Following the Vermont 100 and Sarge’s non-completion, I was quickly formulating an action plan. This is just what I do. Analytical to a fault.

Two 100 mile ride attempts with Sarge. One pull as a result of just plain bad luck. Second pull from an odd lameness that COULD be associated with the cruddy luck of the first pull (torqued shoe at 56 or so miles). NQR appetite with no significant change despite a course of Gastrogard. Loss of bounce in the trot.

This was a no brainer.

Sarge was going to see Dr. Ron Genovese at the Cleveland Equine Clinic.

Ace, who was sound as could be, was going also. He’d had some fill behind and below his left knee for several rides, not changing much, but combined with his calf-kneed conformation, I wanted an ultrasound of those front legs.

Ron is an amazing doctor. He’s 75-ish years old, sharp as a tack, amazingly physically fit (when he sits on this tiny stepstool 6 inches from the floor and does ultrasounds on lower legs with absolutely no discernible discomfort I am convinced he must practice a great deal of yoga during his downtime) and all he does all day long, in and out, for several decades now, is look at and diagnose lame horses, almost lame horses and horses whose owners are fretting they could be going lame.

As we drove the four hours to Doc’s new clinic, I made my predictions to Rich about what he would find. For Sarge, I imagined arthritic hocks and some changes in his right front sesamoid since he was initially x-rayed five years ago after two “iffy” BC trot outs. For Ace, I hoped and prayed for nothing. Just some anecdotal fill to watch out for during the years to come.

Boy, was I close.

Sarge had absolutely no changes in his RF x-ray and flexed sound on both front legs. Both hind legs were marginally off after flexion and Doc injected his hocks without x-raying them. “Why waste your money?” he asked. I worried over injecting him and keeping him going along if we should be slowing down, but Doc assured me this was the best thing to do for Sarge’s long term soundness and comfort.

Ace’s tendons were essentially normal, but the RF tendon was thickened more than the left despite more fill in the left front. Go figure. No real diagnosis but we called it a mild left front strain below the knee and the recommendations were for icing/cold hosing/bute after hard rides, to watch for deep footing, and shorten his toes when shoeing him/frequent resets (something we’d already been working on for quite some time).

Sarge finished out his stall rest and handwalking days mostly with grace and self control. His recovery was timed coincidentally with Rich’s clearance to ride following his hernia surgery. Apparently Sarge was feeling VERY good after his hock injections and gave Rich quite the ride and a near ejection when they made the turn on to the trail where we typically do galloping sets up a hill.

We elected to test Sarge by taking him to Maine for the multi-day ride with both Ned and Ace for company. Goal: Ride as much as possible, have a good time, laugh.

Goal accomplished. Sarge, two 30s with Rich, one 50 with Pam Karner. Ned, one 50 with Rachel, and one 30 with me. Ace, one 50 with me, one 30 with Pam. Much laughter. Good times.

Ace and me crossing the Saco River / Photo by Rene Mersereau

Rare photo of my husband relaxing at Western Maine

What was most remarkable, however, was Sarge’s appetite. We didn’t have to lay out the Sarge Smorgasboard. At all. He ate like crazy. Whatever was placed in front of him. At every hold, all of the time. Ceaselessly. All I can figure is that his hocks were sore enough, and equally so, that when he’d been coming in to vet checks and ‘letting down’ he just felt uncomfortable enough to affect his appetite. Poor kid. If only we’d known …

You will note that I did not ride Sarge at all in Maine, so it was a couple of weeks after we got home that I got to tack him up to go for a spin. To say that he feels different after having his hocks done would be an understatement. Not only was his bounce back, but I noticed that he immediately settled into a big strided walk after I climbed on, where he had typically been doing a sort of jigging, shorter-strided walk while warming up pre-injection.

With him looking and feeling so great, and so very fit, Rich let me borrow him away for one more try at a 100. Seouls Corners in eastern Ontario, Labor Day weekend.

The 100 was not to be, unfortunately. A cold front coming in to our area slowed way down, meaning the weather would be beastly hot and ridiculously humid, so I opted to downgrade (or as Stan Alkemade said, “wuss out”) to the 75. I wasn’t heat conditioned, Sarge wasn’t heat conditioned, and I’d had a couple of hellishly difficult weeks with family health things the previous couple of weeks, and all I wanted to do was have fun and get around. The 100 wasn’t sounding fun and I was seriously concerned that with the heat we would not, in fact, get around.

My friend Nathalie and her husband, Jeff, who live near Ottawa, were coming to the ride with their 14 year old son, Yannick. Natty to crew for me, bless her. Jeff to run 50 miles in preparation for a 100 mile race he is running in two weeks, bless his crazy self. Yannick because his Mom thought it best for him to be chaperoned for the weekend, bless his teenaged self.

The ride consisted of three loops — one 19 mile loop, all of it repeated and a bonus five mile loop added for the next 25 mile loop, and a final 31 mile loop. The first two loops had significant chunks of rocky and technical trail. The final loop included 10 miles of that, but then the last 21 miles of the ride were on almost exclusively gravel road and the TransCanada railbed multi-use trail.

There were holds away and at camp and Nathalie crewed the hell out of us. Between doing so, she checked up on Jeff and left him little love notes here and there at camp for when he checked in to restock supplies (he was running the 25 mile loop twice, just like the 50 mile horses). I’m dealing with some heel spur/plantar fasciitis thing so it was a tremendous blessing to have someone trot Sarge out for me.

To say it was humid would be a wicked understatement. I was horrified to find there was a MIRROR in the porta-potty at the away hold and announced loudly when exiting that that was something I really did not to see, my uber tomato face when the humidex was outrageous. I don’t know what it was in Celsius but the translation from Canadian to American was something like “$(*&#( hot!”

There were only three in the 75, and I think three in the 100 as well, which was disappointing, I know, to the ride management. This is not an “easy” ride but it was a very doable and lovely ride, especially with the flat and easy final miles.

I “bonked” in the second half of the ride. Jeff and Natty (read more about them on my blog post from last year entitled something like “Now THESE people are crazy!”) invited their personal trainer friend, Bruce Hamelin, to join us at the ride for Jeff’s training run, and he was a lifesaver to me. At mile 67 he met me at the Sharbot Lake vet check and while Nat doted on Sarge, he sat me down and forced me to eat some uber-calorie, fiber and protein-filled cookie, explaining that I was running at a deficit and that was why I was feeling so lousy. I was hydrated, I was electrolyting, I just wasn’t taking in enough calories for my expenditure during the ride. It feels ridiculous to write about a calorie deficit when I am always struggling with or lamenting about losing weight, but there you go.

