We're Riding...And Going To The ER

The Mule Chronicles...We're Riding...And Going To The ER

Today's episode is brought to you by Morphine...taking the sting out of bad decisions since 700 AD.

Today is the big day. All our preparation has been with this end goal in mind. We are going to ride mules...finally.

We awoke at dawn because that's apparently what cowboys are required to do when engaged in the act of cowboying. A legit cowboy breakfast of eggs, bacon, hashbrowns, and muffins followed in order to be properly fueled for the day. Then we set about donning all the appropriate "outfits," which I'm sure all y'all recall Jay's rule of having to have the proper outfit for whatever activity in which we are engaging. Just so you get an idea of what that looks like, here are a couple of day one photos.

We then headed out with our guide, who had been riding the area we were headed to since he was sixteen years old and now looks to be about a hundred years old, in search of the trail head. It is also during this time that we get our first warning about this being "varsity level riding." While this has no real context in the beginning, it will mean significantly more shortly. We, of course, dismissed this warning as our guide having no clue about our mule riding or cowboying prowess. We got to the trail head and commenced to saddling mules and making lunches because this was definitely the 6+ hours tour.

It is my understanding (now, not at the time) that the area we were riding in is called Snow Canyon in the Red Cliffs Desert Reserve, which is located to the east of Saint George, Utah. Here's a map for a little more insight, but it really doesn't do the area justice. I would also later learn that Bill put this ride in his top ten most difficult rides and Wade put it in his top three...So, yeah...it end up being a little more than I bargained for to say the least.

Our saddling is all checked and double checked under the tutelage of Bill (owner of the mules) and Wade (more on Wade in a little bit). Infractions are noted and remedial training is provided before being corrected. With everyone receiving the blessing of Bill and Wade, we were off on our adventure...and oh what an adventure we would have...or at least I would have quite the adventure.

While all of the scenery was beautiful, it was also deceptively benign from a difficulty standpoint. This didn't stop me from having a few "dust ups" with Freckles right out of the chute. The first of which was Freckles trying to be the one in charge of where we were going, speed of travel, and all other manner of things that can come into a mule's mind. This gave me the immediate opportunity to employ the skills I learned from the Ty Evans' Mulemanship videos I recently acquired and dutifully reviewed prior to this journey. Each time Freckles got out of line, I employed the "One Reign Stop" that Ty Evans expertly demonstrates in a deceptively simply fashion. I was fully prepared to come flying off Freckles, but somehow manage to complete the one reign stop and circling maneuver without being thrown into next week. My ego now bolstered by my expert level mule skills, I become more bold in my application of the technique and begin to demand more control from Freckles. Freckles apparently had a different agenda and decided he was going to go for his first attempt to buck me off. I dug deep into the left reign and pulled Freckles' head around nearly to the point we were looking eye to eye (I'm pretty sure Freckles looked into my soul and saw my resolve). What I was unaware of was that I had pulled a little too hard while applying a little too much spur to Freckles left flank which exponentially increased the speed of the circle maneuver associated with the one reign stop. I felt my right foot start to come out of the stirrup and my weight started to shift in a manner that I keenly recall from the hat trick of ejections that I experienced from Stuart last season. This caused me to pull even harder on the reigns and latch onto the saddle with my free hand like some crack fueled third spider monkey hanging onto the side of Noah's Ark after being rejected at the loading dock. I can hear gasps behind me, which I later realize is "The Father" and Bill watching this advanced rodeo maneuver from a safe distance. Ultimately my resolve exceed Freckles' and I was able to regain my purchase in the saddle and bring Freckles to a screeching halt. As I turn and see the World Series size crowd standing in awe of my mule prowess, I fully expect to see nothing but perfect 10 scores from the judges. What I actually get is "I thought you were going off for sure" from both "The Father" and Bill, followed by a "good job" that had just a little bit too much surprise in its tone to be an actual complement. I decided that I'd better simmer down as this was a full day of riding and I'd nearly gone off in the first 15 minutes of actual riding.

