Family vacations can be hazardous to your health

Let it be said from the outset, I love my family. I would give any appendage, any money, even my liver for any one of my family members. My life is theirs…but when it comes to family vacations, I believe they can get along better without me. We have had some wonderful times on vacation together, mainly when they were small and easily herded to various activities, but as they have gotten older, I get the sense that they and I don’t see this time as either relaxing or healthy. Let me explain. A few years ago, my wife and girls decided that it would be “fun” to go to a dude ranch in Arizona. The operative question here is fun for whom? They have been horse people all their lives. My wife grew up on the back of a hunter-jumper, and our girls have been riding since they were knee high to a miniature pony. I, on the other hand, am afraid of big dogs, much less an animal that weighs as much as Montana. When they are jumping on their horse they are seeing visions of Black Beauty, and I am breaking out in a cold sweat remembering Christopher Reeves. Needless to say the idea of a “dude ranch” vacation was about as appealing as intestinal flu. My wife, being the wise woman that she is, understood immediately my aversion to this idea (maybe it was the cold, clammy skin and retching that clued her in) so she pointed out that the ranch also had a pool and exercise room where I could hide from any contact with the demon beasts. Great, I thought, a gazillion dollars to sit by a pool with other fraidy cats and swap stories about why I wasn’t riding into the sunset with the rest of the family. As always, however, my daughters looked at me with those “rip your heart out eyes” that all daddies know all to well, so we booked our trip for horse heaven. They stocked up on riding gear and I checked out the latest Hawaiian Tropic SPF super sun block.

After arriving in Arizona (I never knew cactus is to the west like azaleas are to Augusta) I realized that all those folks who said,”yes it’s hot but it is a dry heat” were delusional from heat stroke. It was hot, real hot. The “dudes” at the “dude” ranch were anything but what I thought of as a dude. These wranglers were the real thing. They bathed an average of once a season and had names like Crusty and Dusty. They were also very adept at spotting city slickers like me and planning elaborate torture activities if I was ever dumb enough to venture anywhere near the horse stalls. My girls and wife immediately made friends with these Bonanza rejects and by the second day were inviting them to our house for the Futurity. Meanwhile, I had staked out my lounge chair at the pool along with a bizarre collection of other dads (and a few moms) who were also hiding their fear of bow legs and chafing. I would send my family off to the trials early in the morning and greet them later that afternoon to hear stories of adventure and daring on the back of a majestic steed, while I regaled them with my day of trying to get the middle of my back adequately coated with sunscreen.

The day before we left, my family came to me and said we “had to talk”. I thought they were staging an intervention because I had become addicted to Robin Cook novels (it gets lonely at the pool), but they had a much more sinister proposal. They felt it would be plain wrong if I went the whole week at a “dude ranch” without once riding a horse. I quickly retorted that was my intention from the very beginning, but I appreciated their concern. As with most things; however, they persisted and appealed to my sense of manliness. Let me just say for the record that it is not fair for your 7 year old to call you a wimp…but it is effective, so I condescended to try a short trail ride the following day. This was only after numerous guarantees that this ride was designed for beginners and my life insurance was paid in full.

The next morning I put on my finest blue jeans (actually the only pair I have), polo shirt (hey, it has a horse on it) and a baseball cap (to show I was not a tourist and wear a stupid cowboy hat). I arrived at the barn and quickly noticed the wranglers all wearing cowboy hats (so much for being cool). Crusty (or Dusty…I could never tell them apart) spotted me immediately and called out, “Hey tenderfoot, we got your horse right over here.” I glanced in the direction he was pointing and all I could see was a stall with dust and debris coming out, accompanied by what sounded like snorting from Hell. “Yesiree…this here is Widow Maker!” Why is it that everyone thinks they are comedians? After they picked me up from the hay where I had fainted, they showed me my real horse…Glue Factory and off I went. Actually I had a wonderful time as they took things very slow and easy (no doubt on instructions from their liability attorneys) so I did end up bonding with the family and creating lasting memories. But about that chafing!