The last eight miles in the dark were, as always, magical. The trail had been glowsticked and I met John and Rob, the official GlowStickers on my way out of the hold, so knew the corners were marked on the way back to camp.

The TransCanada trail between Sharbot Lake and base camp travels primarily through what looked (dimly) and sounded like swamp territory. The critters I heard calling and splashing in to the water were remarkable and I can tell you that more than once I thanked the gods that I had chosen to ride the horse who rarely spooks. At anything.

He was starving (hallelujah!) and also anxious to get back to camp, so we alternated doing the big trot and stopping for what seemed endless periods of time to graze. As night riders know, the horses see fine despite our tragically limited human night vision, so Sarge would be flying along and then would suddenly spot a succulent patch of grass, screech to a halt and resume chow time. I knew he was metabolically fantastic, every single footfall all day and all night was perfectly even, and so I simply enjoyed the ride.

My favorite moment was as we passed, or rather tried to pass, an apple tree that we’d found the day prior just a bit off the marked trail on the way back to camp. When we got to that point, I tried to turn Sarge off the trail as the glowstick indicated and he simply stopped. I urged him on. He backed up a few steps, when I suddenly remembered EXACTLY where we were and I headed him off trail in the direction of the tree. He was grabbing apples from the branches as I was picking them to give to him. (I did threaten to kill him if he opted to choke on one.)

Did I mention how hungry he was??

As we approached camp at about 9 p.m., the skies opened. First a sprinkle, then a rain, then something that pretty well resembled a downpour. Sarge vetted through beautifully. It was wonderful to be vetted by Stan Alkemade as he is a dear friend and vetted our Shut Up and Ride for years, and he’s had a bitch of a year with health concerns; it was so nice just to be around him again. Sarge’s CRI was 12/12 and he was all As.

Since we were first to finish and I knew he looked dynamite, I deigned to take my tack over to weigh in. Due to my 80# saddle and my saddlepad soaked with rain water, I’m sure my ride weight was just a little heavier than what I know everyone anticipated was Lightweight status. I threatened bodily harm to any fool stupid enough to announce my weight aloud. Best Condition judging was to be at 8 a.m. the next morning and in order to present, you have to weigh in. (Damn it.)

Headed back to the trailer, shoved wet tack into it, made sure Sarge had a huge pile of hay and was covered with a rain sheet (thanks Nat!), promised to join my friends in their EZUp tent just as soon as I smelled better and immediately showered. I was force-fed (kindly) some awful liquid called Recoverite and cold pizza while we all laughed about the day’s events, Jeff’s successful training run, Bruce’s theories on sports nutrition, and just what a terrific day it had been.

And then I was suddenly exhausted. I took my entire 3 oz of celebratory Merlot and hit the sack, waking at midnight, thirsty as heck and hungry for Pringles, which I ate.

Nat presented Sarge for BC the next morning and I knew it was going to be good. We warmed him up and I showed her how he presents (this was not Sarge’s first time trotting for BC; he’s won several with my husband Richard) and he was looking fantastic. Stan was also very impressed.

Was sad to hear that Monica, who was in 2nd behind me in the ride pulled at Sharbot Lake. Like me, she was riding a Morgan/Arab (hers a stallion!) and while I was tickled to win, I was hoping all three of us starting would make it around.

So Sarge was the winner, BC, High Vet Score (780, which is absolutely nothing to sneeze at), Top Ten, and also Turtle. He won a load of loot and I’m not even sure I’ve gone through everything in the bag just yet.

Uneventful trip home, even with the international crossing and holiday traffic, and I was so physically and mentally exhausted that I was entirely distracted from everything other than riding that wonderful horse down that trail on that day and taking care of him as best I could. It was exactly the weekend that I needed.

It was hot, it was miserable, it was tough and I have sore bits as I sit and write this, but the jigsaw puzzle has totally taken shape, and I am so incredibly relieved that we have finally figured Sarge out. The last piece just fell into place; we simply needed to re-arrange a few things and look at them in a different way.

Life is good. On to planning for the Allegany SUAR on October 1st. Did you get your entry in yet?

And then, hopefully, God and sound horses willing, the Spook Run 100 in Indiana on October 28th. Which horse(s)? Well, we’ll just have to see.

Anyone care to join me?

… but some times it takes a little time and introspection to see the pattern in the big picture that the puzzle creates.

Sit back with a cup of joe, boys and girls, this is gonna be a long one.

I hesitated to write about my VT 100 experience back in mid-July, largely because I was still sorting out many things in my brain, mentally and emotionally.  Here and now, pushing six weeks later, and with the advantage of evaluating it all through the rear view mirror, I’ve gained some perspective.

I’ve ridden the VT100 twice and the Moonlight 50 at the same venue, twice also, all on Ned and all with successful completions, some faster than others, of course.   It is my all-time favorite ride, shared, as it is, with roughly 300 runners more insane than the riders mounted on four legged flight animals.  Additionally, it is a beautiful course; one could stop dozens of times along the ride and simply stop and suck in the beauty, the vistas, the farms, the flowers, the stone walls, the gardens.  It is a breathtaking experience.

I’d decided a few days before the ride that it made sense for Rachel to ride Ace, and for me to ride Sarge.  I felt I knew Sarge best and could best feel if he was off in any way, shape or form, especially after his torqued shoe at the Pine Tree 100 which caused me to pull him at mile 65 (even though he was sound with a replaced shoe).  Ace is a pretty straight-forward ride, easy to pace, and I was confident he was physically ready for the challenge.  Besides, I knew Rachel, who is so tuned in, would take conservative and patient care of my affectionately-termed “special needs child.”

My friend Sylvia came up and met us on Friday with her friend Denny, who was new to endurance riding (boy, was he in for a baptism by fire!) and we set out to check out the crew/vet check locations on the sometimes-challenging-to-find route. Sylvia has ridden Ace and crewed for me before, and I was grateful, as always, for her resourceful and calm presence. I am blessed with terrific friends who are somehow willing to crew, some of them even willing to do it more than once, silly things.

Rachel/Ace and Sarge/I headed out politely and at a reasonable pace on Saturday morning toward the back of the 100 mile pack after accepting a last-minute girth-tightening from Syl. It wasn’t long before we started catching up with the runners, with everyone still chipper and bright-eyed and looking forward to the adventure ahead. Like the horses and riders, the runners get more quiet and energy-conserving as the day goes on, but in the wee morning hours there are cheers and fist pumps and runners turning around on trail to capture photos of themselves with the horses, smiling and celebrating the fact that they are participating in the only concurrent 100 mile ride/run in the United States.

