“So how was your trip to that Mexican horse ranch place? Was it fun?”

My hackles rise as people refer to Rancho Las Cascades—my new soul-home—as “that Mexican horse ranch place,” but I just smile and confirm that yes, it was fun.

They keep going: “Well, what was it like? What all did you do?”

• There were mountains of cowboy hats at the market.

I find myself answering in clichéd banalities: “It was the time of our lives. We galloped across the prairie with wind in our hair. We rode horses across a river with the water splashing our saddles. We climbed pyramids hundreds of years old.  We went to the local market and they had mountains of peppers, cowboy hats and puppies in a box for sale…”

But one cliché that still rings true for me is I’m on top of the world.  It was the last day of our six-day trip to Mexico.  Up to that point, we had literally done it all – climbed the pyramids (oh, my aching thighs!); visited the market; hiked around the local waterfall and rock-fenced fields; gone tequila tasting; soaked in the hot tub with self-made (read: strong) margaritas; chatted and traded riding stories with the other guests around the fire (we visited over Christmas break, keep in mind).  That last day my husband, Roger, let me choose my pleasure.  All I wanted – the grown up who still asks for a pony from Santa – was to go riding. 

My horse for the week, Corazón Valiente (who let me call him Braveheart), seemed glad to see his rider.  I like to think it was my innate horse sense from years of childhood riding lessons that made him perk up his ears and nod his head at me when I arrived at the corral.  Unfortunately, I think the molasses sugar lumps I greeted him with had more to do with his eagerness to see me.

• Ingrid and Roger Nova from Lansing, MI, USA

With the sun hiding behind scudding clouds and a cool breeze nipping through what few warm layers we thought to bring, Roger and I were part of a small group ready to ride.  My luck held, as José (our wrangler) asked me where I felt like going.  No one else seemed to have a preference.

Amidst groans, as the others thought of the potential mistral, I just pointed to the small mountain in the distance and asked in my elementary Spanish, “Can we go there?”

The guide’s cheerful response, “¡Sí! ¿Por qué no?” warmed me to the toes.  Why not, indeed?

I not so subtly mentioned that this ride – chill wind notwithstanding – was our very last until we could manage to come back some day.  José grinned his understanding and, on what seemed like every flat stretch, looked back to us and hollered “Ready?!”  Our willing horses were ready whether or not their intrepid riders were!  With a Pavlovian response, the horses inevitably leapt into a run when they heard their cue word.

Chatting amiably with each other and loving the gorgeous landscape we trekked through between canters, the ride to the top seemed to take hardly any time.  We seemed to reach the mountaintop right at high noon and we all deeply  breathed in the brisk air.  As if in a Disney movie, the sun came out, the wind stopped and with a hoot José suddenly hoisted himself out of his stirrups and stood straight up in his saddle, arms raised to the sky.  Not to be outdone, I called: “Hey, I can do that, too!”

• I was only up on my patient Braveheart’s back for three seconds, but to me I was on top of the world.

The riding lessons I had as a girl, while very thorough on the basics of horsemanship, did not condone anything but your bottom in the saddle.  Throwing proverbial caution to the now nonexistent wind, I tried to emulate José’s seamless transition from sitting sturdy to trick-rider standing tall.  Looking back, all I can say is it’s a good thing I have a sense of humor.  With my hind end in the air, my knees quaking, and what my loving husband reported was a look of terror on my face, I made it.  I was only up on my patient Braveheart’s back for three seconds, but to me I was on top of the world.

If youhave ever wondered what it feels like to truly feel on top of the world, you can discover it for yourself here at Rancho Las Cascadas.