“Unveiling Secrets: How Jess Phoenix’s ‘The Race’ Transforms the Meaning of Survival in an Unforgiving World”
I missed.
The moment Anthracite felt weight in the stirrup, he bolted as if he was breaking from the starting gates at Churchill Downs. I landed behind the saddle, my legs forced out and away from his body by those accursed orange saddle bags. My right hand found the front of the saddle, and my left was fortunately hanging onto the reins. The horse had hit a full gallop in just a few strides, and every gopher hole I had seen over the last few hundred miles flashed through my head. I tried using my thigh muscle strength alone to pop over the cantle of the saddle and into the seat, but the height of the cantle stopped me cold. We were off to the races with me clinging on by sheer force of will.
