Hughes - Straight from the Horses Ass

W HEREIN I MAKE KNOWN MY DISCONTENT WITH E NGLAND AND FASHION BOLD PLANS FOR AN UNUSUAL JOURNEY

It was all Kevin Costners fault. Him and that damn yellow horse he rode in the movie DancesWithWolves. On a dreary winter afternoon in Slough I watched as he and his loyal and intelligent horse pioneered their way into the heart of the magnificent wide-screen west. Confronted by Indians, wolves, evil cavalry and gorgeous orphans, he never hesitated. He and his staunch companion outwitted their opposition and generally were a credit to their old school tie. All in all, man and beast looked to be having a fine old time far from home on a Really Big Adventure.

I was even further from home when I decided to ride down the Rocky Mountains from the northern border of the United States to the southern. I was living and working in a pub outside London. Id come to work there after visiting a girl in France. She received me with grace and charm. And a boyfriend. A decent enough chap, but what was he doing with the future Mrs Hughes?? There was clearly no need for a third wheel on that bicycle so I took myself off to London to get a job and put some money aside while I figured out what to do now that I was out of love, broke, and cast upon those cold foreign shores.

I did what every Kiwi does when he goes to Britain. I lived in squalor and poverty, drawing on the goodwill of friends until I arranged a loan from home and could live in comfort and debt, drawing on my Visa card (which, by the way, has saved me more times than organised religion. All praise, All praise). Anyway, the next step after bludging a place to stay off your friends for as long as they can stand it, is to get a place that not only pays but also feeds, clothes and houses you. Prison does that. So do Ye Publick Howses of Olde England. Peopled with a captive audience of cheerful topers they are a perfect environment for loud, boring and penniless antipodeans. I fitted right in.

I arrived in November and by March I was sufficiently financial to slip off for a brief visit to the movies that rainy afternoon. I watched Mr Costner cavorting about the prairie with his loyal and cunning four-footed friend and that really was the cause of everything that followed. Summer was fast approaching and I was looking for something cheap to do for two or three months. I suppose if Id seen Braveheart Id have headed off to Scotland on vacation but DancesWithWolves was an advertisement for the wide open spaces that I couldnt resist. I dont even know how I came to fit it all together in my head, but without any second thoughts I had made up my mind to buy a horse and ride from Canada to Mexico through the Rocky Mountain states. I wanted to tie my spotted hankie on a stick and run away from pub life, pewter skies, red-brick houses and Aussie soaps. I decided I wouldnt object to stumbling across some winsome orphans too.

Id seen the country at first hand on a six-month holiday the previous year, when I bought a car and drove around America. The land was still largely unfenced, the grass grew just like it had in the movie and it wasnt illegal to ride 2500 miles in your own time, on your own horse. It was damn stupid, of course, but fortunately theres no law against being a dickhead. If there is, then it aint being enforced.

There was, of course, the small matter of money. Now before you start to draw conclusions about how a person can afford to travel around the world twice per annum on a barmans wages, and then go on holiday for six months a year, I must point out that Inolongerhadagirlfriend. That alone roughly doubled my disposable income. Add to that a pretty gullible Visa card credit manager and Hey Presto! LOADSAMONEY!

I figured that by 1 July I could save 2000, which at that time was nearly $US3500. Also I would have $US2000 of credit left. Deducting $US1200 for a flight to the US I had roughly enough left to last 46 days at my normal rate of spending in America if I travelled by car. I didnt think that a horse would cost more to buy or run than a car, so if I went on the cheap I could make it last perhaps 90 days. This sounded a lot better as I reckoned that in three months I could easily ride 2500 miles on a single horse.

Now you have to remember that at this point Ididnotknowhowtoride. The more horsey type of reader will spot about a thousand really, really dumb mistakes in all this, but then I never laid claim to being the smartest bloke to sit a saddle. No, Im just an averagely dumb city slicker who figured that since he could walk all day at three and a half miles per hour with a 100-pound pack on two legs, then a horse should easily be able to crack along at five to seven miles per hour by virtue of having twiceasmanylegs! So there.

These were elementary figurings, (actually elementary figurings is not really the right term, the right term is more like wild-ass guesses), but they led me to believe that 50 miles per day was quite the right speed to see the sights, get to Mexico and still allow a generous amount of time for rest, recreation, side trips, days off and perhaps a little shopping too. What a fuckwit!

I checked the cost of a horse in America with two Canadian girls who worked in the pub and discovered that I could buy a horse, saddle and basic tack for $CA1500 in Canada. Such a horse, I was assured, would get me to Mexico. No doubts at all. Another call to the BNZ Visa Centre, some quick lies and the deed was done.