Okay folks, buckle up, ’cause this one got my heart racing like a jackhammer. Happened just last week during my usual Tuesday trail ride on my buddy Dave’s place. You know me, always pushing a little, trying new things, but this… this was unexpected.
So, I was riding this new horse, Jasper. Big, beautiful boy, but greener than grass. Dave said he was “quiet,” which usually means “might have a few surprises.” We were doing okay, walking, a little trot. Sun was out, birds chirping – perfect, right? Wrong.
Just as we turned onto this wider path near the creek, a stupid plastic bag blew RIGHT OUT OF NOWHERE! Like, ninja-style, tangled in the bushes near his face. Jasper freaked. I mean, proper freaked. He shot straight up in the air – felt like I was on a rocket launcher. Then before I could even say “Oh sh–,” he took off. Like, head down, ears flat back, bolting. Legs churning, completely ignoring me hauling on the reins. We were flying. Trees were whipping past. Adrenaline hit me like a truck. Pure panic.
My brain, bless its scrambled state, started desperately clawing for anything I remembered. Beginners facing this? Absolute nightmare fuel. But those old lessons started bubbling up through the terror. Here’s how it went down, the messy reality:
What Actually Worked in the Panic
First thing: Don’t. Freaking. Fall. Off. Easier said than done when you’re bouncing like a ragdoll. I jammed my heels down deep, grabbed a fistful of mane with one hand while the other wrestled the rein. Instinct made me lean back slightly, trying to anchor myself. Gotta stay in that saddle, folks, or you’ve got zero control.
Second, when hauling back on the reins like a madman did jack squat, I remembered about circling. Jasper was running dead straight down the path. One rein pull? Nada. So, gritting my teeth, I pulled HARD on just the left rein, aiming to turn his head sharp. My goal? Make him run in a circle instead of straight into oblivion. It felt impossible, he was SO strong and focused on running. But I kept pulling, leaning into it. Finally, finally, he started to bend his head left. Small victory!
Third, while trying to circle, I started shouting “Whoa!” like my life depended on it. Deep voice, loud, over and over. It probably sounded ridiculous, but hell, I wasn’t taking chances. Combine the voice with steady rein pressure – gotta be consistent, even if your arms feel like jelly.
Fourth thing that popped in my head? Focus. Hardest part when fear’s screaming at you. I forced my eyes UP, looking ahead to where I wanted to go (even as trees blurred past), trying to anticipate the path. Looking down? Yeah, that’s a ticket to the dirt. Kept my head clear, tried to stay calm. Fake it ’til you make it.
Fifth, once he slowed even a tiny fraction – and I mean from warp speed to just insane gallop – I did pulses and releases on the rein. You can’t just pull forever, they brace. Pull hard, let go quickly, pull hard again. Like pulsing the brakes. Helped finally get some give in his neck.
It wasn’t quick. Felt like hours, but was probably less than a minute. Slowly, slowly, the frantic running eased. He started trotting, then a fast walk, and finally, blessedly, stopped. Just stood there, blowing hard, sweat foaming. Me? I was shaking so bad I nearly slid right off. Just clutched his neck for a solid five minutes, whispering “Whoa boy, whoa.”
Shook me up bad, folks. Stupid plastic bag! But those five things? Staying on, circling, voice command, focus, pulsing the reins? They saved my bacon. Definitely a practical lesson hammered home – always prep for the unexpected, even on a ‘quiet’ Tuesday ride. Crazy. Just crazy.
