How can you not know if 7 horses have already passed on a trail like this. Hoof prints? Poop?

Religion and philosophy make a big deal out of coming down from the mountains. Moses went up Mt. Sinai an ordinary guy but came down a law giver (though I’m thinking the ancient Jews already knew killing was ‘no bueno.’) Meanwhile, Nietzsche, the original naysayer, inverted the mountain/wisdom paradigm and had his hero come down from the heights simply to tell folks, “Nothing to see here, figure it out yourselves.”

So, what great truth did I bring down from the High Balkans? Two, in fact.

1. When in doubt, look for poop.

2. The Cold War is still a thing.

Our fifth morning found us riding logging roads through dense forest. The going steep but not too rocky, Sophie and I chatted quietly and occasionally let our horses stop to forage while we waited for Jacqueline, who’d had a bad fall the day before. We began to worry when one such break had grown quite long with no sight of her or our tour guide, Teia. The other riders had long gone around the next bend in the road. Sophie rode back up the trail to see if all was well while I quickly advanced to let the others know what was happening. Reaching Marian, I communicated our concerns through our usual English to Czech to Russian channels. He pulled out his mobile but had no signal. We all rode back up the trail, eventually reaching Sophie, who’d seen no sign of the two lost women. We continued up the mountain until we came to a fork in the road. We’d gone right; now, we turned onto the alternative descending trail. Soon we saw fresh manure and quickened our pace. Quite a bit further on, we found our lost riders. But now, we were well down an alternative route. Marian indicated we should continue rather than again reverse up hill.

It was never clear to me how far off course this mistake had taken us, but that day ended up being our longest in the saddle and much of it was ridden in what constitutes traffic in the Bulgarian Balkans. During a quiet moment that evening, I asked Teia how she could possibly have travelled so far down the wrong path? “How was I supposed to know?” she’d retorted.

‘Well you proport to be a guide,’ I wanted to answer, but – contrary to popular opinion – I do have a modicum of kindness. “Poop,” I finally said instead. “When in doubt, look for poop.”

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Giving my boy some well deserved love after he kicks some Slavic ass

Our final day of riding was going to be a short one, but it would have more canters than the rest combined. Throughout the ride, we’d maintained a certain order with the three Czech women in the front, me in the middle, and Sophie and Jacqueline bringing up the rear. My riding partners at home are probably reading this and scoffing – middle and back are not my natural places in the riding order. I like hot horses who, in turn, like the lead. Yes, I make them drop back so others can lead. But this usually results in some pretty interesting displays of horse temper to the amusement of my friends. In truth, I was indeed chafing under this arbitrary order. Sure, the guides had thought they’d given the Czech ladies the fastest horses (pro-fellow-Slav bias), but I knew Whiskey could kick their asses.

Afterall, this wasn’t the head-shy, little guy I’d gotten on day 2. This was the treat monster – a horse that would give you his massive heart on a silver platter for a share of your protein bar or the core of your apple.

At the start of our first canter, I was in position 4, but I left Agata in the dust with a quiet, ‘coming up on your left.’ Klara, having seen this and heard Whiskey closing on her, offered me the spot in front of her before the next canter had even started. Now, I was in second position behind only Vendi on a horse that looked like a mule and was reputed to kick like one. Vendi was the grand dame of the Czech contingency and our Russian speaker. She wasn’t going to cede the lead.

“TEAR DOWN THIS WALL, MR. GORBACHEV,” I thought as we all collected our horses for a final uphill gallop. Whiskey jigged as we waited (horses remember where gallops are offered). He resisted my attempt to pull him up – clearly scared to near Vendi’s nasty mount. But then Teia signaled to go and he jumped forward with a start that would make any Quarter Horse proud.

He lost a back shoe on that last gallop and I had to walk the last 90 minutes of my Bulgarian Balkan adventure, but damn, it was worth it. What a horse! And what a great way to end a wonderful ride that, from start to finish, could have been a total disaster.

BULGARIA RIDE – COMING DOWN OFF THE MOUNTAIN