Riding the big horse through the woods was one of the most peaceful experiences I could remember. I could forget that the school’s Head Master was looking for me and that my Dad knew I was alive. I could forget that mom was dead and that I had no home to go back to or that I had no money for food for me or for Ballycor. That the police were probably looking for me, too.
Mom had always loved horses and had given me the same interest. She had a friend back in Pine Bayeux that had several horses and let us ride with her. She let me go alone on the smallest, riding behind them.
We’d gone trail riding in the State Park near her house every chance we had. It was one of the few things my Dad would let her do on her own. He’d even ridden with us a few times. He was a good rider and had been extra nice that day, giving me tips on my seat, how to hold the reins and other stuff. Even more crazy was that he was patient with me in explaining what I was doing wrong. It was the only day I could remember that I wasn’t afraid of him.
The trail we were on went in a southwestern direction, not that it made any difference what direction we went. I had no idea where to go other than away from the school and my Dad. So, we stayed on it. In places where the trail was soft, we trotted and even managed a few canters. He was smooth and fast, even at the slower speeds of the lope. I couldn’t wait to let him run full out or maybe jump him.
For the most part, we walked, and I didn’t see anyone. From the signs on the trail I learned that it was a snowmobile trail, but it didn’t say what county we were in.
Eventually, it ended on a gravel road with a sign proclaiming it to be another seasonal road open from April to November. Still didn’t know what it was or where I was going. I rode part of the way up and then down the road, looking for another trail to pick up where we’d still be surrounded by woods but didn’t find any, so we headed down the road.
It opened into vast meadows of hundreds of acres on the side of a broad series of hills. Hay meadows and a couple acres planted with wheat and corn. The wheat had been cut and hayed with only the staubs remaining. The corn was left on the stalks and I let Ballycor steal a few as we rode past. Down the road, I could see a huge farm surrounded with barns and dairy cows milling around the barn doors waiting to come in and be milked.
We cut across the hay meadow and found smaller ones tucked between the woods and a stone wall that was enclosed on three sides by trees. There were a few old bales left in the center, wrapped in white plastic. Another trail led off this meadow into the woods. I didn’t want to stop anywhere near people, but I knew that the horse needed to graze for several hours or I’d have to find grain for him. I rode him back toward the corn field, slipped off his back and pulled about ten ears off the stalks and stuffed them inside my pack. We walked back to the hay bales and I climbed on the slippery plastic wrapped roll and from there, slid down on his back. The whole time, he stood patiently for me. We continued to the new trail.
I was worried that if I turned him loose, he’d wander off. I had no way to picket him on a tie rope to graze because I had no rope. I decided to follow the trail and we rode another hour through thick woods. The one thing I learned about snowmobile trails was that they only cleared the branches hanging over to the height of a seated rider. We were much higher than that so many branches hit me in the face before I could duck or push them out-of-the-way. It was getting dark which made it harder to see them. I was getting hungrier and thirsty and I was sure that he was, too.
The trail ended at a small river and on the other side of the bank I saw RVs parked up and down the river’s course. None of them looked occupied, there weren’t any lights shining from any of them. Some were covered by tarps made for that model. Raptors, Comanche, Sierra were some of the names I could just make out. Fifth wheels, camper pulls and big motor homes.
I nudged Ballycor in the ribs. He lowered his head to sniff the water, pawed and drank before he stepped delicately in. The water was only a few inches deep and no wider that a one lane road. Really, it was no more than a creek. He had no trouble crossing or climbing the slippery, steep bank on the other side. We came out onto the grass of an RV park. There were only a handful in the hollow and up a good-sized hill was a paved road. An occasional car drove by with their headlights on, but I was not worried that one might see us. There was no way any driver could spot us down in the park unless I had a light.
I slid off Ballycor’s back and led him between the RVs and motor homes. One of them had a portable fence set up, probably for their dogs. It was big enough to turn Bally loose inside. He could graze for an hour on the thick grass, plus I had brought him corn to munch on. That was as good if not better feed than oats. I dumped the pile of ears in front of him and started to shuck them, looking for moldy ones. When I found one, I tossed it in the water, so he wouldn’t be tempted to eat it. Once done sorting, he had four ears to munch on, enough for a feeding that night. In the morning, I would give him another.
From the height of the grass, I knew no one had been in the park for months. I wandered down the rows, checking to see if anyone had been stupid enough to leave one unlocked. Or a window left open. I really didn’t want to break in, so I checked for a spare key in one of those magnetic boxes you left in the wheel well.
