It was John’s fault. That’s right, John was totally to blame. Anne warned us. We didn’t listen. John waxed philosophical on the merits of sweeping across the barren steppe astride a sturdy hill pony to re-enact the assault on Europe by the hordes of Genghis Khan. Anne thought it a flight of fancy that would pass once the newest in the long line of home projects was identified. Distract him with shiny objects. It didn’t work. John is stubborn and once an idea is born it becomes inevitable. And like a troupe of rag-a muffin camp-followers, we flocked to his banner.

A bit of background. I am allergic to all things furry. Horses are the worst and I violently explode with each sneeze. Chris and I absolutely love the idea of losing ourselves in the vast untamed wilderness of centuries past. But John insisted that it was to be done from a saddle. I’m allergic to horses – what a dumb idea.

I am waiting nervously to meet my horse. Chris is gung ho.

My wife Chris rode horses in college and she warmed to John’s plan. Anne and I considered it more prudent to plan on spending significant time in the chase vehicle. As Anne previously blogged, we all did our part to plan wisely. Chris and I did due diligence and went for a month of horseback riding lessons in the wilds of suburban Massachusetts. Sometimes I can even post when the horse trots! I have been on a horse that spooked on a snow trail and easily asserted my authority to calm my steed before woe befell. That’s the extent of my skills. I know that canter and gallop exist but only from a theoretical perspective. I bought cowboy boots, tight-fit jeans, and a riding helmet. Best of all, I discovered drugs – Claritin and Zyrtec rule! I am ready.

But to be honest, Mongolia is literally the middle of nowhere with our only escape in cases of serious injury a long helicopter evacuation ride to a hospital that may or may not take American Express. And when you are on a horse you are really far off the ground, so during the lessons I was fixated on trying to be prepared for the worst. What could go wrong? I carefully quizzed our mentor Dave Toher on how a novice can best avoid risk. The answer was simple: 1) don’t get kicked, 2) don’t fall off and 3) don’t ever get off on the horse’s right side since that spooks them. Not bad, only three things to remember.

Our first day was spent in the Mongolian capital of Ulaan Bataar on a short tour of the city. This included a visit to a monastery where we learned that if we spun the golden decorated drums clockwise our dreams would come true. I am not a religious person but it can’t hurt to follow local tradition. So, I thought carefully about which of my dreams to select and settled on three wishes instead – no spooking, no kicking, no falling. I spun the wheel with reverent abandon.

Buddhist hand prayer wheels

Next morning we set off to our first camp by a natural spring on the edge of the Bayan Gobi – 280 km on relatively good asphalt and 10 km of dirt. Neither road was very rough, especially when compared to later travel, but I digress. The first night in a tent is never great but you couldn’t beat the sunset and the flies were not as bad as expected. Next morning after a hearty breakfast of fried eggs and salami on bread with a concoction of marshmallow fluff and Nutella as a sugary dessert it was off into the desert. And boy was this the desert. Horses trudging through deep sand surrounded by 20 meter dunes baking at 40C (105F) with the sweet smell of horse-crushed shrubbery reminiscent of American sagebrush.

Bayan Gobi desert

Let’s be clear, the Mongolian horse is no pony. They are tireless and can cruise at a trot for hours with no water and no rest. To call them ponies is a disservice. But they have several endearing and several annoying habits from my perspective. First, they nod their heads up and down violently to keep the flies out of their eyes; it makes them look like they are telling you “yes I am ready to go, why are we dawdling?” Next, they sneeze continuously. Loud and snotty. It seems that biting flies go up their noses and this is the only way to clear things out. Okay, I can empathize. Additionally, they have a pecking order and it is common for one horse to put his nose up the butt of his or her buddy so that the swish of the leader’s tail can clear the flies from the follower’s nose. Again, okay. Lastly, they often stop on a dime to reach their mouth down to their fetlocks and scratch off any flies. Not okay. I fall forward and the loop at front of the saddle (like a saddle horn on a western US saddle) hits me where nothing should be allowed to hit me. I am not proud. I grab the loop for dear life. So it looks like I have this completely under control. I am not sneezing, wheezing or congested. Our planning has been perfect.

Mongolian horses ready to ride.

It took less than one hour into our ride for my planning to implode. I think the lead horse stopped to bite an itch on its shin. I know Chris’s horse “Maleficent” suddenly stopped when it ran into Anne’s horse who ran into the lead horse’s butt. Of course I was following too closely and my horse ran into Chris’s horse’s butt like a chain-reaction collision on a freeway. I had just spoken to our riding partner Fenella, who is an expert rider from the UK, and she warned me that Chris’ horse kicks and I should stay back. I let the horse pick how far back to stay figuring it knew better than I. Big mistake. Maleficent kicked twice. First kick caught my horse in the stomach and from what I could see there was a look of mild surprise on his face. I quickly reacted and pulled his head left to get the heck out of range. Second kick caught him in the chest as he was turning away and glanced onto my right leg. Square in the middle of my leg and just above the boot. Bummer, one “don’t” realized. It hurt. A lot. I believe I said only one thing, loudly. “Ouch – your horse kicked me!” No time to swear but time enough to complain.

Luckily I saw the kick coming and was moving my leg backwards. This had two consequences. First, my leg was moving with the kick so nothing broke (except a little skin). Second, my foot was kicked out of the stirrup, which exacerbated the situation. My horse bolted from the pile-up while I was struggling to control the horse’s panic by reining him in. Here is where I violated the third “don’t” and let my leg swing out, albeit in severe pain. Unfortunately it was my right leg. I had no control of it since it was paralyzed from the force of the blow and my struggle to get it back into the stirrup caused the horse to spook. I had him almost to a stop by spinning his head so he couldn’t run straight when he bucked me and shot out for the deep desert. I didn’t think this was going to end well and seeing a soft patch of deep sand I bailed. Check off “don’ts” two and three. So much for the power of the golden spinning drum. I had the trifecta.

I got up. I walked it off. I felt stupid since it was my fault for following too close and for waving my leg and for ending up face-first in the sand. But I was okay and my horse was okay. That’s really all that matters. I spent the rest of the ride on a new horse avoiding Maleficent and pondering my folly. Chris was apologetic. Nevertheless let us not forget. Its all John’s fault. But we are culpable cohorts in crime. We didn’t listen to Anne.

He rode with a blazing saddle.