After driving the last 15 miles to Stagecoach Ranch along a rough, rutted desert track (don't tell the car-hire company!), we arrived, dust-coated and all shook up. We'd missed our chance to ride that day, due to our late arrival (aw, shame!), and would have to wait until the day after. The ranch had been made to look like a 'wild west' town, and I just couldn't stop whistling the theme from 'A Fistful Of Dollars'. We visited the gift shop, 'cos Sal was desperate to get a Stetson to wear while riding the range, but they were fresh outta 'em, pardner! She made do with a fridge-magnet and some post-cards. Bizarrely, there were quite a few Brits there, and we got talking to a family from Rotherham. They were astounded that we'd come to this non-licensed, middle-of-nowhere place, with just a six-pack of lager between the two of us for two nights! The phrase 'we're not really big drinkers' kind of confused them! We cracked open our six-pack, and had a beer as we watched the sun go down behind the desert hills, from our hanging sofa on the porch.
We met Cowboy Craig at 11.30 the next day for our 'beginners' ride. Sal was quite nervous, but when she was up on the horse, she was fine. We clip-clopped along behind Craig, out of the ranch, and into the desert. It was a great experience, my bum is just about feeling better now! We were only walking, too, I can't imagine what it'd feel like to trot or gallop, my bum and 'lower abdominal area' wouldn't take it! My horse kept stopping to eat desert grass, and Sal criticised my horse-handling, 'shut up, Princess Anne', was my retort!
We made it back to the ranch, hot, dusty, and bow-legged, and headed straight for the pool. I rode out again later on, but Sal declined. She figured that she'd done it once, and survived, was good enough. So she relaxed by the pool, and listened to the country music station on the ranch radio.
We really enjoyed our 'cowboy adventure', the ranch was a friendly place, very quiet and secluded, and totally relaxing, before our trip to Vegas!