They were taking a break on the road south from Lago O’Higgons to El Chalten when they heard a horse approaching through the trees. A man emerged on horseback from the forest and told them in crisp though distinctly accented English that he was from Hungary and he was on a horse tour and he would happily share the road with them for a bit if they would allow it. They asked him if he had always ridden horses and he said, no, he had never owned a horse until he came to Chile a month or two back. But it is easy, he said. The horse he eat grass and shit grass and that is all. We walk through yards and when he see a fence he jump it and if he cannot jump it he walks until there is a gap and then we walk through it. They pedaled alongside him that day and marveled as he demonstrated his horse’s leaping ability over stumps and banks and ditches and fence. You see this ditch? he’d say. Now we jump it. And he’d lock eyes with one or another of them and the horse would jump it and he’d nod and they’d all continue companionably on. They came upon a beautiful Dutch woman hitchhiking south. The Hungarian Horse Tourist picked her up. That night, the cyclists laid awake late into the night as the Hungarian made love to his hitchhiker under the stars. When they awoke in the morning, she had hitched a ride from a trucker. The Hungarian Horse Tourist hopped a fence and continued southward, his horse dropping a stream of turds that glinted in the morning sun like gold coins.