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“Go fuck yourself,” he said, before putting his helmet on.

I laughed. “I look forward to your first stand-up special.”

“Come on, let’s see if you still remember your way around town,” Clutch said, and fired up Charlene.

I put the key in the ignition and started the Fat Boy. The engine came to life with a roar, and my pace quickened as I revved the throttle.

Clutch hit the garage remote on his key fob, and we sped off toward the freeway entrance. I’ve always said that riding is the best cure for the common cold. No matter how shitty I might feel, the minute I hit the road, my mood always improves. The fact that I was riding a brand-new Harley equipped with a 114-cubic inch big twin engine certainly didn’t hurt. I didn’t know why Cutter had given it to me, but right now I was more than happy to see what this baby could do.

* **

Cricket

Hold this pace until you reach that tree, then sprint for one minute before stopping again.

I did as I’d instructed myself to do and ran at full speed up the inclined path. My burning lungs gladly took in the cool morning air as I counted backwards from sixty. Once I reached zero, I slowed my pace back down to a jog, once again starting the cycle.

This was how I managed my life in all things. I’d set a short-term goal, hold myself to achieving it, no matter the pain. Once I did, I’d set another, even larger goal. This process of ‘progress makes perfect’ made sense to me and I saw no reason to change my methods. Why would I? Everything in my life was going great. Well, most things were going great. Some things more than others, I suppose. But the point was, I had a plan for how my life was going to go and I saw no reason to deviate from that plan. I also had a plan for how I was going to erase whatever last night was, and it included running through Cedarwood Park until my legs were jelly.

This was my favorite weekend running spot in all of Portland. I loved the way the trees could change color from one day to the next. The peaceful serenity of the winding trails and the absence of reminders of modern life made it an almost magical place. The park wasjust aboutperfect. I say just about, because there was one thing I absolutely did not enjoy about these trails, and as I rounded the next turn, I was face to face with one. Or should I say face to snout? Whatever you call the front part of a horse’s face… was right in front of me, and believe me when I tell you, I do not like horses.

“Ho, girl!” a beautiful blonde rider said, stopping her demon steed on a dime. “Sorry about that, we didn’t see you there.”

My heart raced as I felt the ground shake beneath me, the giant animal standing mere inches away. Okay, maybe itwasn’t that close, but it sure felt like it too me.

“No, that’s okay. That was my fault, really. I was lost in thought and… the corner… I…,” I said backing up quickly, hoping I wouldn’t spook Horsezilla into a killing frenzy.

“Her name’s Tasha. She’s super friendly. Would you like to pet her?” the rider asked, unaware that I’d rather wrestle a rattlesnake away from a rabid pitbull than come near her (or any other) horse for that matter.

“Oh, no. No thank you, I’m… I… I don’t care much for horses,” I sputtered, still backing up from the fiery red beast. The rider looked at me as if I’d suddenly started speaking a foreign language in the middle of our conversation. “Sorry again, enjoy your ride,” I said while giving them an extra wide berth to pass me. The blonde simply smiled, and with the slightest flick on the reins, she and her two-thousand-pound terror continued down the trail.

My fear of horses is deep-seated and comes from one of my earliest childhood memories. My parents took me to a petting zoo when I was little, and I remember loving the experience at first. I remember feeding goats from ice cream cones filled with little green pellets and laughing because the goats preferred to eat the cones. This, of course, caused the feed pellets to spill all over the ground for the chickens and bunnies to eat. I did this over and over, laughing harder and harder each time. My dad bought cone after cone, just to see me happy.

This was also one of the only items of video evidence my parents captured before Mom died. So, whether it’s a memory from childhood, or a continuation of the movie playing in my mind, I’m not sure. But I know I was blissfully happy.

Until…

Mom thought it would be a good idea for us to stand in the sweltering sun to have my picture taken atop Jonah the Wonder Pony. Apparently, he’d been a big deal in Atlantic City in his prime. He was in one of those high dive-horse acts who’d long been retired from the big show.

Jonah now spent his days in petting zoos, wearing arhinestone saddle, posing for pictures at five bucks a pop. I didn’t know if I was going to pass out from the heat or the anticipation, but by the time we got to the front of the line I was near delirious with joy and/or sunstroke. My father, holding my hand, led me ever so carefully up the steps to Jonah’s photo area. Looking back, he was probably a hundred years old, but he was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. The pony bowed his head, and I reached out my tiny hand to pet him. This was the happiest moment I’d ever known. Right up until the moment he leaned forward, and bit me on the shoulder. I cried all the way to the doctor’s office, where I receivedmanyshots, and then I cried all the way home. From that moment on, I could do without the equine species. No more ponies, and certainly no horses. I even avoided the zebra exhibit at the zoo just to be safe.

I reached my car, my run now over, and decided I needed some sister processing time, so I dialed Maisie.

“Well, hello, favorite sister-in-law on the planet,” she said.

“I’m your only sister-in-law, but I’ll take it.”

She chuckled. “You sound out of breath. Did you just go for a run?”

“I did. And I nearly got killed.”

“What?” she asked with a gasp. “Are you okay?”

“Homicidal horse.”

“Bloody hell, Cricket, I thought you were serious,” she admonished. “Horses aren’t homicidal.”

“This one was.”

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