If there had been such a thing as online reviews back then, I don’t think this outfitter could have made it. A travel agent with good intentions booked me for a trail ride in the Tetons and I couldn’t have been more excited. I loved traveling alone and this was going to be an amazing adventure. Camping in the wilderness, riding horses all day, coming back to a hearty meal cooked over a fire - what could be better?
The rugged cowboy in charge was more authentic than John Wayne, himself. He was a big guy, had a thick handlebar mustache that completely covered his lips and hung to the bottom of his chin. Everything about him was weathered - his face, his cowboy hat, and his dusty, leather boots. Customer service was not his thing and he rarely spoke unless it was an occasional grunt that his crew seemed to understand. Speaking of his crew, our first morning got delayed because he had to bail them out of jail for public drunkenness. Apparently, this was a weekly routine.
Our group was quite diverse. The ones that stood out the most were a newly married couple who thought this was going to be an amazing honeymoon. Neither had ever ridden a horse, they were terribly unprepared for the extreme changes in temperature or the many hours in a saddle, and by the end of the first day the poor girl was in tears. She wore shorts for an eight-hour ride and came back with saddle sores and blisters all over her skinny little legs. They didn’t leave the campsite again until we left for good. That marriage was off to a rough start.
It didn't take long to see that the master cowboy got a thrill from scaring folks. Each day brought adventures that bordered on sadistic because they were so dangerous. I love a thrill and was accustomed to hours on horseback, but this was ridiculous. One day we rode to the top of a steep mountain covered in nothing but snow and loose slate. The horses had to lean over at a 45-degree angle and scramble to keep their feet on the ground. They might as well have been trying to skate sideways on marbles.
Another day we went down a ravine that was so steep, the horses literally scooted on their butts with their front legs straight out trying to navigate the boulders and rocky crevices. I tried to convince myself that my horse knew what he was doing because he did this trip every week, but he began trembling like he was scared to death. I didn’t realize at the time it was because he had been rented for the week and was totally unprepared to risk his life for a stranger on his back.
When we finally got to the bottom of this dangerous stretch, I reached up and grabbed the massive cowboy by the collar and said, “This was not in the brochure!” to which he had no response. I was ever so thankful the little newlyweds were not with us that day. This man apparently got some kind of sick pleasure out of seeing people in distress. Since we rode each day for eight hours, I could only imagine how long it would take to go back and get help if anyone got hurt. After all, it wasn’t like we had cell service or even cell phones for that matter.
It was no wonder Mr. Cowboy’s wife left him. Word had it he was mad at her one day, so he backed his horse trailer to the backdoor of the Piggly Wiggly she managed and turned his horses loose in the produce department to graze on all the vegetables. But she got him back, alright. Apparently when he got home later that night, she had hauled off their trailer and all he found were the concrete steps to nowhere.
There were a few highlights to appreciate from this adventure - such as the incredible wildflowers that appeared in the most unexpected places like little surprises from God, the spectacular views from mountains that were too high for even vegetation to grow, and especially the occasional moose sighting. But I was happy to pack up and leave at the end of the week.
The trail back to the pickup place was extremely narrow, barely wide enough for the width of a horse. It was hazardous because the mountain was straight up one side and straight down the other. There were four pack burros that were strung together carrying all our gear. They could barely fit within the space of the small trail because their saddle bags on either side were as wide as their bodies.
All of a sudden, one of the pack burros lost his footing, slipped off the side of the trail, and began falling down the steep embankment. It was about a twenty-to-thirty-foot drop-off but because the burro was tied to three others, its fall progressed in slow motion. Naturally, since they were connected, all four eventually tumbled down the incline like dominoes. They were a tangled mess, and my first thought was that we were going to end this treacherous trip by watching them shoot innocent animals. I couldn’t imagine how they might possibly survive such a fall without life threatening broken bones and cuts.
As we watched from an aerial view, some of the crew quickly scrambled down the steep embankment on foot to cut them loose while the rest of us held our breath in horror. The burros were a huge knot of legs, hooves, and body parts that were hard to distinguish as they struggled to untangle themselves. They left a trail of pots and pans and personal belongings in their wake. Stuff was strewn everywhere.
Much to my surprise, once the burros were cut loose from each other, they righted themselves and immediately began eating grass as if nothing ever happened. Amazingly, none were seriously injured, thank God, and they apparently survived without permanent trauma since they were so eager to simply return to the basics. Now I just eat grass.
Late the other night I heard from a former resident who was in yet another crisis, and this experience immediately came to my mind. I finally realized it was because she and her friends remind me of this string of burros that were yoked together in such a way that one could not fall without taking the others, too.
For years, this group of women have refused to permanently separate from each other. When one falls, they all fall. They don’t just stumble. They sink deep. They make poor choices that turn into near death experiences - and they do it together.
However, when someone cuts them loose, they don’t look up and try to figure out a way to get back on track. They just simply return to the basics like those burros and pick up where they left off before the latest catastrophe. Now I just eat grass.
Once in a blue moon this group will recognize how toxic they are for each other and go their separate ways. It is during these times they thrive, seek fulfilling jobs, heal relationships with family members, and find reasons to be excited about life. They get reacquainted with God as if he is a brand-new idea and are eager to sing his praises. But eventually, one will slip off the trail. She will drag the others with her because none are willing to let go of the worn out baggage that causes them to be drawn to each other in the first place. It's a vicious cycle.
The wheel of recovery at Blue Monarch has many spokes and this is one of them. In fact, we have begun focusing even more on the pitfalls of co-dependency since it can be such a trigger for setbacks. We encourage our residents to choose their friends wisely. “Set the bar really high! Don’t get yoked to people who will drag you down. Choose friends who represent who you want to be - not who you hate to be. You don’t have to be tied to unhealthy people to feel whole.”
In other words, we are grooming trail blazers - women who are strong and confident in who God made them, not fearful to step off in a fresh direction. In fact, I have news for the one who is known for finding sadistic pleasure in the distress of others. When you come looking for these courageous women, you will find no one at home and steps to nowhere - because they will have reached for the One who breaks their yokes and sets them free. And that, by the way, is not a brand-new idea.
In my anguish I cried to the Lord, and he answered by setting me free. Psalm 118:5
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