The Simple Things in Life

Driving to Mudgee on Sunday afternoon I found myself thinking I would rather have been lazing on our couch watching a Sunday afternoon movie with Jeff than spending another 5 hours in the car alone. By the time I got to Coonamble I was feeling a bit melancholy about it all and decided some lunch might improve my demeanour. As I turned off the highway towards the main street I found myself looking at the Sunday afternoon matinee I had been yearning for. I couldn’t decide though if I was watching Rio Bravo with big John and a dash of Dean Martin or Tim Allen and the other big John on their Wild Hogs adventure. There was no couch either, so I knew it wasn’t real!

What am I raving on about now, I hear you say … well …

Perched on its corner ahead of me was the imposing two story Bucking Bull Hotel with its wide veranda, bright yellow adverts and welcoming, shady interior. Apart from the name and its relevance to the story, the pub was not what attracted my attention. It was the saddled horse hitched to a veranda post on one side and four large motorbikes, including one very glittery blue trike parked at the curb around the corner! Two worlds meeting or colliding, I wondered.

A horse in Coonamble is not a strange sight and neither are motorbikes of any description; it was just the timing, and placement of the props, that sent my mind on one of its numerous tangents.

Before I could gather my thoughts and take a decent photo (because I thought no-one would believe me!!) the owner of the pony had emerged from the pub and mounted his trusty steed for the trip home.

As I followed him up the deserted main street (no tumbleweeds in sight) I briefly found myself wondering what the rules are for drink riding, assuming he’d had a drink, as I considered whether this was one of those “only in the country”, or “it’s the simple things in life” moments. I decided in the end it was the latter that are often the most rewarding. Plus on a hot Sunday afternoon, driving, it pays not to over-think things.

The memory amused me for the rest of the journey – being a lone ranger was no longer an issue.

The Bucking Bull Hotel

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