The first stop and go was good, poor Denny got to learn the joy that is schlepping stuff and coaxing reluctant horses to eat, and just how much water gets dumped on hot horses at these events.

At the first hold, both horses were all As and Rachel and I were pleased with our pace and how the boys were feeling. Sarge has been a concern for me all season. We performed a one month expensive experiment with him, suspecting ulcers and dosing him with GastroGard for a thirty day period before Pine Tree, finding no discernible change in his appetite. I was hopeful that with ulcers crossed off our list of potential causes of his lackluster eating at rides that the learning curve would kick in. And in general, Sarge’s eating was quite good.

We had a magical trip over the section of mountains dubbed “Sound of Music”, laughing and sharing tales (and photos) with the runners, finding a runner who shared an alma mater with Rachel (UNH), determining what old haunts were still choice hangouts.

The morning was heating up, and we were taking care to drink and hydrate and mind the horses’ core temperatures, but it wasn’t heat that got Sarge that day.

At roughly 40 miles, on a gravel road, I thought I felt him take a couple of off steps in his right front. (This was the foot on which he torqued a shoe at Pine Tree, so I was hyperaware that something might go awry with that limb.) I sat up, adjusted myself and him for a few moments, making sure we were both even and straight, then felt it again. I asked Rachel to drop along beside me, did she see it?, and yes, eventually she did. We pulled up, checked shoes for rocks and walked for a bit, thinking maybe he’d stung himself on a rock or just had a bad moment, but alas, when we trotted again, there it was. Not every stride, not severe, but it was there, and another 60 miles would not be therapeutic.

Before we had much time to ruminate on it, I sent Rachel and Ace on. “Go! Have a wonderful ride! Take amazing care of my boy!” Rachel looked torn, was I sure? Yes, I was sure, and it made me both laugh and cry to watch Ace, so grown up, so game and fit and strong, simply canter away from us, over a knoll and out of sight.

Sarge called a few times, but he let me walk him in to the next hold, about four or five miles away. I pulled his interference boots, found a couple of small rubs on the hinds (geez, and he’d worn those boots before without incident), got on and trotted again to see if I’d found a sudden cure, but alas no, and we carried on our walk. I was hoping to be slow enough that Ace would be vetted, complete his hold and be gone again before our arrival, as Ace can be pretty attached to his herdmates (my friends know this is a radical understatement).

No such luck, but Ace was about to go out as we headed in on foot. Ace nickered and Sarge nickered back, but Ace, so very focused on the trail, left the out-timer without incident or drama and I headed Sarge over to Art King, DVM, to let him know we were pulling. I bet Art that Sarge wouldn’t limp but we trotted him out anyway. Perfectly sound, of course. It didn’t matter. I knew he was off, and that was enough.

Denny, bless his soul, offered to accompany Sarge back to the treatment area in the volunteer’s trailer (thanks Gaynor Coassin!) to be seen by the treatment vet (mandatory, and well understood) and back to camp, where the two could hang out for the remainder of the day and eat and drink (well, except that I entirely cleaned out the refrigerator of people food and drink) and relax and nap.

This meant I could join Syl and crew Rachel and Ace for the remainder of the day. Huge relief and despite the pull I was truly overjoyed to hit the road with Syl to meet Ace and Rachel at the next pit crew stop.

We had a remarkable day following my friends around the countryside, complete with the usual misadventures — what do you mean the water won’t flow out of the tanks? (No problem, Syl performs mouth to hose siphoning on the spot?) Careful with that knife when you cut up the carrots! Ow, cut. No, make that two cuts, one for me, one for Syl. (No problem, we dig bandaids out of the famed “100 Mile Box” full of every sort of med or item one could need during a 100 mile adventure in the back country.)

As the day wore on, the back of the truck got more and more disorganized; we lost a cooler lid out of the back along a country road. Luckily we spotted it and retrieved it immediately, not wanting to litter in Vermont and figuring we might need that lid later.

At one point we couldn’t fit all of our items in the bed of the truck any more and actually get the tailgate closed. We did rearrange, but in the end, we relied on brute strength and heaved the tailgate closed. High fives all around. Syl is a gem.

The one thing that went seamlessly was Rachel and Ace. Every time we saw them, Rachel was smiling and Ace was bright-eyed and up. He pulsed down beautifully, recovered great, was sound as the day is long, and ate like a champ. They each took good care of themselves and terrific care of one another.

At 88 miles, Rachel was joined by Austin Shaffer, since Deb elected to pull her horse and he needed a sponsor. This slowed Rachel and Ace down considerably. Denny and Syl called it a night and headed back to their B&B for some much-needed sleep while I crewed the last of the miles. I stopped to see the foursome on trail at Polly’s (95 miles or so), and I’m confident that I was looking wearier than the team I was crewing.

All along there were the runners, and when I saw one, I made it a point to cheer and yell and whoop. Having ridden through the runners’ aid stations, and being cheered myself, I know how important it is to hear that encouragement. There was one gentleman that I’d seen all day and every time I saw him I remarked “there is that guy that looks so great.” Truth be told, he looked a little less great as the miles wore on, but I told him every time I saw him how great he looked, to the point that I’m pretty certain he told his friends later that there was some chunky middle-aged chick hitting on him throughout the run.

I headed back to camp, checked on Sarge, who was enjoying hay and apparently dozens of peppermint candies that he and Denny shared throughout the day (as it was the only foodstuff I’d left behind in the horse trailer). Grabbed a wool dress sheet and some crewing stuff and joined the others waiting at the finish line, enjoying a band and the wild applause as each finisher, runner or rider, jogged under the lit-up banner. There were tiki torches and laughter and a lit-up scoreboard for the runners and much excitement, tinged with a bit of weariness, amongst those waiting for their loved one; I was in shared company, to be sure.

When Rachel and Ace crossed over that finish line at roughly midnight, I was full of tears and laughter and so much pride and relief. Rachel dismounted and we hugged and cried and thanked one another; there may be nothing better than bringing a young horse to his first hundred mile completion. But if there is, it is sharing your horse with a dear friend and watching them so easily conquer a 100 mile course. Rachel did it last year with Ned (they chaperoned me with Ace to Ace’s first 100 mile completion) and now with Ace. Life is good.