We ventured on and started getting closer and closer to the red slick rock outcroppings that have no visible evidence of clear passage. Of course right up the side of what feels like sheer cliffs is where our guide led us. I'm really not kidding here folks, these are places I wouldn't walk, much less try to take a mule through. Again, beautiful scenery, scare the living daylights out of you difficulty. We worked our way through narrow canyons and passages that would eat the skinniest guy for lunch. As soon as we started working our way through the aforementioned canyons, we started getting beat to shreds by every tree branch, dead stump, and loose rock in the area. People are dropping things, saddle bags are taking a beating, and I start to wonder if we were being led into the depths of the canyon so our guide can kill us. It is also clear that the crowd has developed an every man for themselves mentality as there is absolutely no warning from those ahead of me prior to encountering a tree that attempts to remove my groin and right leg in some kind of combat surgical hip reduction move. I'm not kidding, the tree grabbed hold of my knee and rotated my knee horizontally farther than an Olympic level stripper working a crowd for a two dollar bill. I'm pretty sure my man bits let out a high pitched yelp that only Freckles could hear.  Which was followed by a real life Sasquatch sized yelp that bellowed out from deep inside me. I initiated the only "in the saddle" first aid I know and rapidly started Lamaze breathing that would make a midwife proud. The conversation that followed went something like this...

The Father...You OK there?
Me...That tree tried to rip my leg out of the socket.
The Father...So...you're OK then?
Me...Yup, I'm good (I'm no dummy and don't want to be sent back to the truck for being a wimp).
The Father...Then why are you trying to hyperventilate yourself?
Me...Just trying to catch my breath.
The Father...Stop using all the air, there's other people riding with us.
Me...10-4, sir! (I then commenced to clenching my potty parts to control the pain)

We continued riding and I noticed that Freckles was starting to sweat and breathe pretty hard. Each time we stopped, Freckles seemed to catch his breath and appears good to go. We continued to traverse the rocky landscape, crawling over boulders and hopping down ledges without Freckles so much as baulking at the task at hand...until it becomes obvious, at least to any seasoned muleskinner (not me kind you, but some seasoned muleskinner somewhere) that Freckles was starting to wear out. Did I mention this was an intense and difficult ride? Freckles started to show some difficulty and lost his footing a number of times. I, of course, am full of myself and fail to think that this could spell trouble for me in the future. Freckles front legs collapsed underneath him several times during particularly challenging parts of the ride, but I press on in the face of danger because, lets face it, I'm an idiot. When confronted with a particularly steep and difficult stretch of trail, Freckles refuses to continue to climb. I whip Freckles on the rear with my reigns and give him a full measure of my spurs, but Freckles is having none of it. I really am giving this section hell and pushing Freckles to make the climb, employing the one reign stop and circle each time Freckles attempts to depart from the desired course. Finally Wade came to my rescue and the decision was made to walk Freckles up this stretch of trail. I think this is an appropriate place to detour for a moment.

Wade is a "well seasoned" mule rider. In fact, I'm not sure that "well seasoned" really does justice to what Wade is capable of in the saddle of a mule. Wade is able to hop on and off his mule like a butterfly flittering from flower to flower, crane around in the saddle, ride backwards, standing or sitting, one foot in the stirrups, he probably quit the carnival trick riding circuit because it was too easy kind of mule rider...lets just say he is the Chuck Norris of mule riding as far as I'm concerned. If Wade says do it, you do it. If Wade says your doing a good job, quit now while you're ahead, you'll never get better.

I dismount and grab Freckles' reigns. I give the reigns a good yank and scream "get up" (mule speak for let's go for the mule novices following along at home). I then start trying to drag Freckles up this Grand Canyon like ravine. Freckles still refuses to budge. Wade whips at Freckles rump and starts yelling some kind of secret mule language but Freckles still refuses to move up the trail. Wade then announces that he's going to lead Freckles and sends me up ahead on foot. Even with Wade's stallion of a mule attempting to drag Freckles up the trail, there is no luck. A new plan is hatched and we put a mule and rider ahead of Freckles on the trail in an attempt to lead him up the trail while Wade whips and drives Freckles from the rear. Finally Freckles recognizes Wade's mule superiority and bends to his authority. Wade then tells me...now get this..."Grab my mule's tail and I'll drag you up the trail.".......YOU WANT ME TO DO WHHHAAAAAT?????????? Wade hollers at me again to grab his mule's tail and I grab his mule's tail because based on the stories I've heard, when Wade says to do something, you do it. I'm now convinced that I will be kicked to death by Wade's mule while being drug at high speed up a trail that the average person wouldn't walk. You know those times as a kid when you get to running down hill so fast your legs start taking giant strides trying to keep you upright? Yep, that happened to me going up hill. I'm pretty sure I could read the manufacturer's imprint on the soles of my cowboy boots as my feet missed past my head. We somehow made it to the top of the climb intact, well mostly at least. I'm was pretty sure eat the time that I'd need a hip replacement when the swelling subsides from my prior encounter with a tree and my legs stop circling my body like windmills from being drug by Wade's mule. I get back on Freckles and we made the final climb to our lunch stop.

