A FORTNIGHT ago I wrote that understanding the game of cricket was like understanding a woman.
Well, the sport of horse riding is quite similar in many ways except the woman in this case does not speak your language, could kill you with a single kick, has teeth the size of small building blocks and snorts loudly at random intervals.
In more ways than one, last Sunday evening was facing a fear for me. Horses and I have never really understood each other and besides one or two damaging incidents we have managed to steer clear of each other for the 30-odd years I have roamed the planet.
Horse riding had never even entered my head as a subject for this week. In fact the plan had been to enjoy a nice, calm game of meggars in Knockananna but unfortunately that event was rained off so I popped into my kind neighbours Tony and Caron Behan to see if I could saddle up one of their finest steeds and head off into the sunset so to speak.
I would ride Charlie; a beautiful creature there is no doubt, with bulging muscles, a cropped mane and a backside the size of a small tractor.
I have always found the world of horses to be a strange one in terms of fashion and the people within.
Horsey people are just that, horsey. They eat and drink horses, not literally obviously, but their lives revolve around these clip-clopping beauties.
For me I’ve just never had much time for horses. To me they are beautiful creatures; well-designed and thoroughly splendid among the animals of the planet but in terms of interaction I had about as much interest in riding one as I had of saddling up a randy crocodile.
One thing I have always admired about horsey people is their understanding of their animals. They love them, respect them and care for them.
Prior to my ride on Charlie, Tony and Caron carried out checks on his teeth, checked for some kind of flea on his belly and patted and rubbed him like he was their child.
My son doesn’t get that much attention from me. He gets a bottle and a smile and he considers himself very lucky.
On the fashion side of things I have always found the equestrian world equally challenging. Before last Sunday I would have viewed the attire of horsey people as slightly uppity but now having worn the full wardrobe I see the marvellous logic behind the garb.
Firstly the leggings, or as I was constantly reminded by Caron on Sunday, the Jodhpurs, what a strange piece of clothing they are.
My late grandfather used to wear the famous long johns and these things are those but with extra padding on the inside of the knees. On the right person they are possibly the sexiest item of clothing in the world but on me I’m afraid I looked a bit like Frank Spencer from Some mothers do ’ave ’em.
Then there’s the boots. In the past I might have laughed and mocked but now I want a pair of these bad boys, if not to wear in public then to don of an evening in the privacy of my chambers. Damn it people those boots are sexy.
From Tony’s extensive collection
of riding jackets I chose a nice, earthy tweed number and Caron sorted me out with a fetching stock which you wear like a sort of dickey bow around the neck. Add in the solid-feeling helmet and I was in the zone and ready to come face to face with Charlie.
He is a beautiful specimen. Big and black like a rain cloud, he has two black feet and two white and he looks at you with two timeless eyes that seem to glisten with knowledge.
After the saddle was put on and the various straps attended to, Charlie was led out to the nearby compound. Tony decided to ride him out a bit to get any pent up anger or frustration out of him and for this I was thankful.
On board, Tony looked like he was made for the job and before long he dismounted and handed me the leather reins.
I introduced myself to Charlie who seemed less than interested. With a stretch I found the stirrup with my foot and grabbed the top of the saddle as instructed and hoisted myself up on his broad back.
Now, I have a strange fetish which I probably share with a lot of males in this world and that is a fondness for going into motorbike shops and sitting on top of big bikes as if I’m going to buy one.
Although that feeling is a good one it wouldn’t come close to the feeling when you sit on top of a powerful, live animal.
Immediately you can see where the attraction comes from. It’s addictive. The creaking of the leather, the potential underneath you, the union between man and horse, this is powerful stuff lads.
Tony says he’ll lead me and I welcome this with all my fluttering heart. I’m shown how to hold the reins and suddenly we are off as Charlie’s huge and powerful legs stride about the arena.
After a couple of laps Tony detaches the lead rope and tells me to squeeze Charlie’s stomach with
my legs to persuade him to move. “Don’t kick him because he’ll take off on you,” he advised, not knowing that I had absolutely no intention of ever kicking Charlie.
My steed responds immediately and with the gentlest twitch of the reins we are walking this way and that way.
“Take him for a trot,” comes the call and with a further squeeze we are trotting away and the wind is in my hair, the jodhpurs are clinging and my glasses are falling off.
Tony then suggests that I go for a canter but I’m not so sure. I’m just getting used to the trot. Suddenly Tony makes a clicking noise with his tongue and Charlie sets off and right there below me is the simplest explanation as to why people love horses.
It is one of the most beautiful movements I have ever witnessed and to have that power at your fingertips is breathtaking.
We don’t even consider a gallop but a canter is just wonderful. The rhythm of Charlie beneath me, the stretching of his monstrous muscles, the soft, slaking sound of his hooves in the sawdust, his snorts (Tony assured me these are indications of his happiness, I took his word for it) all made for a thrilling experience.
Afterwards I thank Charlie for his patience and slap him heartily on the neck like they do on the telly.
As he is returned to his comfortable stable I am directed to the bathroom to remove my Jodhpurs and I must say they are the most sensual garment I have ever worn.
I’m determined to go horse riding again because I won’t get an opportunity to wear them again unless I buy a pair of long johns for bed.
However to maintain any sort of hope in that department that idea is a non-runner.