We settled Ace in, ate too much horrific for you food, and split a bottle of champagne, laughing and crying and enjoying an over the top mutual admiration party! We all loved one another, we were all amazing, and Sarge would get another opportunity.

We’d figure it out, and we did.

More soon.

Every cloud has a silver lining.

When life hands you lemons, you make lemonade.

Look on the bright side.

Statistically, our weekend at Pine Tree was a bit of a bust.   Ned didn’t even start the 100; Sarge and I rider optioned at 65 miles. 

So why did I find myself crying tears of gratitude as I hauled my boys out of the North Waterford Fairgounds facing a 12 hour haul home? 

The endurance weekend began as they all do, loading horses and heading down the driveway, full of anticipation and a tinge of anxiety.  Sarge and Ned jumped on the trailer just after dawn, covered with the mud they wore in from a rainy, stormy night spent turned out in the pasture; based on the forecast, there was plenty more mud to come and I wanted to beat the Buffalo morning rush hour to get to Vermont for the evening.

When I arrived at Gene and Dale’s mid-afternoon, I knew something was wrong the moment I opened the back door of the trailer and glanced at Ned’s legs.  His left hind pastern was swollen.  The mud had dried, revealing a cut on the front surface of his pastern about an inch up from the coronary band.  Not good.  Gene and I hosed it off, applied some antibacterial gel and waited for my friend Pam (who just so happens to be a veterinarian, a gift I exploit regularly) and Rachel, who was to ride Ned in the 100, and were also overnighting at the farm.

At first the wound seemed superficial, but Ned was off and ouchy about it.   Ned is actually rather stoic, and sure enough, it turned out to be a pretty deep wound.  Probably a result of a clinch during some scrambling in a stall (our boys can come and go from their box stalls when turned out) during a t-storm.  Far from his heart, but there was no way he’d be doing the 100.   As Gene said, it was a diabolical way for me to get crew!  Rachel, now without a mount, was pressed in to the job of crewing for Sarge and me in the 100, and Pam and Prin in the 50.

As always, spending time with Gene and Dale on their farm was wonderful.  We got to see the new foal, the foals that had become yearlings, a new stallion in for training, all the other horses, and had a terrific dinner out at a local steakhouse.

If only the weather was better.  It rained and then drizzled, then poured and then misted.  Miserable.  It seems every time Pam, Rachel and I are in the same place this season, it rains.  Sigh.

It was still raining when we arrived at the North Waterford Fairgrounds on Friday just before noon.   Fortunately, we were able to get stalls for Ned, Sarge and Prin very close to the vetting area and our trailers and got everyone settled in.  We joked about the low ceilings and how we were parked in the Goat Barn.  It looked like Ned, at 16+ leggy hands, could easily step over the outside wall, but thankfully he didn’t.

In the just-when-everything-seems-to-be-going-fine category, I was shocked to discover water pouring in to my living quarters through my air conditioner shortly after we arrived.  The aftermath of this incident involved much hilarity with middle-aged women and tarps and bungee cords and a broom and a call to my husband at home to ask stupid questions.

Okay, so my veteran horse was lame and could not start the ride.  On the bright side, I had crew for the 100, he had his own personal vet to doctor him, and he’d be just fine in pretty short order.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, my trailer was leaking and my carpet was soaked.  But hey, I had a bunch of throw rugs to use to soak up the water, our tarping job had slowed the leaking to an occasional drip, and my bed was completely dry.  Not so awful.

Well sure, the weather sucked, but the horses were tucked away in nice dry stalls and it was going to be perfect half-Morgan riding weather.  And according to Irving McNaughton, a lifelong Mainer and the original Boiled Owl, it was going to clear up as ride day went along.

Surely nothing ELSE could go wrong, right?

The start at 5 a.m. for the 100s was unremarkable.  There were 13 of us and the crowd headed out at a sane pace.  Sarge has grown up considerably and while he lengthened my arms a little bit, there was no plunging about or bucking, so I was pleased.

Within a few miles, we linked up with Char Jewell on Nickle, also going for his first one day 100.  The boys paced nicely together, and we both wanted to ensure they were eating well, so we stopped frequently to insist they grab a bite of grass before moving along again.  This loop had the notorious French Hill climb, and the 17.5 miles took us a healthy 2.5 hours, with us coming in just behind Claire Godwin and Courtney Walker, who went on to finish 2nd and 1st in the ride.

Sarge walked in, pulsed down and vetted through with all As.  That was the easy part; getting him to eat well was what I knew would be the challenge.  Turned out this hold was an apple wafer treat, sweet feed and oats hold.  He would have nothing to do with grass, hay or his slushie.

[For a little tangent, I have a funny peeing story.  Not unusual for a 100.  Not unusual for me.  This hold was at the McKenzie Farm, and with no visible portapotties, I went off in search of a private place to relieve my bladder.  I went through the barn, found a tiny little corner behind the barn, looked both ways and did my business.   As I looked up from the classic squatting position, I noticed a little wooden shack directly in front of me, tall, narrow, why it looked a lot like ...   Yes, you guessed it, I managed to seek out a place to pee and peed about six feet BEHIND a perfectly fine outhouse.]

Rachel was a wonderful crew, attentive and calm and reminding me quietly to sit down and eat and drink.  She coaxed Sarge to eat and worried over him a bit as, like me, she has Kholee, who like Ned, has never met a feedstuff he didn’t like.  I assured her that this was Sarge’s “normal” and set off on the 2nd loop. 

This one had significant climbs as well, and we were passed by Steve Rojek and Kyle Gibbons, and we allowed them by, knowing we were keeping a smart pace for our horses. 

In to the second hold at the same farm, where I enjoyed using the actual potty, and Sarge noshed on grass, and was delighted to find someone’s dropped carrot.  It was a carrots-and-grass hold, and no other food was of interest, so I borrowed some carrots (thanks, Linda!) and Sarge munched for the duration of the vet check.  He’d interfered on a hind fetlock so I added some boots and Char and I headed out to return to camp.

Rachel was waiting for us there, having just returned from the hold and crewing Prin and Pam, who were doing nicely in the 50, despite a pulled and replaced shoe.  Phew!

It had stopped raining, and was actually brightening up a bit, so that was a plus. 

Rachel had put out the most hilarious spread for Sarge — a smorgasboard of little buckets.  One with sweet feed, one with oats, one with a sloppy slushie, one with carrots, another with apples, and finally, one with apple wafer treats.   Sarge vetted through (all As again) and went in to his stall and did the most amazing thing.  He put his head down and he ate.  He moved from bucket to bucket and had a little bit of almost everything but he only stopped eating at the very end of the 40 minute hold, and then quietly stood and had a brief nap.   At this point we were at roughly 45 miles, with a 22 mile sandy loop ahead of us.