I jump off Freckles...who am I kidding, I pretty much fall off at this point because my legs are like rubber noodles. Upon hitting the ground, I immediately realized that I'm in big trouble because of the involuntary muscle tremors that have seized control of the major muscle groups of my legs. I grabbed hold of Freckles for dear life out of fear of falling to the ground before attempting to tie him to a nearby bush. The Father clearly senses something is amiss and came over to help me...likely because I was literally trying to tie my 1000 pound mule to a tumble weed sized bush...seriously, I've seen larger dandelions in my front yard. I work to retrieve my sandwich from my saddle bag while clinging to Freckles' side like an ant in a tornado. I realize this is futile and instead drink like 17 gallons of water in an effort to regain control of my legs. This gives me enough strength to recover my sandwich, following which, I get bold and attempt to walk on my own. Have you ever experienced that 'I've worked my legs way too hard' feeling following an especially intense workout? Yes? Well, this was nothing like that. It was way worse. I'm pretty sure there was some supernatural voodoo going on because my legs looked like something out of a Gumby or Mr. Bill cartoon. I mustered the strength to waddle over to where "The Father" was sitting eating his lunch and collapsed like a pile of goo. I was immediately overcome with involuntary muscle tremors that made my normal essential tremor look like a hiccup. I laid there trembling in my own sweat for 20 minutes before I decided I needed to document my condition with a video. It was at this point that I discovered that my GoPro battery was dead...NOOOOOOOOOOO! (Yell all you want, it won't make GoPro video magically appear.) I revert to my cellphone and am surprised to find that I still have cell service. In my compromised state I decide this would be a good time for a Facebook Live video. Later I would find out that "The Mother" was certain that I was dead based on the poor quality and abrupt ending when I lost signal. Lunch completed, we remounted our trusty steeds and prepared to head back to civilization.

I head down in the middle of the pack because I've decided that first or last is the way wrong place to be during this journey. We made it about 100 feet before I had my first unscheduled dismount of the trip...and in a particularly unspectacular kind of way nonetheless.

Freckles was headed down a steep, but not terrible, stretch of trail of smooth red slick rock when his front legs buckled underneath him. I'm caught totally unprepared and go off over Freckles' head. I have enough wherewithal to realize I needed to get out of Freckles way because he was likely continuing down hill behind me. Freckles and I had clearly bonded by this point because he slammed on the breaks and managed to avoid mowing over me as I lay pathetically on my back like a stuck turtle. I rise to my feet and am met by cries of "are you OK" from everyone behind me on the trail. I wave off the sympathizers, suck it up and stuff brush off my pride before telling everyone I was good. I lead Freckles down to the next flat spot and jumped (more like drag myself) back into the saddle. I then pointed Freckles in the right direction and headed toward the descent that was such a problem on the way up. I leaned back way back in the saddle and pushed my feet forward in the stirrups and started to descend the grade. Freckles was moving slowly by surely and I started thinking I've got this licked (Karma is, indeed, a bitch).

About two-thirds of the way down, Freckles front legs buckled again and my weight was thrown forward faster than I could recover from. Over Freckles' head I went followed by a sharp stabbing pain in my back as I fell onto the jagged rocks that makeup this especially nasty part of the trail. I quickly see that Freckles is unable to stop his descent along the trail and begin to realize this isn't like falling in a parking lot or muddy trail. I raise my arms to my head in an attempt to protect my giant melon as Freckles continues over the top of me. I feel every ounce of breath leave my body as Freckles steps squarely in the center of my chest. The searing pain in my back is now overwhelming and I think I might pass out. I am pushed further down the trail before becoming wedged in-between two large rocks resulting in me being folded in half like a taco...Not a nice Taco Bell kind of taco, more like a nasty food illness born roadside taco stand kind of taco. While I didn't notice it at the time, the hoof print on my inner left knee tells me that Freckles managed to step on my leg on the way down as well. I've long since dropped Freckles reigns and have lost all conscious awareness of where Freckles might be as I'm left gasping for air like a fish out of water. I manage to get out strained vowel sounds as "The Father" arrives to find me wedged between rocks gasping for air. I'm now making that god awful gulping noise that so often accompanies someone having the wind knocked out of them. "The Father" has now rushed to my side. After what seems like 13 hours, I am finally able to muster an "OK" to repeated inquiries about my welfare. I also start grasping at rocks in a futile attempt to pull myself upright, but am met with nothing but searing pain in my upper back and shoulders. "The Father" helps push me upright as I continue to try to regain my breath. A crowd has now started to gather as word has spread that there has been an "incident." I'm sitting somewhat upright when I realize I've lost my hearing aids and my brand new (like literally just bought it on this trip new) knife. Those not performing the essentially duty of keeping me upright begin frantically searching for tan hearing aids and a tan knife in the...yep, you guessed it....tan soil. I begin clawing at my hat because it feels like I'm being choked by a midget before I realize that it is just my hat lanyard wrapped firmly around my throat. Someone returns with a solitary hearing aid like the village hunter returning with a prized antelope, but alas that wound be the only lost item to be found on this trip.

