I still shiver when I think about this.
My parents gave me a horse about two years ago. His name is Cinch--he's a Quarter horse gelding, about 15 hands high (1 hand = 4 inches, for you non-horse people, and 4 inches = 10.16 cm for you metric-system users). Absolutely beautiful sorrel (rich mahogany-brownish-red)... anyways, the people we bought him from failed to tell us that he'd never been out on a trail ride in his entire life.
My parents bought him for me in July, and after working with him for a few months, I felt that by October I'd be ready to go trail riding on him.
So, we went out behind the barn at the place I board at--it's got like 100 acres or something ginormous like that, so it goes on forever--and went on the "bunny" trail, just to try it out.
This trail is about 5 miles (8 km, more or less), and it just goes in a straight line right on past the cornfields.
So I hop on, and Cinch is doing fantastic. We're going along at a walk at first, then a trot, then a walk. We're about a quarter of the way through the trail when the cornstalks on my left begin to rustle.
Now, it's October, so by this point, the cornstalks are VERY dry and thus make A LOT of noise when shaken, even slightly.
Cinch begins to trot a little faster. I calm him down somewhat, and then he's okay again.
More rustling.
Cinch's ears begin to flatten against his head in fear, and he starts gnawing at the bit like crazy, the whites of his eyes visible from way up in the saddle (remember, I'm about 60 inches, or 152 cm, above the cold, hard ground). I grip the reins a little tighter.
The corn rustles yet again, this time practically right under us.
Cinch turns around, neighs, rears up onto his back legs, and bolts--completely forgetting that I'm on him.
[Sidenote: quarter horses were developed to be the fastest horses in a quarter-mile (.4-km) race--they can gallop that distance at a rate of up to 30 - 35 mph, easily.]
Cinch is galloping as fast as he can. I turn around--I was expecting a coyote or something to be following us, but there was nothing there--then face forward again, heart pumping, sweating bullets, knuckles white from gripping the reins.
I don't have a clue as to what I should do.
Do I stay on as long as I can and just ride it out?
Do I jump off now, hoping he doesn't trample me?
WHAT THE CRAP DO I DO NOW?
Then, oh crap.
Crap.
Crap.
CRAP.
About 300 yards (274 m) in front of me is a rusty barbed-wire fence. And I can feel Cinch getting ready to jump.
We're rapidly coming up to this fence--and by "rapidly", I mean still at a 25 mph, flat-out, panick-induced gallop--and the only thing I know for sure is that I don't want to be skewered on a rusty barbed-wire fence.
Ever.
I'm losing my grip on the reins (my palms are sweating like crazy at this point, and my voice is hoarse [no pun intended :/] from yelling, "WHOA! WHOA! WHOA, BOY! WHOA!").
Just before slipping off, I squeeze his neck one last time.
I close my eyes and roll off.
I just did the equivalent of shoulder-rolling out of an SUV going 25 mph.
I roll off Cinch's right side, yet when I land, I'm on his left.
I ROLLED UNDER MY HORSE.
UNDER MY 1200-LB (544-KG) HORSE.
My head smacks the hard, almost-frozen ground one, two, three, four times--I count as I feel it coming in contact with the earth. I roll over my own left elbow (and yes, I'm left-handed, too, so this left me in a lot of pain and not being able to write after the incident) and I hear--and feel--something crack in my left arm.
My back about folds in half, in the wrong direction, and I roll for a few feet until I stop in the dry, hard stubble of the harvested portion of a cornfield.
Oh, my God.
Oh, my God.
Can I move?
Am I dead?
Where is my horse?
The amazing thing is, is that my brother (who was just around at the other end of the trail) reached out and fricking CAUGHT MY HORSE BY THE REINS. Just like John Wayne would've done.

I wound up with a chipped humerus, severe bruising all over my body, and multiple cuts and scrapes from rolling into the corn stubble.
My horse was fine.

A month later, I was back on him again.

I still ride--I love to--and am honestly not afraid of him or the trail (which I went back out on and conquered the next time I rode, by the way). But every now and again, I'll have a nightmare of my accident... the last time I was really scared.
(Mademoiselle Dustman picked a bouquet of oopsie daisies for you on, Fri 23 Feb 2007, 1:18, Reply)