Rachel set up quite the tapas spread for Sarge at Mile 45

Unfortunately, Char’s horse Nickle had a gait re-check, and since we’d pulsed in ahead of them, we were heading out as they were heading back up to the vet.  I told her I’d wait and her Mom indicated she might rather ride alone, so Sarah Jack (who’d caught up to us at the end of the last loop and pulsed through with Sarge) headed out at a jiggy jog, unsure if we should wait or go. 

Within a mile or so, Nickle came cantering up, with Char relieved that Art had seen nothing odd in his gait at the recheck.  Hooray!

Char knows this trail intimately, so we knew exactly what was coming, and Nickle happily lead, trotting and cantering, slowing to a walk for the nasty sections of rock, and taking time for all three horses to graze when we found nice patches of grass.

Sarge discovered his “inner hungry horse” and just devoured every bit of grass that he could.  We passed the crewing area, did a bit of spongeing and then headed along, finding another grassy patch shortly thereafter.

Mmmmm, apple wafer treats! Thanks, Auntie Rachel!

It was at that point, I suppose, that I sealed our fate.  I looked up from Sarge’s frantically eating head at Sarah and Char and announced (like a total idiot, in retrospect) — “You know, even if we don’t get around, THIS makes this whole thing worthwhile.  THIS was why we were doing a 100.  To teach him to eat and take better care of himself.”

The fates, listening closely, took things into their own hands at this point.  We left that grassy area, trotted and cantered along the sandy trail when, bam, Sarge stumbled just a bit, caught his hind toe on his outside front heel, and wham, bad step, bad step, bad step.  I called out an expletive (of course), pulled him up, and Char said “he pulled a shoe.”

Oh, okay, no biggie.  Unfortunately though, he hadn’t pulled the shoe, he’d just sprung it.  The outside heel was torqued about 3/4 of an inch from the rear heel, but the inside nails were tight and clinched and there was absolutely no give when I grabbed the shoe.  Zero.

Sizing up my situation within about ten seconds, I sent Char and Sarah along, “Go, go, go, this is NOT coming off.  We’re going to walk in.”  Char shouted some information to me about the upcoming trail and indicated it was shorter to head along the marked trail to the repeat crew spot than to turn around, and headed off.  Shortly thereafter the rest of the pack came along, asking if they should stop to help, and I sent them on along, as there was really nothing anyone could do for me unless they happened to be carrying shoe pullers and a rasp.

I grabbed my Leatherman and half heartedly tried to work the shoe off, but I knew it was fruitless. 

Sarge, surprisingly, handled all of this with a great deal of maturity.  He’s a VERY competitive horse, but he seemed to realize he had a flat tire, and about 5 minutes after the pack exited stage left, he cheered up and walked along on a loose rein, grabbing grass and swishing flies and cheerfully walking the four or five miles back to the crewing area.  He asked to trot a few times, but quietly aquiesced when I said no.  No one at the crew area (I’d half-hoped someone would have sent someone back with tools, but knew that was a long shot) so we continued along the marked trail at a walk.

Within a half mile, I heard a vehicle up ahead.  A truck and tagalong trailer, driving along the sand road to come get us.  How sweet!  I didn’t expect a TRAILER to come for us.

“You lost a shoe?” Kathy Brunjes’ brother asked. 

“I wish!  I torqued a shoe, and I have an easy boot, but this shoe is not coming off without some tools.”

He indicated he had tools and I turned and followed them back to the crewing area where they could safely park and we could work on Sarge.

Sure enough, a rasp and a shoe puller and a few grunts later, he had the shoe off and I had the easy boot on.  Kathy’s mom, Janet, assured us that they “didn’t mind at all” coming out to help me and that we should “go and finish the ride.” 

I got back on and we headed off, trotting and cantering for a couple of miles.  However, I could feel something not quite right.  Not that Sarge was uneven, but that he wasn’t striding out quite like normal.  So I pulled him up, and once again, we walked.   He was voracious, grabbing leaves and grass and anything that looked edible, actually stopping to eat and having to be prompted to continue to walk on.  He would ask to jog, in the world’s loveliest western pleasure sort of way, but this is a big bounding road trot sort of horse, so I knew that this was not his normal.

I wondered then if the easy boot was rubbing him or otherwise bothering his foot, so after a couple more miles of walking and a few fruitless visual checks of the boot, I dismounted and pulled it off, knowing we had a sandy trail for his bare foot most of the way back to the Fairgrounds.

A couple of 50s passed us so I asked them to let everyone know that we were just fine and walking in, not wanting Rachel or Pam to worry.

And that’s just what we did.  Walked back in.  Sure enough, Sarge was off on the right front when we arrived back at camp, but I’d already decided we were done for the day.  Sarge has a bit of sesamoiditis in his right front and there was no way I was going to test his resilience by asking him to go another 35 miles after he stumbled and spent 5 miles walking on a sprung shoe.

We did get the shoe reset immediately and Sarge re-presented during his hold time perfectly sound, but we rider optioned out anyway.  Pam and Nick had a lively discussion about whether it was a RO/Lame or a just plain RO, and I inserted a colorful clarification of which was which that I will not share here as it was rather, errr, descriptive and not terribly technical.  What I was most tickled about, other than the fact that Sarge was indeed sound, was that he was eating like a pig.

All of a slushie, then an entire bucket of carrots, then some sweet feed, which we finally took away from him, suggesting that hay was a better idea.  Ned was tickled to have his friend back and displayed his joy by biting Sarge, grabbing his halter with his teeth and refusing to let go, and generally pestering the crap out of him.  Sarge ate and ate and ate, and looked just grand. 

We had front row seats in our little corner of the barn to everyone coming in to the vetting area, so I showered and we grabbed some food and cocktails and offered all sorts of delectable goodies to our fellow riders as they came in.

It was a very good group in the 100.  Seasoned riders and horses, and Courtney and Pica finished in first well before dark.  Claire came in,  hmmm, roughly an hour later, followed by Steve and Kyle as darkness fell.   In a heartbreaking turn, Kyle’s horse, who had looked so amazing all day long, was lame at the finish.  All a part of the game, but just rotten.  Hopefully nothing serious.

