Girls, Quarter horses & Gravel rash !

The Problem With Women Is -

Why is it when us blokes are alone, practicing whatever it is we do in our playtime, do things seem to work out better for us men? We never seem to fall of, get lost, crash or generally make fools of ourselves. But the moment you bring a woman into the picture, especially a pretty one, it all goes pear shape sharpish.I can only speak for myself, from my own experiences and from what I have been fortunate enough to witness. So lets take me for example.

Whilst learning to ride a horse from the people up the road, they had a rather comely daughter. She insisted in putting me upon a Quarter horse in the corral leading me around with a lead reign, at a trot.Now those of you who have had the good fortune to learn how to ride will know that the trot is rather uncomfortable until you get the rise right, especially if you have your twig and berries in the wrong position. As usual though, I wasn’t interested in learning to rise, I wanted to learn to gallop.

So when I was supposed to take my horse back to the stables to un-saddle and brush down, I in my finite wisdom, I decided to take the beast for a little stretch. Not only did the horse ‘Flash’ was his name, get a stretch but so did my imagination upon my abilities. You see they call a Quarter horse a Quarter horse for a reason. As it is the fastest of the equine species over the quarter mile. And they called Flash, Flash, for a reason. As he was fast for his breed, with me on top, this was an accident waiting to happen. And happen it did.

I swing myself into the saddle and dig my heels in straight away. This preposterous beast, weighing neigh on a tonne, was at full gallop in three strides. I have vivid yet vague memories of the Australian countryside flying by at warp speed and the 6th sense that this vile monster, Flash, was actually enjoying himself! The loathsome creature he was. Then as suddenly as it began, I was sprawled out upon the grass.

The comely creature that I was trying to impress couldn’t stop laughing, and Flash came trotting back looking as scared as me. He actually had the audacity to come back to me, with a look on his long striped face like ‘What did you do that for?’ The look on my face said ‘I didn’t, you did’ as it was obviously his fault, stupid beast. The comely country girl broke into giggles nearly every time I saw her for a long while, actually, if I went to see her today, I have no doubt in my mind that she would crack up again. Oh dear me !

What is it that makes riding a horse so exciting? I mean at full stretch Flash could probably top about 60 km/h, if he’s lucky. Yet I have driven cars at speeds of 280 km/h way above their design limits and felt completely safe. I even lost control of a 5.0 liter 74 Monaro GTS at that speed on a bend, had two tires blow out and hit a storm water drain, and found it almost relaxing. Put me on a horse at 60, and my pants start to go lumpy and smell funny.

What I think it is, is that whilst in the Munro, it has wheels, and I’m in control, yet on Flash, he’s just a tangle of legs and it’s him that has all the power, and him that’s enjoying himself. Although I haven’t had the opportunity to get back in the saddle for quite sometime I do miss the feeling of a horse at full stretch, especially in the sand, when this majestic and noble beast can give no more. What a thrill!

Ok let’s see if I can embarrass myself some more then hey. Oh that's easy!

Although I spent some time on the back of a horse I spent most of my time on the back of a bike, an 83 Honda XR 350 RD amongst others, another noble and majestic beast. My friends and I used to explore huge tracts of country, through all kinds of terrain, in all kinds of weather and rarely come off. I could ride on the back wheel for hundreds of meters with the sun in my face and the wind in my hair without a problem. That is, until a pretty girl turns up. For starters riding a motor bike in shorts and a t-shirt aint the most intelligent thing that I have done, it’s like wearing a seat belt, you don’t seem to have an accident until you’re not wearing one, and this time I wasn’t.

After a full day of riding around pretty much uneventfully I decide to test my skills in front of another rather comely creature. I get on the back wheel and I’m in about 4th gear doing about 60 km/h [full gallop in horse terms, again] when I hit something I didn’t see. [Because I was to busy looking at the her, to see if she, was looking at me!] where I cartwheel over the handlebars and proceed to body surf down the gravel, rapidly removing all my skin and some flesh on 1 leg, 2 buttocks, 1 arm and ½ a face. I also suffered various scratches, bruises and wounds all over. Ouch! And the bike didn’t even trot back to see if I was alright! And the girl didn’t come running and giggling, she was white with fear and shock. I still had to ride my bike home which was the most painful experience of my life. It took about an hour, then an hour to the hospital in the car where I had to peel myself off the vinyl seat, then an hour of the scrubbing brush to remove all the gravel. Not the best day of my life to be honestly said.

I blame all this pain and suffering upon those pretty girls that so obviously caused those accidents. If they hadn’t been there, I would not have been so daring, and stupid. Hence would have still had the skin on my arse.
So have a little think guys. How have those evil women embarrassed you in the past, and would you do it again. I would. Viva la diffrance.