I regain enough of my wits to perform a quick head to toe survey of what hurts and find that...well...everything hurts. I apply pressure to various body part...not those body parts, dirty minded bunch of...and find that nothing I can reach appears obviously broken. With a great deal of assistance, I make my way to my feet and hobble over to a flat spot. It dawns on me that Freckles is nowhere to be found, but I am quickly reassured that Freckles was stopped just up the trail when he encountered the rest of the group. Which, coincidentally, alerted the rest of the group that there might be a problem when my mule showed up without me. Still struggling to regain my breath, I am besieged with inquires about what happened. I manage to spit out fragmented bits of the story in between gulps for air. It is also about this time that I realize that I can't really raise my arms or hold them out in front of me. While it's been awhile since I was a paramedic, I remember enough to know this might be a problem. I am a long way from contemplating anything other than the now intense pain I am experiencing when a new line of questioning begins...essentially, can I get back on the mule. You see, herein lies an important lesson. If you ride four hours into the back country, you have to ride four hours to get out of the back country. If you get hurt 15 minutes into the return trip, you have to ride three hours and forty five minutes out of the back country while in excruciating pain. If it wasn't for the fact that I have been repeatedly subjected to CT scans, I would swear my missing knife is located firmly stabbed into my back.

I begin the internal debate over whether or not I think I can ride out while Wade begins pressing for an answer about riding out. Now before you get all up in Wade over pressing for an answer that doesn't seem as important as my potential injuries, keep in mind that he has ten other people to worry about getting out before dark. I've done a fair amount of back country trips, I one thing you never want to be is stuck in the wilderness after dark with a bunch of unprepared folks. So the debate continues...

Me...I don't think I can ride
Wade...Do you want to walk out
Me...That's not happening for sure
Wade...Well we need to ride out then
Me...I'm not sure that's gonna happen either
Wade...Do you need Life Flight
Me...I'm not paying for that and lord knows Kaiser won't either
Wade...Well, I guess you're riding out then

Y'all know I'm not a small guy by any conservative measure, but I am now faced with figuring out how to haul my fat rear back into the saddle...OH! which is now like 70 feet in the air because Bill has deemed that I shall ride his mule, MOSES (capital letters added for effect), which is a ginormous mule...probably like 27 hands...that's really big, especially if you have big hands. I manage to contort my foot into the stirrup and start to attempt to heave my wide load up and onto Moses' back. This is when I feel a rather strong push on my rump and am nearly thrown over the top of Moses and back onto the ground. Seems Wade had decided that I needed some help and gave me a well timed shove. I get situated and try to grab the reigns only to find that I am now plagued with T-Rex arms with less strength than a 12 month old on muscle relaxers. I manage to whimper out that this might be a problem and Wade offers to lead Moses and I out. I gladly accept this offer, as well as what was likely an overdose quantity of Tylenol being offered to help quench the pain and we are on the move again. Wade proclaims that we need the fastest way out and our guide acknowledges with "All righty then."

Up and down, back and forth, jumping, hopping, and bumping along we go on what I can only describe as the most painful experience of my life. When my back wasn't screaming from being jarred by a particularly rocky descent, my groin was piercing with pain as my twig and berries where being shoved way up yonder by the saddle horn because I couldn't stabilize myself in the saddle properly. Our guide claims we are nearly to the flat part but that we have one "kind of tight spot" up ahead. We ride out onto an elevated peninsula when the guide points to what looks like twelve inch wide fissure off the side of the trail and says, were going down that way. We all laugh until he says he's serious and we realize there is not other way off this ledge other than the fissure or a 50 foot drop off. Our guide declares he'll ride down first but that we might have to lead the mules down. Wade asks me if I want to ride or walk and I nearly let my first F'bomb slip in a manner I'm sure you can imagine. I slide off the side of Moses and stand wobbly legged watching as our guide manages to sit on top of his horse like a circus monkey and ride down this small jagged opening. His horse was literally having to wiggle to get itself through the opening because it was so narrow. Wade attempts to ride down next it what I can only describe as some kind of mule tornado...a mule-nado if you will...with his mule putting up one heck of a fight not to go down this ravine of death.  I'm pretty sure I passed out from the fear of being stranded because none of the mules wanted to traverse this path and because I don't really have a clear recollection of how we all got through that chute of horrors. All I know is that I ended up laying on my back at the bottom of the gorge of terrors when Freckles walked over to me and licked my face as if to say "I'm sorry for stepping on you buddy." That or he thought I as dead and he might get away with eating me...could've gone either way.

