Iceland Day #4: Indiana Jones rids himself of my fat ass

My horse on the Laxnes horse riding tour

This is Indiana Jones.  He's a horse.  An Icelandic horse, so he's actually quite small which is good because he threw me off his back and I landed on my head.  That might be why this post is slightly terse.  That and I wrote it out before, and then it got deleted when I tried to post it.  So the headache I have from landing on my noggin, and the fact that I don't feel like writing out the same thing again is making me take the agression that I should be directing towards Indiana Jones out on you.

I apologize.

Indiana Jones and I got off to a good start.  I was doing some novice level stuff like speeding him up, turning him and that kind of thing.  I was in control.  Well it would be more accurate to say that he was giving me the illusion of control, which he took away when he decided to toss me off his back.  The old adage about getting back on the horse is true, you do have to get back on it after being tossed off if only because in the middle of nowhere in Iceland it's the only way home.  

For the brief bit following the fall I was okay, but by that point the tour was behind schedule so the guide at the front of the pack would try to spur us on by speeding up and building a few minutes worth of a lead and then stopping while the stragglers caught up.  The trouble was that Indiana Jones wanted to be at the front, and there was no way I could slow him down so I went through periods where all of a sudden he would take off after the guide's horse whether I was ready or not.  Had there been any way to stop him I would have gotten off and walked home by the end of it, since I had stopped enjoying the tour some time ago.

Lydia wants to go out for lunch and then to a civic pool.  I want to stay in bed and see if it's true about falling asleep with a concussion.  I suppose I'll end up going for lunch and then to a pool.