I wrote about a new name I\u2019d picked up a few weeks ago. VERN! Now, I\u2019ve been dubbed with yet another moniker, FROSTY. I guess it\u2019s my year for new names. Some behind my back like Old Stumbles, Crusty, Grouch and Cheapskate, and of course, those I hear in public, Sir, Mister and Gramps (plus Vern, Coot and now, Frosty). It makes me wonder what else I\u2019ll be called by before the year ends. <\/p>\n
Frosty came my way in Zion National Park, Utah, on a western trip that found me in the Grand Canyon, Bryce Canyon, Lake Powell, Los Vegas and three days with our son in San Diego. Frosty became my handle on a riding trail in Zion Canyon. Frosty was the horse I was assigned for a trail ride, something I\u2019d agreed to with trepidation, remembering well, my one and only experience mounted on a horse, properly called the \u201cbarn idiot,\u201d when I was 16 years old. The \u201cIdiot\u201d broke from the pack and galloped back to the barn where I barely managed to slip off before he shot through the door that would have surely knocked my head off, since the opening was hardly high enough for a galloping horse, let alone one with a mounted rider. <\/p>\n
I tugged myself atop Frosty (horse people call it mounted) and got in line, next to last, with several other riders and our guide, Sylvia. She didn\u2019t call us by our names but referred to us by the name of the horse we were riding. \u201cSlow down back there, Spirit?\u201d – \u201cHurry up Trigger; don\u2019t let a big gap open between you and Pinto.\u201d Thus, I became Frosty, a lot better than Old Timer, the name I started with when I signed up for the ride, which, explains why she kept swiveling around in her saddle and yelling, \u201cHow you doing back there Frosty? Are you okay?\u201d It was not just my age; it was the grimace on my face and the yelps of pain I emitted every time Frosty decided to gallop or to turn his head and snap at my legs with a set of horse teeth that looked lethal to me. <\/p>\n
I\u2019m sure the group was sick of the constant, Frosty, Frosty, Frosty. Even when the ordeal was over it didn\u2019t stop. As I limped across the coral back toward the lodge, the shouts of, \u201cHow you doing Frosty,\u201d continued. Whenever my wife, Marcia, relates the tale of our horseback ride in the canyon (with too much chuckling, I might add), another new person starts calling me Frosty. I\u2019ll accept the horse name, but I\u2019m not planning on doing anything horse-wise to pick up a new steed reference. So, call me Frosty, or Vern, or Coot, or Jim Steel. It\u2019s better than being ignored, which us old coots get a lot of. So, thanks for that. <\/p>\n
Yours truly, Frosty. <\/p>\n