TUCSON, Ariz. -- Gene Autry I wasn't. Barely an hour ino an all-day trail ride, my hiking boots felt like ovens and my baseball cap barely shaded my face.
It was no better for my horse, Cutter. The low Arizona sun lit his red mane like flames. We were climbing, and Cutter struggled to get his footing on the rocky, steep trail. Sweat trickled down his shoulders as a dozen wannabe cowboys plodded along nose-to-tail behind a real cowboy named Joe.