By this time, Pam and Rachel and I, joined by Ranelle Kohut (who’d gotten her thousand miles by finishing the 50 on Luke) and Doug Bejarano, were swapping tales and laughing and just generally being rather obnoxious.  At some point during the weekend, when things weren’t going so well, Pam and I had looked at each other and queried, “Why do we DO this, anyway?”  I looked at her at some point between all the laughing, and said, “Hey Pam, THIS is why we do this.  This.”

When the rest of the pack all came in together after 10 p.m., we whooped and hollered and helped to cool/hold a couple and then watched them trot out.  They all looked rather good and the riders looked relieved, and everyone got their completions. 

Got all packed up in the a.m. with the help of Rachel and Pam, and heading out of the fairgrounds, I was worried about the long drive home and hoping I had all of the truck/trailer parts properly deployed for travel, I stopped to say thanks and goodbye.  I needed to thank the Brunjes once again for their on-trail rescue, and Tom Hutchinson, who managed the ride, for just general reasons and for putting up the foot on my trailer because I was too mechanically retarded to do so on my own.  I was feeling a wee bit anxious and a little defeated.

Steve Rojek inquired about Sarge, so I told him what happened.  He looked at me, shook his head and smiled and said, “you’re just too good of a horseman.”

I am not a terribly good rider, I could be considered “challenged” when it comes to all matters mechanical, I have absolutely no killer instinct competitively.

But to be called a “horseman.”  Well, that’s right up there with the nicest things anyone has ever said about me.

I’ll take it.  (Thanks, Steve.)

And as I drove out of the Fairgrounds with Steve’s words replaying in my head, with the new truck dependably humming along, and Ned sporting a minor wound that would be healed in short order, and Sarge sound and having discovered the joy of a vigorous appetite, both ready shortly for another wack at a 100, I found myself getting choked up and teary.

Not tears of sadness or frustration, but tears of gratitude.

Even on a weekend that might look rotten on paper, there was a great deal about which to be thankful.

Happy trails.

–Patti

Sometimes life gets just a little too stressful.

As a self-employed consultant, when there is work available, I work.  There are enough lean times that I rarely turn down work, and sometimes find myself with too much travel, too many clients all needing assistance “urgently”, and too many technically demanding training programs to deliver.  A classic symptom for me is that disturbing moment where I find myself standing in a hotel elevator with the little key card in my hand and absolutely no recollection of my hotel room number.

I get homesick, miss all of the critters, miss sleeping in my own bed, miss my routine on the farm, miss my husband.

Work has been that way lately.  Back to back classes scheduled, such that one weekend was simply an exercise in driving home, unpacking, doing laundry, repacking and hitting the road again.  A non-weekend, of sorts.

In the middle of this hectic schedule, my friends Rachel and Pam and I started plotting a way to get ourselves to the Mustang Memorial Ride in New Jersey. 

The Mustang ride is a bit of an enigma.   The trails there, while lovely, are miles and miles of the same scenery — pine trees, sand, more pine trees, more sand, sand moguls, pine trees, puddles, sand.  Did I mention the sand?  So to say that the views from the saddle are not awe-inspiring is a bit of an understatement.

That flat sand has a way of taking a toll on horses and riders.  The lack of change means that everyone can get very sore from the repetitive and sustained nature of the effort.  No hills or turns or terrain changes to challenge different muscles, so one has to mix it up themselves.  Posting, then half seat, then sitting the canter, then in two point trotting, watching that each trot diagonal and canter lead is worked evenly over the course of the ride.

Throw in the fact that the weather is almost always inhospitable means that one would think this ride might have trouble attracting riders.

However, it is the last ride of the NE Region’s season.  The camp is lovely.  The hospitality is terrific; the volunteers cheerful.  And knowing that we’re on the cusp of a long winter, it seems to attract riders from all over for one last chance to hit the trail before hibernating for a few months.

Like me, Pam has been stressed by running her own business, a dairy/equine veterinary practice, and an upcoming three month trip to Australia, where she will be working on her husband’s family’s ranch.  Every time we exchanged emails, me from the road, her in the evening after a long day making vet calls, we both lamented our own stresses.

Still, we were determined to go to the ride.

Even when our Ford F-450 sang its swan song.  Another thunk which led to another trip to the service shop where the transmission was pronounced “toast.”  RIP, you big *(&#@ lemon.

I called Rachel when I got the news about the truck.  “Let’s not give up yet.”

Somehow I was able to wrangle my brother in law’s F-350, swapped our plans so that I would haul my two horses in the 2-horse trailer to Pam’s (where we would transfer horses and stuff to her 4-horse trailer) and head to New Jersey the following morning.  My friend Gene agreed to let me bunk in his trailer.

We.were.still.on.

I had two blissful days of no training, no work and a single focus of getting all of my stuff and the horses to the ride so that I could enjoy the company of my friends and horses for the last ride of the season.

Pam, in the mean time, continued to be buried with work.  Rachel, too, juggled work and finishing up the last work on the barn they built this year, so that her horses can come live at home within the next few weeks. 

We were all shoehorning this ride in between a whole lot of “too much.”

With my down time, I made lists, and like any good girl of Polish heritage, started cooking and baking.  Pie for the farrier (who squeezed in Ace’s last minute reset when I didn’t like the balance of his feet), pie for the neighbor who would feed the horses (since Rich was also out of town for the weekend for a conference), cookies for my house/dog/kitty sitter, cookies for Gene and Dale, cookies to share at the ride, soup for the ride.

I was a happy little homemaker, launderer, horse-stuff packer, checking things off lists and looking forward to the weekend.

When I get enthused like this, I tend to like to share my planning, so I sent daily emails to Rachel and Pam, of things I’d planned to pack, buy, bring, and of course, what I had baked.

At some point, wanting to ensure we would have all necessary utensils and such to heat and serve the soup, I emailed Pam to ask if she had bowls and such in her trailer.

I think that was the day she wrestled around in a stall attempting to shove a cow’s uterus back in to its body. 

Her reply?

“I can’t even THINK about bowls!”

Poor Pam.  I packed the bowls.

I love it when a good plan comes together.  All the logistical mud-wrestling worked out seamlessly.   

As the miles passed and we drove toward New Jersey, you could watch the stress leave Pam’s face.  Her speech slowed –well, a little anyway — I still like to describe her as “having been shot out of a cannon.”

The laughter went on all weekend.

Like any ride where riders and horses of various levels of experience share miles and miles of trails together, as well as close quarters at a campsite, there are always bound to be some mishaps.