Only one RV had a box, but the darn thing was empty. No key in it. Defeated, I sat for a while and dug through my pack for the last two pieces of rabbit. I ate it cold and licked my greasy fingers, hoping it was enough to keep me until morning.
I could go fishing but I wasn’t sure if the fish I could catch would be edible and I’d have to cook it over a campfire which could be seen from the road.
I really didn’t want to break a window, leaving the inside of the camper open to the weather and water damage. I didn’t need to get under cover or eat that badly, if it meant ruining a fifty-thousand-dollar vehicle. I went back to the fifth wheel called a Raptor and spread my ground sheet on the graveled pad underneath. I laid on it. Over me I pulled the space blanket that I had found in the bag in the trunk room. Huddled in my coat and the blanket, I was warm enough but thirsty. I knew that I couldn’t drink the creek water like Bally, it would make me sick. I still had some water left from the camp in the State Park, packed in one of the three used water bottles I had taken from the garbage can. Someone had thrown them away even with the 5¢ deposits. Of course, I was used to making bottle deposits count. I supposed rich people didn’t care about a measly 15¢.
I had been saving the water in case I didn’t find a source and since I hadn’t had the chance to refill it at the Speedway, I’d been rationing it. I took tiny sips to make it last. In the morning, I would have to find somewhere to refill the bottles. A store or a house. Maybe a barn with an outside frost-less water pump.
I listened to the night sounds. Owls hooting, the mysterious calls of coyotes, the raspy half-strangled call of a fox. The chomping and chewing of the stallion as he grazed. Even the soft sounds of a faraway vehicle as it passed above me on the road. The sound of a train as it tooted its whistle across some far tracks. I listened until it all became a background hum and then, I fell asleep.
I woke early, as soon as the sun came up and eclipsed the moon. There was frost on the ground and I suspected that it was colder than I wanted to feel once I came out from under the covers. Ballycor was standing near the tongue of the fifth wheel, hip-shot and dozing. When he saw that I was awake, he nickered, put his head down and pushed me out of my warm cocoon. I knew that he was telling me he was hungry.
“Alright,” I said grumpily and got up. There were still a few ears of good corn left in my backpack, so I shucked them and threw them in front of his nose. His teeth crunched away at the hard kernels of field corn. When he was done with the good stuff, he ate the cobs. He looked at me through the heavy hair of his forelock hanging between his black ears.
“What?” I asked. “You ate all of them. You ate before I did. I’m going hungry, but you got to eat. Is that fair? I rescued you from the meat man.”
He snorted and pushed me with his nose. I dug through the pack. Nothing, not even a pack of gum. I eyed the trailers and RVs. If I wanted to eat that morning, I had to break in one for food or money and it only depended on which one I picked.
I thought the biggest motor home would be the better choice. Mom had said they were an expensive toy that were usually owned by an older, retired couple who could afford one of the monsters. And the gas bill it took to fill the tank. There was more chance of food left inside and maybe money– or even better, a credit card. I hated stealing, but I thought I no longer had a choice.
The biggest, newest one was black and silver. On the spare tire cover in the rear was written in cursive, The Olums. The model was called a Coachman and it had those pull-out wings on both sides that gave more room but less wind-drag when pulling. All the windows had either blinds or curtains, except for the big front windows of the passenger and driver’s seats.
I pulled out the aluminum and chrome steps, wiggled the screen door. It wasn’t locked but the inner solid door with a small peephole was. Locked tight. I thought for a minute and then went back to my pack. Mom had taught me how to open a lock because it happened a lot at the motel where she worked. People were always running off with the keys and locking the door behind them. So, rather than going to the manager for another key, she taught herself how to pick a lock. Anyway, I looked through the bag for any kind of metal that was long and thin. Like a paperclip or a wire hanger piece. I found a skewer that I had picked up from the garbage and bent a piece of wire off the dog fence.
For the next hour, I worked the lock feeling for the right slot to wiggle it loose. I caught myself sticking my tongue out and almost cried as I remembered Mom teasing me that I couldn’t concentrate on anything without doing that thing with my tongue. It was a lot harder to open the lock on my own, my memories kept making me stop, my eyes tearing up, so I couldn’t see.
It grew lighter around me and I heard traffic pick up on the road, making me nervous about being spotted. I didn’t know if there was security watching the park, or cameras picking me up. I hadn’t seen any CCTV cameras but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. Somebody ought to be keeping these RVs safe from vandalism.
