Studs and Balls
I have only ridden horses a few times in my life. Most of these were in my childhood. The most recent riding experience was in Shi Du in China (often mislabeled as the Guilin of the north). Fellow blogger kinnum and my wife were also present. We hired these dismal looking horses to ride for about thirty minutes.
The mounting was easy despite my short stature. With my boots ensconced in the stirrups, I awaited further instructions. There was nothing coming forth from the ancient looking Chinese woman holding the reins of my horse. I tried not to think of Superman and kept a brave face. Maybe the Er Guo Tou I had consumed before helped. (Did they have RUI — riding under influence — convictions in old times?) Soon we were off, with the horses being walked by the keepers. We took some photographs, exchanged smiles and idle chatter. The walk then turned into a trot and I felt like Kublai Khan surveying a battlefield. It was when the trot became a gallop that the comfort level dipped drastically. We galloped along… pitter-patter… pitter-patter. The hoofs went pitter and my balls went patter.
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