Where is the horse and the rider?

Really. Where are they? (Where is they?) Because life is conspiring against me lately, mes amis, and I dun like it.

A friend with whom I used to take Western classes e-mailed today to let me know about the dates for this year's roundup. Danny is a tolerant man and apparently is willing to let me continue to hassle his cows from the back of one of his horses, despite his obvious amusement at the sight of a rider wearing a helmet instead of the cowboy hat God intended. Or maybe because of it. I don't mind being visual amusement for ranchers, as long as they buy me breakfast, lunch, and beerth, loan me a horse, and keep up the pretense that I've helped rather than hindered.

But this year, it's the weekend of Orthodox Easter. COME. ON. If I ran religion, we'd long ago have straightened out this ridiculous mess about the different calculations. Date of Passover, add one weekend, done. Just reorganize the spiritual world so I can ride, is that so much to ask?

The other sorrow is that my forthcoming work trip to Mexico won't be long enough, nor my wallet quite deep enough, to support another visit to Finca Enyhe. There are other riding options in central Mexico, but at this distance it is difficult to tell which ones are legit and which ones involve saddles and horses of equal decrepitude. Pepe and Lucia's outfit is what you really want: The horses are kept in excellent trim, they're scheduled carefully so that the weight a horse loses on one ride can be put back on before the next ride gets going, there are chances for long canters as well as impromptu jumping (reason number 24,297 I'm glad I'm not a guy: what happened when I took a three-foot log while using a Western saddle), the food is aces, and you get to go back to the house every night for a hot shower and a three-course supper. I fell flat-out in love with my horse, a glum-faced buckskin of unflappable calm and balance. At the time, I didn't realize how little I knew (a classic new-rider scenario, and check out my stirrups here for proof), so having a horse who took steep paths, rain-swollen creeks, slick footing, and the occasional crumbling path literally in stride was a tremendous asset.

Oh well. These are high-class problems to have, I know. But if anyone has tips about short rides in Michoacan, please share. Please please please!