The door clicked and swung open. I nearly fell inside as I hadn’t been expecting it to open so easily. It was cold in there and crazy, almost like a real house with two bedrooms and room for six to sleep. It even had a flat screen TV and Wi-Fi. The fridge was empty but there was food in the cabinets. Peanut butter, saltines, other crackers, tuna fish– the expensive white solid kind. Canned salmon. I looked for a can-opener and there were two– an electric and an old hand crank one. I stuffed my face with tuna on crackers and peanut butter right out of the jar. The crunchy kind and smooth. When I was full, I made a pile of stuff I wanted to take on the table, so I could pack my bag. Bottles of spring water, the can-opener, a knife, fork, spoon. Little packets of cat-sup, salt and pepper. Ha! Some of those iodine capsules to make water safe to drink. Toilet paper and a plastic bottle of sanitizer wipes as well as antibacterial soap. Better yet, I found a whole bunch of those cloth grocery bags. Used and recycled instead of plastic or paper. I could tie them together and hang them off Bally’s back, so I could carry more food.
I found matches and one of those long propane lighters, blankets and a down vest. A sleeping bag. What I couldn’t pack in the bag, I wore.
In the center console I found a bunch of change. Maybe ten dollars in quarters, dimes and nickels. In the glove box, I found a gas card and a gold American Express that would expire in two months. No more cash other than the change. There were bills from the gas stations, a garage and repair places. An insurance card and registration in the name of Abner and Miriam Olum. They were the owners of the motor home and it listed their home address as Fort Meyers, Florida. I hadn’t noticed the license plates, had just assumed that the RV was from New York. I wondered why they had left it here rather than drive it back to Florida.
The beds were huge. I wished that I’d the chance to sleep on one last night instead of the cold, lumpy ground.
I gave the inside one last look over before I re-locked the door and went back to Bally. There wasn’t anything left to indicate that I had been inside, not until they searched for the food. And how many people would know how much food they’d left inside after a year?
There wasn’t anywhere close to climb on his back and I could just barely throw the bags on his neck. He was so much taller than me. He didn’t seem to mind being a pack horse, he let me lead him along the river bank until I could find a stump, picnic table or something high to get back on.
I wound up walking for an hour which warmed me up. After that, the fields gave way to roads. On the sides of the road were guardrails and I used that to worm my way onto his back. Once up there, we made better time even though I stayed off the pavement. All it would take was one person who saw me and reported it to put an end to my escape.
I rode until I came to one of those high-line tracks made by the electric companies. There were dirt bike tracks running everywhere as well as four wheelers and the occasional hoof print. It offered a way to travel that for the most part was out-of-the-way and rarely serviced. So, I wouldn’t be noticed if I stayed on it. I could travel for miles. I figured that if the power companies could drive on it, I could ride it.
We spent the better portion of the day climbing mountains and descending valleys. I had a new appreciation for the linemen that serviced the high wires, some of the places we rode were tricky and scary. There were a few places where fences kept us from riding through but Ballycor jumped all of them. He was as smooth over fences as his canter.
I had no problem staying on even without a saddle although I wished that I had one. My butt and legs were getting sore from rubbing against his coat and from holding on.
There weren’t any houses on the power lines, no place to get undercover. If I heard a plane or a helicopter, I ran for the trees, so we could hide under the branches. It must have worked because no one came to stop me or land near us.
We rode until I was so hungry that I couldn’t see straight. I pulled him up with a soft tug and a muttered whoa near a large rock just on the edge of the wood line. It would serve as both a table and a mounting block and was in the trees far enough that no one could see me from overhead. The line mowed underneath the wires was grassy with a lot of weeds and brush, Ballycor could graze and only his back could be seen from the air. I hoped that if he was spotted, the searchers would take him for a deer or a bear. Maybe a moose. Did New York have moose?
We were out of corn and there was no water up there. I slid off, took off his bridle and let him graze while I opened another can of tuna. I ate it with another stack of saltines, and it tasted as good as any burger from McDonald's. It was tuna in spring water and I even drank the water. Then of course, I had to poop and managed that without too much trouble as I had thought to bring a roll of toilet paper with me from the motor home. And a thing of wet-wipes which came in handy for washing my face, hands and butt. What Mom had called a camper’s bath. Face, armpits and crotch.
I pulled out the bottle of spring water and sucked down the whole thing, no need to ration just yet as I’d found a whole twenty-four pack in the coach. Had to leave most of them behind, they weighed too much to carry in a bag. If I’d had regular saddle bags, I could have taken more. If wishes were horses, mom said, beggars would ride to the grocery stores. Somehow, I didn’t think that was really how the saying went.
I rested and let Ballycor graze for a couple of hours. I fell asleep on the rock, the sun hit it enough to warm up and it was almost like lying on the floor in a sunbeam. Only harder.