Get Ready to be Scared

Okay, as I started to explain in my previous blog, I often ride my horse Mark in a local land preserve called Steep Rock. For more on Steep Rock, just look at the right hand side of this page and under “Categories” click on “Steep Rock Diaries”. Not everything there is about Steep Rock, but it’s all about local stuff.

Anyway, one of my posts was about the tunnel in Steep Rock, which was blasted out of a small mountain so that a train could pass through, many years ago. The train has long since stopped running and there is a great riding trail where the tracks used to be, and you can ride through the tunnel or not, because there are plenty of other trails to ride. I usually choose not to ride through the tunnel, as I’m claustrophobic and it’s really scary to me. This is what it looks like from a distance.

The picture above was taken on a beautiful spring day. It’s spookier on a gray, cold fall day like the one I am about to describe. This is the entrance to the tunnel:

When I took that photo, there was nobody around, but later, when I loaded the pictures onto the computer, that ghostly human figure with the small animal was in the shot!

Just kidding. That’s my daughter and the elf about to enter the tunnel.

Okay, but seriously, what I am about to tell you DID really happen. Let me just preface this by saying that I live in a very small community and like to think I know most people, and am especially aware of the odd or unusual ones. Last fall, I tried to ride in Steep Rock every day and I came to know, at least by sight, all the “regulars” who routinely walked their dogs or hiked or rode on the trails.
So it was a weekday morning, and I loaded Mark in his trailer and hauled him off to Steep Rock. Normally, in the fall, there are at least one or two other horse trailers in the parking area, but that day there were none. There were actually no cars either. It was a gloomy, cold day that threatened rain, so that is probably why.

I unloaded Mark, mounted and we set off down the trail. Usually, Mark strides out with great confidence on the trail but that day he was nervous and actually attempted to turn back towards the trailer a few times. Everything looked different – we had had a windy night and a lot of the trees were bare and the lighting was different. Horses really notice stuff like that. There was not a soul on the trails. Once we reached the old railroad bed, I asked Mark to canter a little and was almost unseated when a plastic bag flew up in front of us, causing Mark to leap to one side and spin back towards the trailer again.

Anyway, finally we arrived at the tunnel and for some reason I decided we would go through. We had done it before, but always with other horses and riders. I just thought we’d go through the tunnel and then ride back and call it a day. When we arrived at the mouth of the tunnel, Mark balked. He refused to go in. Mark actually shakes when he’s afraid, shakes and grinds his teeth, which often makes me shake and grind my teeth.

But that day I was determined to exude calm, assertive energy. I clucked and urged him forward with little kicks, but he wasn’t going in. So I dismounted and led him through, and once we were inside, all the calm assertive energy was sucked right out of me. We walked along, Mark and I, both literally quaking with fear. Mark seemed to think that the only safe spot to place each foot was exactly where I was placing mine, so he managed to step on my feet several times, causing me to curse and swat at him, which, of course made him more anxious and determined to cling to me for safety. Actually, it seemed like he thought it would be best if I carried him. At one point I panicked at the idea that it was so dark I couldn’t see my horse’s head and then realized that I was looking up into the brim of my helmet.

Finally, we reached the other side. I mounted, we rode a little further, and then we rode back through the tunnel. I stayed on this time, knowing Mark wouldn’t refuse to walk through the tunnel heading back to the trailer. But Mark wanted to bolt through and it took all my strength to keep him at a frantic jog. We reached the other side but on the whole ride back, we were both so unnerved by the tunnel and the stillness in the woods, that we kept spooking each other.. I heard a branch break and held my breath for a moment, which caused Mark to stop dead in his tracks and shake, which caused me to sweat, which caused him to jig frantically. Mark had it in his mind that the best thing to do would be to gallop at breakneck speed back to where the trailer was parked and I had to really work at keeping him at a wildly jigging prance.

FINALLY, we arrived back at the trailer, both of us drenched in sweat, despite the 50 degree temp, and there were still no cars. Just our trailer, but as I loaded Mark I saw an old man off in the distance with two fat Labrador Retrievers walking lazily along next to him off leash. He seemed to be looking at us so I shouted hello but he just stared at me. I figured he couldn’t hear me because, like I said, he was old, and pretty far away.

I loaded Mark, and fussed around in the trailer. When I was finished, I jumped down out of the trailer and almost screamed when I found myself TWO INCHES from the man I had just seen off in the distance. We were face to face and he was staring eerily off into the space above my head with two bright, bright red eyes caked with crust.

“You’ll have to forgive me,” he said in a deep, formal tone, his eyes now scanning the tops of their sockets, “but I can’t see you. I’m having problems with my vision.”

I stammered something like, “What, really? Something wrong with your eyes?”

His eyes were so inflamed, I’m not kidding, they were like embers. His skin was dreadfully white. He was about 6’4 and was very thin, but he wore the ageless, timeless uniform of the preppy. He wore a crisp pair of khakis, and crew-neck Brooks Brother’s sweater and those docksider shoes with no socks. His labradors, two fat, amiable gals, one chocolate, the other yellow, swished past me, tails sweeping the air slowly, noses to the ground.

“I wanted to thank you for greeting us so cordially,” the man continued. His speech had the tone and affect of an old-fashioned theatrical actor. “Many people aren’t very welcoming to dogs here.”

It’s true that many people freak about unleashed dogs at Steep Rock, so I said, “I know, but horse people usually like dogs, don’t you find?” Suddenly I wondered if he even knew that I had a horse with me. The smell of fresh manure wafted from behind us and I wondered if he thought the smell was coming from me.

“On the contrary,” he said. “I find that horse people usually take the most objection. So I thank you.”

Then, he actually bowed his head to me! I told him that he was quite welcome and then scuttled off into my truck and drove off as fast as I could. I told many people about the man, and nobody in town seemed to have ever encountered him. The man was COMPLETELY blind. He didn’t really know where I was when he was talking to me, yet he managed to walk to (and presumably from) Steep Rock without a cane. And those portly labs were no seeing eye dogs.

Okay, now reading back over this, I feel that I built the story up too much and it’s not really THAT scary. But later that day I reread “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow,” which I remembered involved a man on horseback on a dark, scary autumn road, who was trying not to let his fearful imagination get the better of him. So this is my “Legend of Steep Rock” story. I hope you’ll be able to sleep tonight!