WHERE THE WILD HORSES ROAM PART I

March 1st, 2022

I pushed out onto the road, car filled with two months’ worth of clothing for two seasons, end of Winter and Spring, gas prices rocketing into the five dollar-a-gallon zone, and an eighties rocking tune from the band,  Simple Minds, letting Napa Valley know not to forget about me. However, my entire point is to forget about my life in Napa and attempt to discover a new and improved one somewhere on my travels or at least explore some options for a place to heal. I clocked in 56 years of living, lots of careers, too many mediocre dates, two marriages, numerous pets, homes, cars, towns, experiences, death, four careers, one small business venture while working full time, technological speed train, adventure, tumultuous trauma, you name it, I have lived it. This road trip was born out of fear of not wanting to return to the nine-to-five workforce, a strained marriage, depression, and a longing to live freely, the way my mind and soul truly yearn to, in the rhythm I was made to move to.

I have lived so many years trying to make other people happy, to fulfill their hopes and dreams, bending impossibly to please and delight, as it used to fill me up. Nobody has ever asked me to do such a thing, no expectations have been placed upon me that I have not enforced upon myself, me, and me alone. Now, it feels like a burden, my body tense, anxious, and filled with dread that I will pass through this life not living the way my body constantly reminds me to. I am gonzo, caput, exhausted, and empty. The future is my path to follow, so this road trip is an exercise in discovery, mending, and forthright commitment to go my own way, wherever possible. My heart fills with hope and fear, the two living simultaneously attacking each other, one trying to conquer the other. Fear has been winning; I am ready for hope to take over.

I have been fascinated with iconic American figures for some time, wanting to be out in open spaces and view their wildness and history. I have lusted to see wild horses roam through these vast spaces where not a building or person can be seen. My first venture was to Sparks Nevada, a close enough drive from my dwelling in Napa Valley and my first stop on the journey across the country. I took a tour in a private Jeep driven by a retired ex-county employee from California. She and her husband moved there when his job transferred him, and she has been living in harmony with the horses ever since. I was armed with my newly purchased binoculars, Levis, a Western pearl button shirt, and my Justin boots.

The first stop was on industry-owned land, as she explained that the BLM-owned land was extremely controversial and chased the wild horses in helicopters, darting them to gather them up and sell them at auction. Two belief systems going on here, that the horses have been on our native land since before white man ever stepped foot here and are completely capable of surviving in the current ecosystem, and, two, that there is a constant drought and lack of resources for the wild beasts to live comfortably, making them a menace to the land. I know what side I am on but choose your own opinion.

These majestic animals have been on our land for thousands of years, living symbiotically with nature and the environment they occupy. A dying breed, the wild horses represent how America began. Wide open spaces, unexplored, uninhabited, raw, and naked waiting to either chew you up and spit you out or engulf you with its elements until you learn how to thrive. As I bumped up and down the back roads of Nevada in and out of canyons and prairies, my eyes filled with images of history, watching the muscular, sacredly scarred animals roaming and eating Bunchgrass and Cheatgrass. They were beautiful, walking slowly in bands, keeping close to each other. Their families are made up of a Stallion, one or three Mares to mate with, Follies, and young Stallions. The young Stallions get kicked out of the family at two years of age so they can propagate their own families once they find a mare to mate with. They spend some time in a band of young Stallions called The Bachelors. These bands frolic the lands close to established horse families and attempt to lure young mares away. I was lucky enough to see a very confident young Stallion approach a family and strut around the Follies and Mares. It was a brief but captivating exchange as the established Stallion challenged the young one convincing him to stray away.

A statuesque horse made out of recycled wire marked the second viewing destination, the Lockwood Regional Landfill in Storey County. I fondly call this grouping the dump horses.  The family of seven has a famous horse spotted with black and white furry patches resembling that of a cow. It was remarkable how each one blended into the rocks, dirt, earth, and grass until you walked close enough to see the sheer bigness of their muscular figures. I assumed that the family stayed close to the dump for the easy target of food scraps. A slight smile, almost a sneer, crept along the bottom of my guide’s face after I shared what I thought was a very keen observation, and she stated that they only gravitated to this space due to the expanse of open land and the small amount of human activity. I decided at this point to ask more questions instead of sharing silly insights as I gazed at the animals with great admiration. Each step they took with a mountain of confidence as they remained committed to their pack’s path. These magical beings were so free. I am not sure when this feeling of freedom started to saturate my every thought, but my eyes captured the feeling and it soon consumed me. I was looking at the last iconic symbol of pure freedom in this country, the wild horse. My phone clicked away taking as much in as my eyes did while listening to the comments of the guide. My brain didn’t absorb much, I was too caught up in the rapture of feeling free and watching it unfold before me. The open land enthralled me as I took steps closer to them. My legs twitched with slight movement sending the message through my body to approach them, let them nuzzle, allow me into the group, and make a run to never look back. My body knew it couldn’t accomplish this task, plus I had to navigate around the road apples they left dotted around the ground.  The guide also repeated to be careful not to get too close that these horses were wild. I could have stood there for a long time just soaking it all in, freedom calling me home.

Only a few minutes passed and I was directed in another direction leading back to the Jeep. Our tour time was coming to an end but my search to see more wild horses was not going to end in Nevada. I knew the whole experience would be repeated with a different backdrop soon enough so I hopped back in the Jeep that drove me back to society and the crush of the populated city.