OF HORSES AND FORMER GIRLFRIENDS    [Copyright (C) 1992, Luigi Semenzato]

In spite of my frequent encouragements, my former girlfriend doesn't
windsurf much.  Now I am trying a new technique.  Last week-end I took
my first horse-riding lesson.  I plan to take several more.
Eventually she will feel in debt and will go with me to the Alameda
beach.  I think this is an incredibly good idea.  I am going to share
my valuable experience for your own benefit, and you guys ought to be
extremely grateful.

Sunday morning we drove to the barn in Walnut Creek where Martha keeps
her horse.  My lesson was at the barn next door.  We were early and
stopped by Martha's horse first.  There is always something to fix in
a horse---sounds familiar eh?  Mostly surface work.  Martha started
repairing nicks and scratches.  You would never think a surface that
soft can get so many.  She used white stuff from a can, some sort of
epoxy I guess.

When it was almost time for my lesson I crossed the fence between the
two barns.  `BARK, GROWL, BARK, BARK, BARK, BARK!'  Oh-oh.  This dog
had been trained to recognize the act of crossing a fence as a highly
suspicious one.  Still, it didn't look too ferocious.  Since I was
going to deal with animals, I thought I might as well start practicing
with this one.  `Hello doggy, you are a good dog aren't you?'  I said
in Italian---I never trust my English in these situations.
`GROWLLL...  BARK!'  By this time I could tell that the dog was making
a scene out of her sense of duty, and didn't really have her heart in
it.  I kneeled and offered my hand in sacrifice.  The dog sniffed it,
accepted my act of submission, and made herself available for the
required petting and scratching session.

As I was scratching near her tail, she turned around and bit my hand
lightly.  What's the meaning of this, I thought.  I realized she
wanted to play.  I complied, and we chased each other for a while.  It
was mostly her chasing me, and biting my arm when I let myself be
captured.

Soon it was time for the lesson.  I told the dog the game was over,
and walked to the stable.  The dog followed.  The instructor, a 6'1"
tall girl, said: `Oh, you've met my dog, I see'.  `Yes, we were
playing {\em Dog Attacks Man}'.  `She is a sweet dog, she wouldn't
hurt you'.  `Oh, I know'.  `This is your horse, Gilco'.  She showed me
how to rig it.  Quite simple really.  The thing that needs by far the
most tension is the aroundhaul---it holds the buttpad---and it is
loose compared to a typical downhaul.  It didn't need a 6:1 or 4:1,
just a plain 2:1, can you imagine?  The mouthhaul is a little tricky
with all those little straps, and it takes guts to force it into the
horse's mouth.  Horse saliva everywhere.  Not for the squeamish---but
neither is the EBMUD.

I inquired about the buttpad placement.  `To go faster, do you move it
forward or backward?'  She looked at me strangely. `No, it always
stays there.'  She added that if it moved I would need to retighten
the aroundhaul.  I wasn't sure we were communicating but I did not
insist.

I led the horse to the covered arena.  It's nice not to have to carry
it.  Incidentally, that would be tough.  The technology is a little
behind and they don't make them very light.  In the arena she showed
me how to groundstart.  Foot in the footstrap, hands on the buttpad,
push and pull and I was up---lucky me, my waterstarting leg did most
of the work.  Boy was I high.

First thing I notice, the footstraps are next to useless.  They are
free to move in all directions except down.  Someone should design
something better, in aluminum or maybe carbon fiber.  A business
opportunity?  OK, she tells me, hold the mouthhaul so-and-so, do this
to start, this to turn, this to stop.  I try and it works.  Didn't
seem very challenging.  When I learned to shortboard I was always this
close to drowning.  Maybe the disappointment showed, because she said
`OK, you are ready for posting'.  Now this was interesting.  With the
horse on a plane, I was supposed to lift my butt from the buttpad
synchronously with the chop.  She tied a knot on the mouthhaul.  `What
shall I hold on to?'  `No hands' she said.  No hands?  I wanted to
explain that I crash in about half a second if let go with both hands
(I know because I tried---it looks so cool), but she seemed serious
about it.  So I go, hands on my head, spiritually prepared for a
face-planting catapult.  The chop was harsh, my timing poor, and the
buttpad kept reminding me of that.  Several times I had to hug the
horse's neck.  Fortunately he did not seem to mind.  Then I got the
hang of it.  It is a most amazing balancing act---even for us
windsurfers, who really know something about balance.

Martha was watching the lesson.  She had been trying not to laugh
until that point, but now she was almost admiring me.  I was posting
very confidently, when all of a sudden I realized I had made some
wrong clothing choices that morning.  Specifically, sweat pants and
boxer shorts.  Not tight enough.  Being a guest in a puritanical
country, I don't want to go into further details.  You should be able
to figure them out.  I am afraid I've said too much already.

My stance suffered a bit from the accident and never quite recovered,
but possibly I was getting tired too.  When the lesson was over,
Martha felt quite proud of her former boyfriend.  I expect her to
blast off the lip any day now.