From there we pedaled the flat, unchallenging paths, spotting several bird species through binoculars and pausing to examine history panels and their accompanying artifacts (including one unidentified shipwreck, presumably from the 19th century or earlier). It was a delightful experience, just the kind of light exercise you'd want while on vacation.
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The grass is greener:
This band of wild horses ignores traffic laws as they search for their favorite snack - cordgrass. (Photo by Jay Livingston, Special to SunSpot)
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Of course, we also spotted the occasional band of wild horses. Usually, they would appear on the western side, where the salt-encrusted cordgrass they enjoy is more plentiful, but they also showed up around campsites. Inevitably, these visitations provoked an ad hoc assemblage of Birkenstock-clad paparazzi, eager to capture the horses on film or video. The horses never seemed to mind, though. They just kept on noshing and pooping, pooping and noshing. (By the way, be prepared to dodge plenty of horse droppings as you make your way around the island. The creatures aren't shy about where they do their business.)
It's not surprising that Assateague's wild horses draw such rapt attention. They're beautiful creatures. The horses come in all colors and sizes, and possess unkempt and gleaming manes, which dance about their taut and muscular shoulders in the blowing winds. Besides, they're reasonably docile and don't spook easily, so you can get fairly close without annoying them (although don't get too close, as they will kick and bite if sensing a threat).
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Right of way:
The National Park's wild ponies stop traffic for a photo shoot. (Photo by Jay Livingston, Special to SunSpot)
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But I hadn't been prepared to get this close. While pedaling along through the piney side of the National Park, we noticed a band of wild horses in the distance. They were heading in our direction, sauntering down the road with a line of automobiles patiently following them. Mel and I pulled our bikes onto the sandy shoulder and watched. As the horses got closer, I realized that the band was literally coming right at us. And this was a larger band, too, made up of the stallion and his mares, about six horses in all.
"I think we should go back to the main road and give them plenty of room," I said to Mel.
Knowing that I harbor a freakish and possibly unfounded fear of horses (love to look, but from a distance), she guffawed and said: "They'll go around us."
Then I set up the camera and prepared to die, as the band, led by the giant stallion, came near.
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Grazing:
Even a wild pony can seem harmless at mealtime. (Photo by Jay Livingston, Special to SunSpot)
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Before the horses could reach us, they noticed our presence and nervously attempted a flight into the thick brush next to the road. Running into some impediment or other, they got spooked and, Keystone Cops-style, began bumping into one another as one horse and then the next ran into the same impediment. Suddenly, they were galloping right by our bicycles. I could have reached out and touched one. We felt the thunder of their hooves, saw the wild glint in their shining black eyes as they raced past. And we experienced the kind of strange exhilaration that can only come from this type of unplanned, Assateaguean dance with horses.
