Riding Barranca by Laura Chester Read Free Book Online Page A

on the outskirts of town, and follow her pickup to the corral at the end of a twisting maze of unpaved roads. Linda Knieval Damesworth is related to the famous motorcyclist, Evel Knieval, and I wonder if she has some of the same death-defying genes.
    I get out my own saddle and pad, as many Mexican saddles have stirrups that are far too short for me, and my Western saddle seems to fit this little mare, Rayulita, perfectly. She is part Arab, and her five-month-old colt is a smart-looking dun, but he will have to stay behind with the other horses as we ride up the cobbled streets on the far side of the wash, waving to the local children who gaze at us from their well-swept yards.
    Continuing out into the foothills, Linda points out the
palo santo
trees, which are now bare, a grey-barked tree with white saucer-like flowers that are sweet and succulent. “Hunters often position themselves near these trees because the blossoms draw the animals,” she explains.
    We jog on down a small dirt road, passing the entrance to
Rancho Palomar.
Linda mentions that many hunters go there to shoot quail and dove, and the chef then cooks them up. The road continues with fragrant, wet sage growingon either side. As we wind up into the higher hills, there is a gradual incline, and I suggest we try a canter.
    Rayulita takes off. I can tell she is not used to an easy lope but likes to flat-out run. Her gait is a bit choppy, and I have to hold myself down in the saddle as we leave Linda and her horse behind. At the top of the hill, I wait for her to join us. The air smells fresh—they had quite a bit of winter rainfall the previous week—and I wonder if that will be a problem on our ride over the Alamos Mountains scheduled for the following day.
    Big, dark clouds are building, and the lights of Alamos are coming on in the distance. If it rains again tonight, the ride might be called off. Linda thinks that the five-hour ride to
El Promontorio
is a bit arduous—there is a lot of climbing over slick rock and rubble to get to the old mining site.
    In 1683, silver mines were discovered here by the Spaniards, and by 1790, mining was at its peak. Alamos produced more silver during this period than any other place in the world. Now new mines are starting back up, which pleases the local Mexicans as that means jobs, a much different attitude than we have in southern Arizona.
    On the way back, the sky continues to darken. Rayulita shows me how fast she can walk, eager to get back to her nursing colt. She is a very responsive little mare. I hope I can go out on her again.
    I thank Linda and head back into town to join Erma for dinner. Then we race across the street to the opera. Afterward, the crowd spills out onto the cobbled streets where we spot Ramon and his patient white donkey, Gaspar, loaded down with casks of red wine. The young people follow the
estudiantina
singers, decked out in their traditional beribboned costumes. Meandering around the streets of Alamos, thecrowd sings along with the instruments, helping themselves to free wine, a very festive tradition.
    When we retire for the evening, music still fills the streets from a distance. I want to get a good night’s sleep before tomorrow’s long ride. I keep hearing warnings about
El Promontorio,
often including the word,
peligrosa
(dangerous), and I’m a little wary as I sit outside in the courtyard and watch the lightning in the Alamos Mountains high above. A light rain begins to fall—good for sleep—but will it make the trails too slippery? While the town is now clean, out celebrating, cat-claw tracks from the recent mudslides are still scarring the mountains as if embedded in natural history.

    Whoa!
Over the Mountain
    This morning is dry and clear, perfect weather for riding, though I have been warned that it could be very cold up in the mountains, especially if we ride into the clouds. I take along multiple layers when we go over to the Red Door for