS. HE THREW IN A
COUPLE OF BUCKS FOR STAN’S
RIDING ENJOYMENT...
”
See Part One in the June/July issue, page 118.
//
//
AHW > 70 < 08.19
sharon
(sharon)
#1