2004-01-27 - 12:07 p.m.
Hermanus, South Africa
Hahaha, I never tire of seeing the road signs around here where the name of the town has its fourth letter removed. Those crazy kids.
Once the roadside hilarity has subsided, there ain�t much to do here except admire the coastal splendour and tour the vineyards. Hence we�ve been knocking back the vino like a meeting of the ancient Rome viticultural society. My liver thinks I�m trying to inflict death by Pinotage.
But my alcoholic fug has other reasons to be fully embraced. Yesterday saw me, against all my powers of reason and logic, get onto a horse. Now, I don�t think I need to tell you how unenthusiastic a rider I am - to borrow a phrase, I would ride a horse rather less well than another horse would. I can�t really put into words how much I was against getting on the back of an equine deathtrap � it must have been the sun, though, because at 3pm yesterday I saddled up and rode out of town.
Our guide promised us that the animals were obedient, and that we�d be walking, and every time we broke into a trot, I prepared myself for gruesome horse death. Imagine my delight, then, when Old Neddy, or The Steed of Hades, as I like to call him, suddenly dropped his head and broke into what I can only describe as a wild headless pelt into certain oblivion. I didn�t catch the other rider�s faces as I hooned past them at speeds reserved for military jet test pilots, but I assume they were fairly surprised, perhaps even as surprised as I certainly was.
As I bounced around like a flailing ragdoll on the back of the mighty, panic stricken beast, I remember thinking back to the serenity of the stables some minutes earlier, the instructions given out by the guide about how to turn and speed up, and then wondering why instructions for stopping had been somehow omitted. My shouts of �Whoa there!� certainly weren�t cutting much horsey mustard, but that was the best I could manage, struggling as I was to control my sphincter region as well as the rampaging mare.
As I prepared myself for the obituary columns, I somehow managed to pull back on the reins, and as suddenly as the reckless nag had started, it stopped. I concentrated on getting my heart rate down below 200 as the others caught up, finding me a shell of a man, and unable to speak much beyond basic cursing. �Why didn�t you pull back on the reins?� seemed to be a frequent commentary, my withering look hopefully conveying the fact that if I�d have KNOWN that�s what you were supposed to do, then that�s what I would have done before taking on the world land speed record.
But anyway. Survival of the fittest, or in my case, the most clueless. It�s all experience, no? Only I think I might postpone investing in a pair of jodhpurs for a while.
