We headed north on a cloudy day to Glenworth Valley for my horseback riding lesson. The sun popped out for an hour as I rode a horse named Dingo. I immediately liked him because he has the same name as my cat.
Just knowing there is another soul out there who likes to make animals as species-confused as I do cheered me up immensely.
We walked, trotted, and cantered about the corral. I had a great time and it wasn't until my feet touched ground again that I realized how sore I was.
Bob and I had purchased a tent the night before to camp, and while camping sounded good then, my muscles were now screaming with multilingual swears of insanity. We pitched our tent in a lower paddock and, due to a fire ban, drove to the nearby town of Gosford in search of sustenance.
Gosford has a big hill to go down, a few closed streets, then a big hill to drive back up. Ta-dah. You would think it'd be easy to find an open restaurant in a town of 150,000 but that was not the case. We ended up getting surprisingly good pizza at a shop next to a gas station.
On our way back to the tent we passed some wallabies and lots of parrots.
We opened a bottle of wine and took a stroll through the campsites as night settled in. Bob got well into the wine, and while he was in charge of putting one foot in front of the other, I was in charge of making sure we didn't step on any funnel web spiders and die. Bob had more fun.
Though sore, I was out before ten. I woke up early and walked to the car to get a few things. Walking back to the tent, I found myself slightly lost. Our tent had become obscured behind 200 frisky horses.
I pulled out my camera and started taking pictures. I realized guides were bringing the horses up to the stables for the day, and I also realized that standing in front of 200 galloping horses wasn't the smartest idea.