SATURDAY NIGHT AT THE WESTERNER

I'm a ranch pickup truck

By Julie Carter

I took the online test to find my "true inner vehicle." It was one of those goofy 15 question quizzes that lead to a personality synopsis telling me what kind of "vehicle" I would be if I were a car.

The option wasn't there but should have been. I'm sure I am a ranch pickup.

You know the kind. Not much to look at but it will get you there. It might choke and gasp a little, but it will get you there. It pulls to the left and has a front end alignment problem but it will get you there with a tired right arm.

The fenders don't match, the windows don't work. It's not classy, not elegant, may take a little "herding and handling" to go the right direction, but it'll get you there.

Probably needs some engine work and definitely needs new brakes. The A/C isn't all that good anymore, lots of hot air.

Tough, dependable and functional. The kind that can go through a wreck and look the same as before the wreck. Yes, my inner vehicle is definitely a ranch pickup.

There was a time when driving a pickup wasn't the status symbol it is today. Every ranch woman longed for a car to drive to town. If you were rich, you might even have a Cadillac.

Today the same money will buy you a Cadillac, a single-wide mobile home or a four-door pickup.

Pickups are now called trucks. Back then, a truck was those big things that had the word "semi" in front of it. but we've evolved. They have advertisements that proudly tout the roomy space for five passengers. I remember the days when three adults and four kids rode in a pickup, all in one seat and the guy in the middle did the shifting.

If the radio worked, the driver was in charge of the dial. It was also an opportunity for a conversation. We would actually talk while driving the road. Now the back seat of a pickup affords a view of a television screen with a DVD player and the front seat has a AM/FM radio, tape deck and CD player. No one talks.

Those ads over the past 20 years have been quite effective. People who have never seen a dirt road drive mega-diesel engine four-wheel drive trucks, have them custom detailed, and listen to computers tell them when to fasten their seat belt, change the oil, and fill it with fuel.

The spare tire is now "handily" under the pickup where nobody but a scientist and a linebacker can figure out how to get it off. And walking five miles for help is easier than getting the sissy little complementary jack out from under the seat that is, of course, loaded with groceries, kids, spare parts and a week of accumulated mail.

Then, most certainly in the dark on the side of the road with a flashlight in your teeth, you put that handily engineered rod through a little hole handily located next to the license plate hoping to connect with the handily located crank on the apparatus that handily holds the tire under the truck.

Changing a tire on today's "trucks" has caused more people to lose their religion than anything you would usually associate with sin.

It is a great trip down memory lane to the days when we actually drove 55 mph, had no A/C so the windows were always down and no lights so we had to be home by dark.

The stick shift and lack of power steering precluded the ability to talk on cells phones, put on makeup and check email on a laptop, all while driving.

My inner self that is a ranch pickup is most definitely one of those original models. Almost a collector's item....

Long Riders

Riding to fulfill a dream

By Julie Carter

I just met a man who put his regular life on hold while he followed his dream. I'm old enough to know that is not an easy step for mankind in this day and for most, it never really happens.

Roy Johnson rode his horse through town this week on a 2,000 mile trek that is taking him from Elgin, Texas, to Spokane, Washington. All that ensures his survival is tied to his saddle. For five months he will battle elements, civilization and his own sanity to live the dream of a lifetime.

1,000-mile ride

Long riders, a label given to those that have ridden more than 1,000 continuous miles on a single equestrian journey, reside in dozens of countries around the globe. While the concept is not new, the courage to actually do it is unique.

The inherent bodily perils involved for both the horse and the rider are very real. Meeting Johnson brought a flood of memories of another rider I met a lifetime ago.

As a teen, I was out riding one Sunday on the mountain ranch in Colorado where I grew up. I'd gone arrowhead hunting and was sure I was the only one around for many miles. I wasn't. Down an old two-track road came a man on a horse leading a pack mule.

Things were different in that world. I didn't know I shouldn't so I did.

I struck up a conversation with the man, who was as surprised to see me as I was him. His story fascinated me so much I had him follow me home so Mom could feed him and Dad could hear his tales.

Coast to coast

Jefferson Spivey, now a household name in the long rider circle for his campaign to have trails developed for crossing the nation, his invention of a specially-designed long distance saddle and hundreds of magazine articles and several books, was not yet famous.

Spivey was riding coast to coast on a borrowed Arabian gelding named Mr. Sol.

For whatever reason, his path wandered through the national forest that bordered the ranch where I lived.

He had a non-descript past and an unexciting job history except for his pistol-handling stunts that had landed him some jobs as a Hollywood double in a few B-Westerns, but he had a dream that sparked at the spirit of adventure like flint on dry leaves.

Death defying

He told us about nearly dying on a rocky narrow ledge in the mountains of western Colorado. Following a narrow game trail through a high mountain pass, the granite beneath him began to crumble with only a deep canyon to catch the fall.

The Arabian struggled to stop the backward slide that fed momentum into itself, coming to a halt with one rear foot off the rock ledge. With a life-saving lunge, the horse fought his way back up the trail.

One of the pack mules didn't fare as well. The reality of the danger and the loss of the mule left Spivey shaken and scared. He was humbled knowing that he was alive only because of the remarkable strength and courage of his horse. It was a life changing moment for him and one only he had witnessed.

I never forgot Spivey and only through articles in equestrian magazines did I know he arrived safely in Delaware, a 4,900 mile journey made in seven months.

During the following decades he scored many more long rides including a 3,200 mile ride in 1984 from Calgary, Canada, to El Paso, Texas.

As I watched Roy Johnson ride away yesterday afternoon, I wondered what adventures his journey held for him.

Would he also have a life-changing moment where values are rearranged and priorities slip quickly into their proper order?

Sometimes challenging life is the only thing that breathes life back into us. If I can't grasp the concept of taking the risk, I do certainly admire the courage.

Hats off to the long riders.

© Julie Carter 2006