Pam got to do a little hike back to camp a few miles from the start after having retrieved a horse that had bolted near the start.  So she and her mare, Prin, got to do a few extra miles to tack onto their 30 mile LD.  But Pam had a perfect ride, staying ON the mare and having a truly harmonious ride; the mare is clearly ready to move up.

I brought Ned for his friend, Rachel, and got to enjoy watching the two of them enjoy one another all weekend long.  Ned has discriminating taste, and he clearly finds Rachel to his liking.  He gets dreamy-eyed and nuzzly when she grooms him and totes her around like his own tiny little perfectly-balanced jockey.

It had been a couple of months since Ace, plagued by multiple hoof abscesses from a rocky ride in WV in August, had competed.  He came back in fine form, however.  He felt strong and cheerful and pleasantly “up.”

Ned had a little bit of heartburn about the juggling of the order of the loops since the last time he’d done a ride in New Jersey.  He tried to tell us in various subtle and unsubtle ways that we had the first loop all wrong, and only acquiesced when we were within spitting distance of returning to camp.

As I told Rachel, you could almost hear Ned saying, “hey, you’re totally going the wrong way, you idiot, but at least you’re a featherweight!”

We got chided, once again, for not riding hard enough, when both boys pulsed down with pulses in the area of 44.  The pack was well ahead of us, but I was convinced that a lot of horses would be slowing down.

The second loop of the three loop ride was the one both Ned and Ace had done previously as a final loop, so as I anticipated, they had a real change in attitude heading out on to the white loop. 

Both boys were on fire, passing horses and asking to canter.   We moved right along at a pace that was faster than the first loop; this loop went rather quickly.

On the third loop, we followed a couple of horses, as we were unfamiliar with this new final loop, finally dropping back and relaxing when we figured we were about 4 miles from camp.  We were disappointed to find out, however, at a water stop, that we were, in fact, still 7 miles from camp.

I think we were all a little tired.  The sand takes its toll on everyone, Ace and Ned no longer had horses in view to chase, so we alternately trotted and walked the boys in to camp, with me worrying that Ace felt uneven behind, or might be getting tight.

This happens to me at virtually every ride, and almost every time it turns out that I am suffering from Lameness or Metabolic Distress Paranoia.  Once Ace smelled camp, he perked right up, felt absolutely strong and even behind, and vetted through with all As.  (But not before I wound myself up into what would appear to have been a Xanax deficiency.)

When will I learn?

Much celebrating upon our return.  Our friend Gene’s mare had been pulled at the first hold, but was now perfectly sound, so that was a bit of bad news/good news.

The weather had been glorious.  Clear and cold in the morning, but warm and sunny and surprisingly still for NJ, where there seems to be a perpetual wind.  As the sun went down though, the temperatures dropped quickly, so we got all of the horses and ourselves bundled up for post-ride munching and relaxing (horses and riders) and laughing and consumption of adult beverages (riders only).

As always, what is said in ride camp stays in ride camp, but it is safe to say that the conversation ran the gamut of serious to inappropriate to candid to downright bawdy.  My cheeks hurt, literally, from laughing.

In the morning, we lingered over Gene’s amazing Keurig coffee, and reluctantly packed up to hit the road.

For my boys it was a six hour haul to Pam’s and then another three hour haul home.  I had Truck Rigor Mortis when I arrived home, settled the boys in and watched them have a long, satisfying drink before tucking in to their hay.  Perhaps because it was so painful to move, I spent a few extra minutes in the barn, listening to them munch contentedly, seemingly unaffected by their rigorous weekend.

All that planning and driving and moving of stuff from here to there and back again.  It was all well worth it. 

I’m back on the road again for work, and will admit that I got out of my car a little gingerly after several hours of driving a couple of days ago.   But this trip is different, having had my soul fortified by the love and generosity of good friends, and miles and miles spent on the trail with my favorite horses. 

I feel renewed.

Sayonara, 2010 Ride Season! 

–Patti

I’ve said more than once that getting to the ride is really the hardest part.  Not just for all of the horse and rider preparation, but perhaps because we have a truck that one could kindly call “Old Unreliable.”

Arriving at Gene and Dale's in what I hope is soon to be our EX hauling vehicle

The tale of the truck breaking down in Vermont is one that is best told over a cold cocktail, so that you can hear me sigh, and commiserate by shaking your own head in frustration, so I’ll just save that away and reserve this report for the fun part — the actual ride itself.

On Wednesday evening, Sarge, Ned and I arrived at my friend Dale and Gene’s place.  It was HOT.  Like me, Gene was entered in the three day 100 mile ride with his mare, Grace.

As the boys settled in (which equates to running around in their paddock, flirting with mares, and rolling repeatedly to disguise any evidence of the bath I’d given them the day prior) I walked around and got to meet this year’s foals, and to catch up with the mares and stallions I’d met the prior year.  I also got to renew my friendship with the four farm dogs — Bart, Sadie, Cinch and Bullseye.  Bullseye, a cocker spaniel with soulful eyes, a mouthful of teeth in desperate need of a canine orthodontist, and a closed mouth grin that allowed the tip of his tongue to peek out, is my absolute favorite; there’s nothing I love more than a special-needs child.

Bullseye and Sadie snuggle on the kitchen floor while I cook dinner

Gene and Dale had recently adopted an adolescent peacock with a limp (he’d been hit by a car) who shocked me with his blue plumage as he trotted around shyly with the guinea hens.  (They like special needs children too.)

We caught up with friends at Rojeks’ lovely Welcome Party, enjoying cocktails, a great meal, and a video from the 50th anniversary ride (twenty five years ago).  It was amazing to hear the locals tell tales of riders who’d come and gone, and to see familiar riders looking a couple of decades younger and less wise.  No endurance tack per se (lots of hunt seat saddles and tall boots), very few helmets, lots of stylish fedoras, and a much wider variety of breeds populated the video.

On Thursday morning I had an eventful drive to GMHA, but in short, we made it there safe and sound and HOT (again) minus one functioning hauling vehicle.

Denny was there to greet us upon arrival, and helped me settle the horses in and unpack.  It was nearly a two hour wait, in the sun, to get the horses vetted in, so we caught up and swapped tales while I filled Denny in on what it is like to ride Ned.  I was concerned about the heat and humidity and hoping there would be a break in the weather overnight.

Thursday night was the banquet, held this year in the Youth Center, right at GMHA.   I was a little disappointed that there were not any guest speakers from years past, given that this was the 75th anniversary and there were at least a dozen riders at the banquet who’d ridden the ride in decades past.  It would have been inspiring to hear their stories. 

