Horse Adventure II

    We continued along the highway, past Freeland Road where I grew up, till we came along to the Canaan Valley stores.  It was a chilly morning so we all rode, the three of us, side by side in the front covered by a thick blanket.  At the gas station, John pulled the surrey right up yo the gas pump and stopped.  He went in for a cup of coffee, and someone commented on us being next to a gas pump with the horses.  "Gotta fuel them up." said John.  So we clip clopped along, up to Canaan Heights, and down towards the town of Davis.  At this time an old friend slowed his car down and drove next to us, saying hello.  George was smiling to see us in tow with the horses, of which he shared a birthday with one of them.  He crept along chatting with us until a line of cars formed behind us.  He said good bye and we descended, but a line of traffic still idled on, most intrigued by the horses and surrey, also cautious to pass us. 
    So we arrived in Davis.  Across the bridge and into town we rode, right up onto the sidewalk on main street.  We stopped at Bright Morning Inn to eat breakfast.  A lot of breakfast, for we had a journey ahead of us.  We thanked the cooks and once again readied to ride.  This time though we picked up some friends and my brother.  We took them out into the strip mines between Davis and Thomas.  I remember the horses, particularly Buckshot, being very wary of the large mud holes in the road that lay in our way.  The surrey stopped, John ushered the boys forward, but they wouldn'y budge until a sufficient inquiry was made by sniffing and pawing the water that satisfied the horses curiosity.  Through the puddle we would rush, or around it if that made the horses easier.  We all laughed and cheered as the horses galloped across the strip mines, until we came to Thomas where our friends unloaded, all except Dan and Mary.  They continued the adventure with us down through Douglas into the Blackwater Canyon.  But first, to get across the creek that presented itself to us, we unhitched the horses, and John rode one down the ravine, across the torrent of water, and up the other side, the other horse following.  The surrey we pushed across the bridge, which was not suitable for horses as it had wide cracks their hooves could fall through the whole way.  So we got the boys hitched up again, but very soon after were confronted by another obstacle.  There was an iron gate acroos the rail trail.  But this did not stop us.  We took the horses around one by one, and had them wait while we took the front wheels off the surrey and lifted it over the gate.  Once on the other side we reassembled the surrey and began descending the canyon.  All steep bank off to our left, and mountain rising above to our right, we often bumped over trees fallen in our path.  One in particular we had to cut some of the bigger branches off to get by.  The horses had to step over large limbs, and spooked a little so we suddenly got over the tree fast and very joltingly.  Wew arrived at the bottom of the canyon before dark, and rather than lifting the rig over the gate there, we just turned left off the trail, but not before Dan and Mary had hopped out and watched.  The steep hill gave us a thrill as we dropped down towards the river bottom amidst the trees.  In the thick undergrowth that lay on the bottom was a fallen tree, hidden by the weeds.  The horses stepped over it, and the surrey rolled over it, but not without giving us a bump and a jolt.  Nonetheless, we arrived at the yard of the old cabin that stood there in the river valley, and were glad to arrive at our destination.  Mary began cooking dinner as we unpacked and set up camp for the night.

Horse Adventures

    I received a car ride down Back Hollow road to Rt. 72 where I met Christopher and John with the team of horses and wagon.  The wagon was actually called a surrey, an all black Amish vehicle that seated four or so people and had a roof overhead edged with tassels.  The big wheels surrounded the surrey's sides, pulled along by the wooden tongue hitched up to the horses harnesses. Buckshot and Beamer where brothers, Buck being the elder of the two. They were North American thoroughbred, both black and white, and quite large pulling horses compared to your average riding horse. 
    I jumped out of the car and greeted my friends, and as the cars pulled away it was the three of us aboard the surrey, and the two horses slowly working to pull us along the winding back road.  We came past the house I am currently living at in Red Creek, hung a left up at the steep intersection and began ascending Back Hollow Road. 
    About half way up this road, at a particularly inclined section, Beamer slipped.  His metal shoes with little cleats were not enough traction to make it.  He lay down a moment, panting from the arduous exercise.  John, perplexed by the situation but knowing full well it was up to the horses to finish the climb out of the hollow, waited until Beamer stood back up, the surrey lurching back and forth, and once again began stepping up the way. 
    As we reached the crest of the hill dusk came upon us.  We camped at the bottom of the Preston's lower field, perched in the beautiful Canaan Valley.  It had been a long day for my friends and the beasts.  They had climbed up from the river valleys' below and reached higher ground around dark.  They were unhitched and allowed to graze a little, John keeping them near by a little white string made out to be a fence.  They understood well enough that was their boundary, and rarely tried to cross it.
    In the early morning we got up, still shrouded in cool darkness.  As John was hitching Buck, he was yanked around by the impatient horse.  But he never let go of the halter, and eventually won in getting the horse to stand in place so he could harness him.  I remember John getting frustrated at Christopher and me for asking if we could help.  It is apparent what could or should not be done, but us being young tended to ask than observe or act.  But all in all, we were on our way very soon across the stretch of back road that led to the main road, route 32.
    As we crested the final hill to the intersection of Back Hollow and 32, we saw morning light.  Though it was quite early, we were in for some excitement.  We trotted out onto the main road and began our way North towards Davis.  But as a car passed and spooked one of the boys, we were suddenly off the right side of the road, over the small ditch, and precariously rolling along at a tilt not comfortable to go along with.  I remember very clearly hearing the words "high side!" as the horses somehow trampled over the craggy bank.  But sooner than we could have hoped the horses corrected their course and were back over the ditch and we bounced laughing upon the shoulder of the road.