Guess who’s back from paradise? The newly-hitched and freshly-sunburned Wylie. After our wedding we embarked upon a week-long honeymoon in the Dominican Republic, where I got to kick a big one off my bucket list: riding on the beach.
My husband agreed to the plan enthusiastically, an indication that we shall indeed enjoy a long and happy marital union. And, yes, riding on the beach was everything it’s cracked up to be: splashing through the turquoise surf, etc. etc.
I rode a little gray Paso Fino named Samurai with a long, salt-tangled mane and the disposition of an angry New York City cab driver. Before I jumped on, he sized me up with wary eyes. “Tourists,” he seemed to say. “Why won’t they just leave me alone.”
I would’ve been cool with a leisurely seaside stroll, especially since we were dressed in shorts and flip-flops, but our Dominican trail guides were determined to show their guests an exciting time. We spent a decent portion of the hour-long ride sprinting down the beach, dodging coconut gatherers and fallen palm trees. Each time we picked up the pace, Samurai would pin his ears and threaten to buck, always followed by an apologetic relent. “It’s not you, lady, it’s me,” he seemed to say in the manner of a burnt-out but generally well-intentioned cabbie. “I just really hate my job.”
The whole thing served to make me really miss my own horses, but a never-ending stream of Coco Locos served to temporarily plug the pony-shaped hole in my life. I’m glad to be back, though, and I’m looking forward to spending the day catching up on all the Horse Nation action I’ve missed.