Trail Ride to Paradise
March 15, 2023 – Bavaro, Dominican Republic
Higuey stood with the other horses in the shaded stall. He drank deeply from the water trough and slowly chewed the bits of grass and hay he found in the feed bin. Over the next thirty minutes, the herd shuffled positions until Higuey stood next to the horses he liked best – the ones who never bit or kicked to show their strength.
Higuey liked where he was standing. He liked being out of the sun and the smell of the stall. During his first two walks that day, the saddle felt especially warm and itchy. His attempts to rub against trees and fence posts provided little relief.
The peace in the stall was suddenly disturbed by shouts and whistles. People yanked horses into the sunlight and the herd reshuffled. Higuey knew his head would be yanked, too, for the third walk of the day. Others got to stay behind in the stall. He always walked.
A hand grabbed Higuey’s bridle. He heard kissing noises and obediently followed into the sunlight. He stood still while one of the people lengthened the stirrups hanging from the saddle. Higuey knew low-hanging stirrups meant long, heavy legs. The people talked and then Higuey felt a suffocating body climb onto his back. He shuffled forward a step as his muscles strained at the weight. The first two walks of the day had been pain-free compared to this.
The Dominican cowboy standing next to Higuey looked up at the heavyweight tourist who had struggled into the saddle. “You ever ride before?” the cowboy asked.
“No, I’m from Boston. I don’t get outside much. Never touched a horse.”
“This one’s name is Higuey. He’s good for beginners.”
“I’m not hurting him, am I? I’m a pretty big guy.”
“No, Higuey’s very strong. He’s okay. He likes giving rides.”
“He won’t get tired of me and buck me off?”
“Don’t worry. He’s very gentle. Most gentle horse we have.”
The big guy from Boston grabbed onto Higuey’s reins. “How do I get him to turn? Just pull left or right?”
“Yes, left and right. But Higuey knows what to do. You don’t have to worry about turning. Just relax and let Higuey do the work.”
The cowboys at the ranch finished pushing all ten tourists in the group onto saddles. Then they pulled the horses into a semicircle. Two cowboys in bright red shirts mounted horses and one of them addressed the expedition.
“My name is Pancho. This is Manuel. We’re your guides for today. Manuel will be up front. I’ll be behind. Don’t worry. We’ll take care of you. The horses, they know what to do.”
One of the tourists asked if the horses would be swimming with them on their backs.
“No swimming,” Pancho replied. “The horses don’t know how to swim. Only walk. Any more questions?”
No one raised a hand.
“Are you ready to have a good time?”
A few of the tourists cheered and then Pancho called out, “Here we go. Vámonos!”
Manuel’s horse trotted toward the ranch’s exit and the rest of the horses fell in line to follow. Higuey’s back hurt with each step. He kept his head down, watching the legs of the horses in front of him. They clomped across a paved road and onto a dirt trail which led to the moving water.
With the extreme weight on his back, Higuey moved slower than normal. Pancho rode up alongside and slapped Higuey’s rump. “Keep up. Don’t be lazy!” Pancho shouted.
Higuey strained to trot forward and catch up to the horse in front of him. They were now on a path through thick bushes and shady trees. Higuey took one heavy step after another until his hooves met cool sand.
“Welcome to the beach!” Pancho called out.
Higuey struggled up an embankment and then down to the smooth spot where the waves left reflections on the sand. All the horses stopped and the cowboys took pictures of the tourists.
“I’ve never been anywhere like this,” the big guy from Boston said in amazement. He rotated in the saddle, admiring the palm trees and deserted coastline.
Higuey strained with every twist of the weight on his saddle. He shifted his legs, looking for a comfortable position. He usually liked the feeling of the sand below him and the breeze against his body. He liked the sound and smell of the water. He had never experienced the beach without something on his back.
Picture posing completed, the horse procession followed the sand along a stretch of beach with the waves to the right and palm trees to the left. Driftwood lay scattered, just out of reach of the water.
Pancho rode up alongside Higuey. The big guy from Boston asked, “How long have you been doing this?”
“A long time,” Pancho replied. “It’s a nice view, but I see the same thing every day. Sometimes I wish I could see something different.”
The Boston guy chuckled in surprise. “So where are we going on this ride?”
“To the end of the peninsula,” Pancho replied, pointing toward the horizon. “Nice place to stop and rest.”
Pancho urged the horses to move faster as they angled from the beach and onto a trail surrounded by tropical plants and trees. Through breaks in the vegetation, glimpses of water appeared – the ocean on the right and a flat lagoon on the left. Higuey knew there was a break ahead. Only a little farther and the weight would drop from his back. He sucked hard for air and kept his legs moving.
The group reached a grove of palm trees near the tip of the peninsula. The cowboys called for a stop and jumped from their horses. One by one, they helped the tourists dismount. Higuey was the last to lose his burden. When the big guy from Boston hit the ground, Higuey felt instant relief. He was wet with sweat and quickly moved into the circle of horses under the palms.
The big guy from Boston and the nine other tourists looked around in confusion. “What are we doing here?” someone asked. “Is this right?”
“You have a chance to relax and look around,” Pancho answered.
The tourists gaped at each other like something was suspicious. They were in the middle of nowhere and defenseless. Should they stay near the horses or explore? Eventually, a few of them wandered toward the very tip of the peninsula and the others followed.
The trail widened into an open spot with rocky ground. A fire of dry palm fronds was burning, filling the air with smoke. Next to the stump of a fallen tree stood a skinny, shirtless man. His beard and hair were wild and tangled by the wind. He wore shorts made from a flour sack. His exposed skin was dark and sun weathered. He held a long knife and chopped at a coconut balanced on the tree stump. At the bottom of the stump were more coconuts. Toward the ocean, on a rocky outcropping, stood a shack constructed of driftwood and scraps of sheet metal.
