This post is also available in:
Italiano
“Would you like to cross the Chihuahuan desert riding a horse?”
There might be many questions that may arise from this invitation, for example:
“Where is this desert?”
“How long does it take to cross it?”
“Who would be our guide?”
And I would also have to add: “But I just did a riding course of 10 days when I was 12 years old”
or
“But how do these strange ideas come to your mind”?
And, my answer was, “yes.”
And after two weeks, with my beloved geologist friend, passionate and skillful horse rider, I find myself driving for 12 hours to the famous far west. Departing from Houston’s megalopolis, we find ourselves, among the coyotes, at Terlingua, surrounded by ghost towns, on the banks of the Rio Grande.
Adventurous spirit? I do not know … I only remember the enthusiasm and the curiosity to find something hardly signaled by the maps but above all the feeling of lightheartedness leading to an unknown destination.
In the evening, we go to a horror movie motel and the next morning, at dawn, we meet our guide: Linda, a fifty-year-old former rodeo champion, extroverted and determined. Red hair and sun-aged face, she had moved years back to this little village and practically she became its beating heart. She had opened various activities from Mexican handicrafts to horse breeding, employing more than half the population of the town and its surrounding areas in Brewster County. Her partner was sixteen years younger and she used to leave him only during these trips to the other side of the border.
When we asked her, what led her to this choice of life she said: “you will understand it at sunset.”
In the company of a stableman, a pair of elderly lords and a former retired physician, we are going to cross the river, delimiting the US-Mexico border, on a tin boat. I pause to observe the floating object for a few moments, then I look at the companions and finally to the Mexican guide waiting for us on the other side and for the first time I think I’m reckless.
Linda urges us to board the boat saying that in the event of sinking, the water is not at all deep and we can wade the river at that point, not really in line with the American security mania. Fortunately, the small barge takes us to our destination … “Do you know how to ride?”
“Sincerely no,” is my embarrassed answer. “Ok then we’ll give you a mule … they have a flatter back, so it’s easier to keep the balance.”
Given my ignorance of land-based fauna and flora, I expect a donkey not much higher than me, and here it is this imposing quadruped, named Chocolate, reminding of his wonderful black mantle.
Chocolate is strong and patient, does not complain and knows the path to take despite my bad guide. But he too gets nervous when we begin to drive a cliff to get to the top of the mesa from which we can observe the whole valley. My anxiety increases until I realize that at that time Chocolate is the first that does not want to slip along the ridge … sometimes we have no other choice than relying on others and destiny … hoping to be in the divine graces.
After half an hour of complete silence, interrupted by small rocks rolling down to the bottom, detached from the trail by the hooves of the horses, we reach the plain from which you can enjoy a panorama of a stunning beauty. Still thirsty and somehow dehydrated by the sun, we sit on the dusty ground, remaining silent. The sunset light enhances the nuances of red mesas highlighting the veins.
My friend in a soft voice asks me, “How don’t you get excited by the power of the earth? Can you understand how the earth’s crust has shifted, crossed, dismantled, reconstituted? This vision is the proof and it makes me shiver. ” After understanding Linda’s choice, we set out to get to the first night stop, the home of our Mexican guide, on the riverside …Festina Lente
