When I was about ten I was staying on my uncle’s farm for a couple of weeks in the summer like I usually did. He had a big fat-bellied mare pony. I don’t know how it came about exactly, but I told my uncle I could ride that critter 55 miles to Grandma’s house. He dared me, so I went in the house, threw some stuff in a pillow case, jumped on the pony, and rode out of the lane. That stubborn old thing, which I swear was part mule, wanted to turn around and go home practically every step of the way, but three days later I rode up to the front door at Grandma’s.
You must have been quite the sight!
Three days to a 10 y/o would seem like an eternity.