After one look at the wild man, the tourists froze in their tracks. With one hand, the man held up the coconut he was chopping. His other hand held his long knife. Several of the mystified tourists took a step backward.
“What is this? Is this part of the ride?” one of the tourists asked the group.
“Why do I have the feeling we’re getting mugged?” another tourist said.
Pancho wandered up from behind them and they demanded to know what was going on. “That’s just Jose,” Pancho explained. “He lives here sometimes. He collects coconuts and wants to sell them.”
“Is he a part of the horse ride?”
“No. Ignore him if you want.”
Pancho walked toward Jose and yelled in Spanish for him to leave the tourists alone and put his knife away. He should go somewhere else if he did not want to work like the cowboys on the ranch.
Jose dropped the coconut he was holding at the bottom of the tree stump. Then he stuck his knife into a sheath tied around his thigh. He dipped his head while keeping his eyes on the tourists. He was good at recognizing the rare case when someone was willing to buy a coconut. The people in front of him were too confused and uncomfortable to produce any money. After watching them mill around for a minute, Jose wandered up to the driftwood shack. He dropped into a beat-up lounge chair which had once belonged to one of the resorts along the coast.
As Jose laid back on the chair, he kept one eye on the nervous tourists and the other on his thin, bare legs. Tangled strings hung from his shorts. They were little protection when sitting on rocky ground or trudging through sticky weeds. They were not thick and strong like the cowboys’ jeans and shirts. The sun had bleached out all the color printed on the flour sack from which they were made. The tourists’ clothes were new and full of color – so much color that they looked unnatural standing next to the golden sand and aquamarine ocean.
Jose dreamed about getting a few dollars from the tourists. Whenever he held dollars, he walked to the nearest shop and bought food in a box. The box food was full of flavor – more flavor than the usual coconuts, fish, and crab. It was easier to remember the flavor of the box food than to remember how it hurt his stomach.
A breeze kicked up from off the water. Jose liked the feeling of wind on his face and the smell from the far horizon. He shifted his eyes past the narrow tip of the peninsula. Another peninsula lay beyond the shallow waters, which were as wide as a rock throw. The distant land strip had no people. Jose had never explored where it went and what was beyond the parts he could see. The other side scared him.
Jose turned and cast a resentful stare at the red-shirted cowboys. They thought they could yell at him and tell him where he could and could not go. They thought they were better and different than him.
Jose was not the only one watching the cowboys. The tourists were restless. They had examined the point of the peninsula and walked around in circles. They were ready to be shown the next new and interesting place.
Pancho knew it was time to restart riding. He and Manuel slowly sauntered back to the circle of horses. They rubbed the coats of some of the mounts and discussed which tourist went with which horse.
Higuey stood between two horses who never bit or kicked him. He liked the shade and the breeze which had dried up all his sweat. He did not ever want to stop standing there. Then he felt Pancho tug on his halter.
Higuey knew what the tug meant. The crippling weight would return to his back. He would suffer back to the stall. Instead of following Pancho, he kept his legs locked and pulled back with his neck.
Pancho slapped Higuey’s cheek. “What’s wrong with you? Don’t be stubborn!”
Higuey took a few steps backward and then spun around dragging Pancho with him. On the horizon was the peninsula’s point and the shallow water separating it from a whole new place. Higuey sensed that the breeze was coming from the new place.
On the walking path, away from the new place, loomed the big guy from Boston.
Higuey suddenly jerked in the opposite direction from the big guy, knocking a surprised Pancho to the ground. Higuey bolted forward toward the new place, feeling light and free. The tourists scattered as he galloped into the low brush and sand leading to the shallow waters.
Jose watched the entire escape. As Higuey pushed Pancho, a gunshot went off in Jose’s head. He leaped from the lounge chair and ran toward the beach. He intersected Higuey just as the horse met the water and hesitated. In a single, smooth motion, Jose unbuckled Higuey’s saddle and pushed it and the underlying saddle blanket to the ground. Jose pulled the bit from Higuey’s mouth and then jumped onto his back in a superhuman leap.
Higuey felt Jose’s slender body and then heard the encouraging clicking sounds Jose made as he leaned over his neck. Higuey stepped into the saltwater and kept moving as it rose to his knees and then his belly. Jose kept clicking. When Higuey could not feel the sand beneath him, he kicked his legs and swam. Jose floated on the water as Higuey powered forward. His feet finally touched the sand on the far peninsula and his legs surged through the water until he and Jose were on dry ground. They momentarily turned to look backward before bounding down the beach and into the trees.
Pancho, Manuel, and the tourists watched in shocked silence near Jose’s pile of coconuts.
“Is that what we’re doing next?” one of the tourists asked.
Someone else said, “I didn’t bring my swimming suit. I didn’t know we were getting wet.”
“You said the horses didn’t swim.”
“That’s not part of the ride,” Pancho muttered impatiently. “It was an accident. The horse went crazy.”
“I thought you said he was the gentlest horse you had,” the big guy from Boston said.
“I thought he was. I’ve never seen anything like it,” Pancho replied.
“If that’s a gentle horse, I don’t want to get back on mine,” another tourist cried.
Pancho spent the next fifteen minutes convincing the group that the horses were safe and calm. They would not be getting in the water and only had a slow walk to the ranch in front of them.
“What am I supposed to do? My horse is gone,” the big guy from Boston said.
Pancho gave him his horse and ended up walking and jogging back to the ranch. He kept mumbling in disbelief about what happened to Higuey. He had never even heard of such a thing.
Pancho told the story of the escaped horse and hermit on all his future trail rides. He encouraged tourists to look for the missing pair whenever they explored the tip of the peninsula. But no one ever spotted Higuey and Jose again.
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