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I Did Not Look Back: I Just Rode My Mule West

Published March 15, 2004

I, Bernie Harberts, did not use generative AI to write or illustrate this article. Spell check and grammar check, yes. AI, no.

This is the first post ever published on RiverEarth.com. Keith Smith and I got the site running just after midnight on March 17, 2004, the night before I rode my mule Woody out of Oriental, North Carolina. What started as a ride across one state turned into 13 months, 3,500 miles, and a journey that is still unfolding.

Woody’s long mule ears bobbed in front of me as I rode away from the town dock in Oriental. Voices drifted up behind me, over my shoulder and into my ear. “Have a great trip!” “Let us know where you end up!” “Send me a post card.” I reached the stop sign and turned left. I did not look back. I just rode west.

Woody and I had started our mule journey across North Carolina.

Long Rider Bernie Harberts and mule Woody at the start of the Atlantic to Pacific mule ride, Oriental, North Carolina, 2004 — Woody and me at the start of our trip. Note the crisp shirt and hat. They would not stay that way long. All the gear I carried is attached to the McClellan saddle that I rebuilt for the trip.

Long Rider Bernie Harberts and mule Woody at the town dock in Oriental, North Carolina at the start of the Atlantic to Pacific mule ride, 2004 — Two well-wishers visiting with Woody and me at the town dock in Oriental. This is the same dock where I started and ended my solo circumnavigation on my sailboat Sea Bird a few years earlier. (Melinda Penkava photo)

Long Rider Bernie Harberts riding mule Woody out of Oriental, North Carolina at the start of the Atlantic to Pacific mule ride, 2004 — The instant the trip started. From how I had to pull on the reins, you can see Woody’s steering was not great. This is something I would come to regret up the road. (Melinda Penkava photo)

The Night Before

Woody and I had camped in my friends Keith Smith and Melinda Penkava’s yard the night before (Melinda and I are founders of TownDock.net) . I spent that last afternoon tending to all the last minute things a newbie saddle traveler has to take care of: sorting maps and filling the water bottles. There weren’t many bottles to fill. To save weight, I only carried two quarts of water, kept in empty juice bottles.

Keith and I stayed up late that last night in Oriental as he set up a website for me. We got it done just after midnight. That website was RiverEarth.com. This is the first post I ever wrote on it.

The logo Keith provided for my mule voyage.

Balks, Skitters and Side-eye

I rode Woody out of town and he balked at the first bridge he came to. I got him over that where he shied at a boat trailer. And then bolted across a pasture full of yellow flowers when he shied at a tractor trailer hauling a boat. An exhausting five miles later, we arrived at Ben Casey’s. Ben and his wife Caroline were friends of mine and it was lovely to get off the road. Yes, it was fantastic to finally be heading out on my mule ramble with Woody. I was doing it! And yet, I was exhausted.

Nobody had ever told me how hard it was to ride a mule the distance it takes five minutes to go in a car. It was a physical challenge. My butt hurt and I was getting a rub under my knee from where my slacks were rubbing my skin. But mostly, my brain felt fried from dealing with Woody’s antics — all the bolting, side-eying and skittering.

I couldn’t blame him. He was starting a new life on the road, too.

And yet, I was elated. We had survived our first day.

I tied Woody out on a long piece of rope in Ben’s yard so he could graze. Everything was copacetic. Woody dropped his head and picked at the clover next to the road that ran in front of Ben’s house. The Neuse River rippled calmly in the falling breeze and Woody grazed from one clover clump to the next, like he was an old hand at this.

Long Rider Bernie Harberts mule Woody picketed out the first night at Ben Casey's yard beside the Neuse River, Oriental, North Carolina, 2004 — Woody picketed out the first night in Ben Casey’s yard. That’s the Neuse River on the other side of the road. Look closely and you’ll see two things. 1) The picket is attached to Woody’s halter. 2) I have tied a loop secured by a bowline knot around Woody’s neck. That’s to keep him secured in case his halter fell off. I used the bowline because it keeps the loop from tightening around Woody’s neck, unlike other knots, which slip. I switched to picketing Woody by a front leg after a few months because there was much less of a chance of him tangling in the picket when he scratched his ear.

As I was watching this scene, Woody reached up with his back leg to itch his ear. He hooked his leg over the rope attached to his halter, jerked back and the rope came tight, knocking Woody off his feet.

“Oh, no!” I thought as Woody jerked and struggled and got totally tangled in his picket rope. The rope was around his neck, he was thrashing on the ground, hooves flying, braying with fear, eyes wide as pie plates and I thought, “Damn! I hate to cut that rope to get him loose!”

And then I thought, “My God, Bernie. You’ve been on a boat alone too long to worry about cutting a new rope when what you should do is jump in there and do something.”

Which I immediately did.

Woody thrashed and jerked at the rope until it came up bar tight against his throat and I pulled the rope away from his neck so I could cut it. That gave me some slack but before I could cut the rope, Woody jammed his front foot through the loop, pulled it back and ripped his front shoe halfway off.

Damnit!

That was a problem to be solved later so I cut the rope around Woody’s neck. He struggled to his feet, walked backward chewing slowly and stared at me like he was thinking, “Damn, bro. That was some dustup.”

Then he went back to eating clover.

I looked at the loose shoe and saw that I could pound the clinches, the bent over nails that hold the shoe on, back into place with my Leatherman.

Woody kept eating clover, wiser now about getting tangled in his rope. Supper that night was cabbage and corned beef with Ben and Caroline. It was St. Patrick’s Day. I excused myself every fifteen minutes to check on Woody.

And he was fine.

It was all a reminder, though, of how fast life on the road with a mule can go from beautiful to scary.

And now all is quiet. I pitched my tipi. Woody is quietly grazing outside. All is well and tomorrow, we figure out how we can cross the Neuse River on the Minnesott ferry.

Inside Long Rider Bernie Harberts tipi camp during the Atlantic to Pacific mule ride, North Carolina, 2004 — A look inside my tipi: the McClellan saddle is in the foreground. The tiny wood stove that I cooked on is in the middle of the tent. I didn’t know it at the time I took this photo but the tipi would be my home for the next 13 months and 3,500 miles.

Spoiler alert: At the time I wrote this post, I never dreamed I would end up riding Woody all the way across the United States to San Diego on the Pacific Ocean. Another thing I couldn’t have imagined: though the trip began as “Woody’s Walk Across North Carolina,” it would end up as the book Too Proud to Ride a Cow.

More from the Too Proud to Ride a Cow voyage.

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