As a little girl, I loooooved horses. Loved, loved, loved them. I took lessons for a few years and daydreamed wistfully about becoming a jockey. I filled drawing pads with horse sketches. I worshiped the art of CW Anderson and Wesley Dennis and buried my nose in everything Marguerite Henry and Walter Farley wrote. And yes, I dragged my friends on a college road trip to Chincoteague where I practically burst into tears of joy at finally seeing the ponies in-person. Raise your hand if you know what I’m talking about.
When I started riding a bike, naturally it got a name and became my trusty steed. It was a decent, if less furry, stand-in for a pony. Fast-forward a bunch of years, and I noticed that I’ve got the equestrian-look helmet and riding boots. Now I just need the horse bike:
Look how happy she is!
All she needs now is a Trotify.