riding in stick season ~ how it became my favorite season to ride

trolling the road less traveled, its hard to focus the camera through tears

early October 2013

 The summer has come and gone; rides have taken us far and wide with captivating vistas, provocative crossroads, serene town greens. Every remembered journey fuels the dreams of "...the next ride out..." Yet inevitably, by the time autumn unfolds, I'm actually a little road weary and some-bit saddle sore as we high-lite our official ride map of our traveled lanes. If weather allows, we continue to ride with a few extra layers of warmth, no electric gear here, for the brisk solstice air.

  Its a time to archive the warm memories and record the adventures still fresh in our minds. Its also a time of year that I like to surrender any of my beloved horses to the high-away sky, when I don't want them to manage another difficult winter at our worn out farm. This day was such a day. It takes a lot of my personal resolve to plan for their deaths. In this case, three horses that I had rescued back in the day. It was easy to justify putting the old and toothless gelding down, and even the giant, big boned cripple who was an endless prankster here. But to say farewell to my beloved Fable, to let her go to the high winds after 20yrs of living and learning life together, was harsh. It still fills my eyes with tears today. After dutifully arranging their good-deaths and the equipment to bury them. (everything depends on that key piece)...the day had come with perfect, pristine weather. Crisp October air, some color left on the trees, the quaking aspens gently waving their songful leaves. It was a good day to die.

   And bikerman was there, to hold me up through it all; completing the deed and ending the day with a ceremonial escape on his vintage chrome pony. To drive away, leaving the hydraulic  droan of the back hoe to its necessary work, to roll into the colors of autumn, was a soothing relief. The roads were near empty in the mid morning of a work week. The pavement was still clear of sand or ice and the trees, the golden-leaved beeches and popals were our avenue of honor guards waving us onward.  Just the rhythm   of that shovelhead motor,  at a slow speed, in third gear to coax that trademark Harley sound, as we glided along was all the good medicine I needed, a respite from the realities of loving something so big and dear to me.
  He kept us rolling until he could feel that my sorrow had lifted, his leather jacket would no longer dry my tears and my broken heart could beat more easily. Every horsemen has a story of that one

Uno, me, Fable in the summer '13

exceptional horse, the one  our dying selves will relive,  as we imagine our last memories. My Fable is that one; her final lesson:  "...broken hearts have more room to love..."

 This gentle ride in stick season, adorned with blue bird skies and bug-less wind, was the tonic I needed to ease my grief. In years to come, it will always be a memorial ride for me; to troll the less traveled roads of autumn in humble tribute to lost loves and the bigger heart they've left me with.

peace ~ resa

http://el-moveyourfeet.blogspot.com/2013/10/for-fable.html