James Etheridge

For the first time in thirty-seven years last week, Budweiser announced that it was forgoing its annual Super Bowl commercial time slots. They weren’t alone, either. Coca-Cola, Hyundai and Pepsi dropped out as well. Budweiser announced that it will reallocate the money toward those affected by the COVID-19 pandemic. At $5 million a pop for a 30-second commercial, that’s hardly chump change.

The Budweiser Clydesdales have become almost synonymous with the Super Bowl. I love the Budweiser Clydesdales. They are beautiful horses and I crossed a wish off the bucket list when I saw them up close and personal before a Braves game at Turner Field. They were in the parking lot before the game and Marie and I were able to stand next to a big horse named Mike and talk to one of the handlers. We weren’t allowed to pet Mike or even touch him. “Look, I like you guys,” said the handler, “but if I let you pet him, then I’d have to let everybody and we’re not allowed to do that.”

I found this picture of Mike with a young friend. It shows just what gentle giants these magnificent creatures are. Mike is now retired and I’m sure living a life most of us can only dream of living.

About five or six years ago the Clydesdales were making an appearance at the Virginia-Highlands art festival. They set up the team and the wagon in the parking lot of Manuel’s Tavern. Jackie took her nephew and they got to see the horses and carriage unloaded from the trailers, the tack put on and the team hitched up. They got to pet the horses and took selfies with them. They even got to pet the dalmatian. I wasn’t the least bit envious.

After seeing Mike and the Clydesdales live and in living color, I added riding one of the noble steeds to my list. A few years later I sort of got to cross that wish off. Marie and I, along with our daughter Dana and her boyfriend were in Jekyll Island for the Fourth of July and went horseback riding along the beach. The ride started at Three Oaks Farm on the north end of the island, close to the fishing pier. The horses were saddled and lined up in the gravel lot next to the corrals. There were a number of nice quarter horses, a beautiful blonde palomino and a huge speckled gray and white draft horse. Several teenage girls picked him out immediately. “I’m riding him,” one of them said and stood by the horse holding his bridle. The guide had different ideas. “How many of you have ever ridden on the back of a horse before?” he asked. There were about ten of us and most everyone raised our hands.
“How many of you have ever ridden a horse alone?” About half of us raised our hands.
“How many of you own or have owned a horse?” Two of us raised our hands.
The guide pointed at me and said, “You’re on him,” pointing at the draft horse. “Aw-uh,” whined the teenaged girl. He assigned her to a quarter horse and she reluctantly let go of the bridle.

If you’ve never attempted to mount a draft horse, let me assure you it is no easy feat. The stirrup was about at eye level so I pulled my left foot up even with my nose and into the tread. I somehow managed to grab hold of the saddle horn, pull my weight up, throw my right leg over the big horse’s back and plop my butt down in the saddle. Somehow my feet reached the stirrups.

“What’s his name?” I asked the guide. “Zeus,” he replied. Zeus wasn’t a Clydesdale, but he was a draft horse. As far I was concerned that counted, so I marked another one off the bucket list. Marie had drawn the beautiful blonde palomino. Dana and her boyfriend were on chestnut quarter horses. And there was Poppy, happily perched atop Zeus.

The old adage ‘be careful what you ask for’ was definitely the case with Zeus. First of all, he was wide. I mean really wide. My legs were stretched as far as they would stretch throughout the whole ride. We started off from Three Oaks and took the North Loop trail to the north end of the island. It quickly became obvious that this was not going to be a smooth ride. Zeus clopped along the trail as though he were pulling a couple of newlyweds in a romantic carriage tour instead of me straddling his back with every filling in my head being jarred loose. I pulled on the reins to see if I could slip him into a smoother gear. No such luck, Zeus only had one gear and it was utilitarian. Marie looked up at me, smiled and asked, “Well, how is it?” “Like riding a three-wheel Harley with a flat tire,” I replied. That being said, it was pretty cool sitting on the back of that big horse, high above everyone else who was riding in the group.

We picked up the Driftwood Beach trail just to the right of the fishing pier and then turned onto the beach. Jekyll Island beach is pretty narrow in places and we didn’t go as far as Driftwood Beach because the guide was concerned about the horses tripping over the large pieces of wood. That was fine with me because I certainly was not prepared to attempt to maneuver a seventeen-hand high draft horse around huge chunks of driftwood on a narrow beach. We turned off of the beach and back onto the trail. At one point I was able to let Zeus gallop. I stood in the stirrups and leaned over his neck, thinking the gait might be a little smoother. It was more like going over the first hill on the Great American Scream Machine.

We followed Driftwood Beach trail back up to the north end of the island. We turned onto the North Loop trail and returned to the Farm. As the guide was helping the riders in the group dismount, he looked at me and laughed. “You need any help?” he asked. “No, I got up here, I think I can find my way down,” I said. I gave Zeus a pat on the neck, stood up, threw my right leg over his back, held onto the saddle horn and dropped my right foot to the ground. My left foot was still in the stirrup and about even with my ear. I managed to get it out of the stirrup, walked bow-legged over to Marie’s tote bag and took out an apple I had brought along for the occasion. “Is it alright if I give him a treat?” I asked the guide. “Sure,” he said. I waddled back over to Zeus and fed him the apple, being careful to keep my fingers clear of his tremendous molars. After he finished I rubbed his jaws. He put his chin on the top of my head. These were pre-cell phone and social media days.  Otherwise, that would have been some profile picture.

Later that evening we rode up to the fishing pier to watch the fireworks over the East River. We parked our car and as we were waiting to cross the road, Zeus came clopping by pulling a carriage carrying a young couple. “Look, there’s Zeus!” said my daughter. “Yep, he’s a working man,” I replied. He looked more natural pulling that carriage than he did with me on his back. But I felt connected to him. I had climbed on his back, ridden him on the beach, fed him an apple and crossed another one off the bucket list. “They’ve stopped,” said Marie. “You want to walk over and say hey to him?” “No,” I said, “he’s working.” The truth of the matter was that I couldn’t have walked over to say hey to him if my life depended on it. The inside of my thighs were killing me. My knees were stuck out at ninety-degree angles and I was about a foot shorter than normal. I had to stop and rest three times on the way from the parking lot to the pier.