Ezekiel

Jack and I indulged in a 7:00 walk this morning.  With such a happy pink sky and little wind, I decided to do my first spring (which, let me be clear, hasn't started yet) bike ride as soon as I returned home and got the breakfast dishes washed and put away.  Before changing into my biking gear, I began a new campaign in the ongoing war I've been having with my new bike helmet.  I'm trying to attach the mirror from my old helmet to my new one, which isn't really new, but at least a decade newer than the one I've been wearing. 

When you get old, you have to own something over ten years before it is no longer new.  It's the same way with people.  Pity the poor newcomers in town.  In my mind they are going to be "new" until I read something in the paper about their retirement.  Take Larry Gamble for example.  Larry is Chief, Branch of Planning and Compliance for Rocky Mountain National Park, a job he has had since 1993.  But every time I see him in town I think, "Oh yeah...Larry works for the Park now."  I have a black sweater I think of as "new," but while organizing a few hundred photographs last week, I noticed I was wearing it in a picture taken 8 years ago.  This is part and parcel of growing old.  However, it does have its advantages, and that is you don't have to buy stuff as often.  (If any old person is reading this, let me know if you concur.)

Back to my bike helmet.  It's pretty old, and it's green, so that's why until recently, I wasn't even considering a new one.  Okay, so it has a crack.  I didn't crash--it just got old like me.  I have wrinkles, my bike helmet has cracks.  But a really cute guy at the Trek shop in Loveland told me that the foam liner deteriorates over time, and a helmet should not be worn more than 5 years.  Obviously, HE'S never been old.  But he did convince me to trade helmets with Jack, whose bicycle is currently residing in Montana.  Jack's helmet is also more than 5 years old, but it doesn't look like a mushroom and has no cracks. It's so fandangled new that I can't find a flat spot to attach my mirror.  Once you have biked with a mirror, there's no going back.  I  absolutely must have my mirror.  I wore my old green helmet.

I did my Dry Gulch/Devil's Gulch loop this morning which is about 12 miles round trip.  A little more than half way through the ride I pass a fairly new (remember the definition) horse complex that includes a large tree structure for the kids, several barns, paddocks and the main house.  Somebody was out in the corral right next to the road with a beautiful red roan.  The horse had a rope halter and was just running circles around the guy.  I've noticed horses being trained in this manner before, but really had no idea what was going on.  As usual, my curiosity got the best of me.  I turned around and went back.  "Can I watch?" seemed an appropriate question.  He quickly answered in the affirmative, and then motioned me toward the horse.  "You want to try?"  "Who me--the goofy mushroom-hatted biker?"  Without thinking, I headed to the gate, slid the heavy bar through the metal loop, squeezed inside and made my way over to the horse guy.  Without a word, he handed me the rope and slapped the roan on the rump so the merry-go-round action would continue.  Round and round I went with the horse.  "Hey, I could get dizzy," I called to him.  He motioned to me to hold the rope over my head and keep stationary while the horse keep doing circles.  This went on for a few minutes, and then the guy left.  I mean he just left.  No "I go now," or "Be back later,"--he just left.  "Oh, great.  What if all 1500 pounds of horse decides to run AT me instead of AROUND me?" I wondered.  The only pet I ever owned was a parakeet.  Shouldn't OSHA be involved here?  An Animal Control Officer?  The ACLU?  (For the horse, of course.)  In about ten minutes the guy came back with another horse and introduced himself as Ezekiel.  I guess he was just taking advantage of a second pair of hands so he could get his work done faster.  Or maybe he wanted to see what a complete gringo would do if left alone with a rather large animal.  Ezekiel concisely explained to me that the horses just needed to "exercise--run around" and the brown horse's time was finished.  "See?" he explained, touching the neck of the horse that had begun to lather.  So now we had a brown horse and a black piebald.  Ezekiel tied up Brownie, for lack of knowing his real name, and switched halters so Blackie, who was about to take his turn at running circles.  Ezekiel told me in his somewhat broken English that he would take Brownie back to the barn for some water.  Feeling a little weird at this point, I thanked him for an experience I never would have had if something had not urged me to turn around.  In his very easy way, Ezekiel told me to come back any time--that he was always there.

I have ridden my bike past that place a zillion times and have never seen anyone, let alone Ezekiel.  I rode away feeling very thankful that a 40-something Hispanic guy would invite a 60-something white lady to peek inside his life in Estes Park, if even for only a few minutes.  It's going to be a great day.

Always,
Winter