Free Slow Apocalypse by John Varley

there was a big flatbed truck backed up in his driveway. He screeched to a halt and hurried to the open gate. When he got through he saw two large fellows unloading bales of hay.
    “What the hell…?”
    Addison was standing by the garage, looking nervous but determined.
    “Addison, did you—”
    “Yes, Dad, I did. I…” She stopped, and glanced at the workmen, then came to him and pulled him by the arm. She stopped at the edge of the retaining wall, well away from any listening ears. She spoke softly.
    “If we’re not going to have any gas,” she said, “well, we’re not going to get over to Burbank every day to take care of Ranger. I’d worry about him. And besides, a horse is a good way to get around.”
    “This is what the credit card was about.”
    “Yes, plus the books and other stuff. I’m sorry, Dad, I know I shouldn’t have tricked you…but you can see we can do it. We have two spare stalls in the garage, and I’ll clean up after him, and the hay and grain is pretty cheap, really.”
    He followed me home, Daddy. Can I keep him?
    He sighed. “I guess we better move him today. Do you know if we can rent a trailer at the equestrian center?”
    “We could, but I have a better idea.”

    Addison had her arms wrapped around her father as he cautiously descended the hill to Sunset. It had been a while since he had driven a motorcycle, and the scooter was a lot smaller and less powerful. He didn’t entirely trust the brakes, so he kept it very slow.
    Actually, he didn’t entirely trust their ability to get the horse from Burbank to the Hollywood Hills safely, but he figured they’d better start getting used to doing things in a different way. He made it to Sunset without incident, then east to Cahuenga and along the 101 freeway, past the Hollywood Bowl, and up and over Cahuenga Pass. Soon they were in Burbank and he swung the scooter through the entrance to the Equestrian Center and on to the building that housed Ranger’s stall. Addison hopped off and ran to her horse, who seemed glad to see her.
    They filled a canvas bag and the small pannier on the scooter with what gear they could carry, tack and brushes and a pair of riding boots. Addison saddled the beast.
    Ranger handled the traffic like a pro, as if he did this every day. There were a few people who honked their horns, even though horse and rider were not blocking anything on the wide streets, but most drivers seemed delighted at the sight of the girl on the horse. They got lots of smiles and thumbs-ups.
    He stayed behind them as they crossed the freeway and Ranger ambled down Ventura Boulevard. Then they crossed over and began to climb. The streets up there were narrower, and winding. In most places there wasn’t room for two cars to pass. He got ahead of Addison and putt-putted in front of them to each curve and waited there.
    It is a complicated and winding route up from the Valley, across the hills and valleys and down to the house on Mockingbird. It took them half an hour to reach Mulholland Drive. Addison dismounted. Dave turned off the scooter’s engine, and they both walked for a while. There was quite a bit of forage up there, though you had to be careful not to let the horse eat somebody’s valuable plantings.
    They reached Sunset Plaza, and before long they could look down the hill and see the house. A pitcher with a good arm could have landed a baseball on their roof. It looked as if they were almost home, but it was an illusion. They had to descend Sunset Plaza almost all the way to Sunset Boulevard itselfbefore going up Rising Glen, down Thrasher, and finally up Doheny and into their neighborhood, a total of three and a half miles. Walking or riding a horse gave you a whole new perspective on distances.
    At last they arrived at the house and Addison took the horse into the empty garage stall. Dave helped her move a bale of wood shavings into the stall, which they spread across the concrete floor, and she got out a bale of hay