I get hoisted back into the saddle and we finish the trek back to the rigs. "The Father" relays that we are going to drive to our camp for the night and get everyone squared away with the location of the dinner fixings before taking me to the local ER. I am in total agreement with this assessment as it seems likely that gangrene may set in if I don't get checked out. Not to mention that I need to have my wedding tackle extracted from my nether regions at this point. "The Father" gets everyone settled while I undertake the herculean task of changing into some sweat pants and a t-shirt because I don't want my best cowboy outfit cut off me by the hospital staff. We then head off to Dixie Regional Medical Center in Saint George Utah.

If you haven't been following The Mule Chronicles then you probably aren't aware that we have a adopted a hospital rating system...it's kind of like Yelp...to rate the hospitals we visit while on our mule adventures. We rate based on speed and quality of service, as well as staff enjoyment of the story that lands us in the hospital in the first place. We follow a 1 to 5 rating scale that we refer to as the hay bale scale. Dixie Regional is a solid 4 hay bales, dropping one point due to the lengthy wait to be seen. Everyone we encounter is sufficiently amazed by the story and my heroic actions to save myself in spite of nearly having to chew my own leg off to extricate myself from the wilderness.

I am ushered into an emergency suite and dosed up on morphine for good measure...well after I relay the story to the doctor because IV morphine and me don't actually add up to an accurate tale if you know what I mean. The doc orders a CT scan and some blood work to make sure I haven't popped any internal organs and that my ticker is still slugging away circulating go juice throughout my now swollen body. The doc returns with a look of amazement and proclaims that somehow I have escaped this adventure with only some "major" internal bruising and fracturing the transverse spinal processes of my T4 through T7 vertebrae. While especially painful, the doc reasons that I should heal up without any lasting issues with the assistance of a specially fitted brace. Now calling this thing a brace really doesn't do it justice because it really is quite a contraption. I can now safely say I know what it feels like to be bound up in a corset, having all my innards forced up into my chest restricting my breathing. Another dose of morphine, some Toradol, and a couple of prescriptions for the road and I am set free to return to a life of physical abuse on the back of a mule.

I encounter my first corset related emerged on the way out of the ER when it becomes time to urinate. You know how when you rush home because you have too pee and the need to pee gets so much stronger as soon as your keys come out of your pocket at the front door? Pretty much that but worse because I have to somehow free myself from the midsectional binding system the doctor has strapped me into. My depth perception and eyesight are seriously affected by the morphine at this point and the race is one to see whether or not I will wet myself before getting my britches undone enough to avoid the fire hose of death at the urinal. I debate pulling the "emergency cord" thoughtfully located in all hospital restrooms while simultaneously debating whether it is worse to have a stranger help me potty or take the walk of shame back to the car with urine piddled down the front of my pants. Thankfully divine intervention intervened and I was able to deliver my "payload" to the porcelain receptacle without significant spillage.

We returned to camp and found everyone sound asleep from the days adventure. I bed down for the night and promptly pass out from the last dose of pain medication only to have a fitful night dreaming of being squashed by a herculean sized mule.

I had an easy next day of lounging around camp while everyone else spent the day riding before heading back to the real world the next morning and facing the prospects of having to fly back to California. I forgot to tell you...I had to fly back early so I could fly out to Baltimore the next morning for a work conference. Yep, that was lots of fun with a busted up back. Fortunately, while Southwest may treat you like cattle they are more than happy to give you pre-boarding status and all the snacks and drinks you want when you show up looking like you got the short end of a mule in Southern Utah.

That pretty much wraps up the spring 2017 maiden voyage of The Mule Chronicles and sets us up to launch into the much anticipated Bishop Mule Days. I am sitting in Bakersfield as I write this preparing to make the journey into Bishop for what is sure to be a mule filled week with all kinds of fun sights and activities. For the record, my back continues to heal but this definitely takes the cake for the most painful injuries I've experienced.

I want to give a shout out to Jay, Bill, Wade, "The Father," "The Mother," and "The Wife" without whom these trips wouldn't be possible. I still fail to see any logic in Bill continuing to expose his mules to me, but hey...I'm not kicking a gift mule in the face.

Happy trails and stay tuned buckaroos, Mule Days starts tomorrow.