No sign of a cold front coming through, so we set off on Friday morning in a serious fog of heat and humidity.  Ned is a big horse, and heat is his nemesis, so I knew we’d have to ‘ride smart’ in order to get Ned through the 40 miles in good shape.  I shared my thoughts with Denny and he agreed, checking Ned’s skin temperature regularly and working hard to keep Ned’s core temperature cool.

Denny learns about the joy that is cooling a half-warmblood on a hot, muggy day

Denny and Ned coming out of the river

Refreshed, Sarge and I follow ...

Riding with Denny was a treat.  As we rode along, I heard tales of the farmer who lived in that house, or the time he rode from there to here, or the history of a house or the trail.  We rode through the Rockefeller’s former property, where the horses sipped from stone springwater basins, originally designed for cattle, I imagine.  Denny told me jokes in his Maine accent, and I laughed and laughed and laughed. 

At one point, he shared some excerpts from a book called “Games for Morons” and I had a difficult time staying upright in the saddle.  “Bobbing for water” was my personal favorite. 

At the trail’s midpoint, we discovered that Denny’s left stirrup had rubbed Ned’s side, so managed to borrow a different stirrup from a rider who had been pulled (thank you Patty!).  In retrospect, in the heat, we’d have likely spent more time cooling Ned had we not had to scramble for the tack change, but as it is so often in endurance and life in general, a case of 20/20 hindsight.

Sarge and I heading through town

In some ways, ECTRA CTR is more difficult than endurance.  In endurance, we’d have spent more time in the hold, taken more time getting back to camp and lingered longer at water stops.  But since you have only a 6:50 to 7:20 window in which to complete the 40 miles (including the 20 minute hold plus another mandatory 10 minute stop), hustling ends up a part of the game.  Especially in the heat.

We managed to finish at almost exactly our maximum time, with both boys feeling good.  Ned, however, was hot.  Our muck tubs of water were now as warm as bath water.  I made the mistake of not switching them out for cooler water from the spigot, and Ned failed to make the 20 minute pulse.  We took both boys up for a post-ride safety check, where they checked out sound and okay to go, with the exception of Ned’s hanging pulse.  Cooler water back at the barn fixed that, but the weather was brutal.  We spent most of the afternoon and evening hand walking the horses to keep them cool and out of their stalls, which felt more like saunas than a refuge for rest.

At dinner time, both boys still had a pulse of around 55, which is high for them.  Once again, I quietly hoped for a serious cool down overnight.

It came, to some degree, and off we set for the second day of 40 miles of trail, with this widely recognized as the toughest of the three days.  Right from the start, we were hit with an unrelenting climb.  Ned was game, but as I told Denny from the get-go, Ned knows how to take care of Ned, so he would slow to a walk as he felt he needed to, and we ended up walking quite a lot of the first several miles of trail.  Ned seemed to be getting warm already, despite cooler temperatures, and we spent every water stop cooling Ned until his skin was cool.  This took some time.

This gave us time to talk about our philosophies and beliefs about not only this sport (CTR), but endurance, including FEI level competition.  We talked about what it takes for a horse to achieve longevity, and what it means to bring a horse along that you teach to take care of itself.  How refreshing to hear such conservative views on horse care and welfare from a man who has competed at the absolute top of his game in Combined Training. 

Denny and Ned cruise by Jenne Farm, the most photographed farm in Vermont

Here I am thinking that I might have to KEEP my husband's horse ...

By about ten miles into the course, Denny suggested that maybe Ned had had enough.  He was still bright eyed and happy, but he seemed tired.   And hot.  It was a prudent horsemen’s decision when Denny suggested that I go on ahead to the stop-and-go a few miles ahead to make sure they had a trailer to take Ned back to camp; he was pulling.  I was terribly disappointed for both of them, but knew it was the right decision for my horse.  The heat had taken it’s toll, and Ned was in good company.  Only about 1/2 of the horses finished the entire 100 miles, and many of them had also struggled on Day One’s sauna-like day.  Or were not able to start on Day Two as a result.

Sarge, once he was unburdened of his slower barnmate, seemed to believe he had a lot of mileage to make up and horses to pass in order to “win” this ride.  I tried to explain to him that this was CTR, and that there were no points for getting back to camp early, but he was undaunted.  My husband typically runs up front with Sarge at endurance rides, and he was anxious to resume his race-horse career.  I spent quite a bit of time sitting deep and trying to regulate the MPH and going up and down hills in two-point at a far greater rate of speed than I thought was prudent.

At the midpoint, I checked on Ned’s status and was told he was absolutely fine metabolically, just warm and tired, and had gotten a ride back to camp.  Denny had the treatment vet looking him over just to ensure he was not in any sort of trouble.  I know Ned as well as any person knows a horse; I knew the big guy just needed some time, some cooling and a nice rest.  He would be fine.

I got to ride with several friends on this loop.  Gene and Joyce Mocilan and Deb Fisk and Carrie Tenney.  We giggled and teased and watched the mileage markers and our maximum completion times.  We were spoiled by trays of fruit at a stop and go, popsicles at Mile 30 or so of the trail, followed by truffles just a few miles later.

When we got back to camp, Denny was there to hold Sarge and report on Ned’s condition (absolutely fine) and provide moral support.  Better yet, he’d cleaned the horses’ stalls!

Ned and Denny share a moment after they decide to call it a day on Day Two

Sarge trotted out fine once again, but I found the fight about the pace to travel had resulted in a bit of a rub across both loins.  My husband rarely rides in two point and I had done a LOT of it, both up and downhill, and while Rich loves his Dixie Midnight underpad, it had shifted left and right enough that he’d lost some hair.

The good news was that I’d brought my Bob Marshall treeless saddle, so I could switch to that for the final day.  Errrr, not that Sarge had ever actually worn the treeless saddle.  Ever.  I mean, really, what could possibly go wrong riding a horse in a completely foreign saddle for twenty fast miles?

Sunday dawned cool and breezy.  Finally, weather that was friendly for the bigger horses, only a couple of days too late.  My plan was to keep Sarge on his own as much as possible so I could best control his pace and ensure I was riding centered and steady to prevent any further rubs or discomfort. 

Sarge was lovely.  I must confess that unless I am riding with another of my own horses, I find riding alone to be the most rewarding.  It allows me to choose the pace, look around at the sights, and pay attention to every nuance of my own riding as well as how my horse is traveling and breathing and eating and drinking.

We hustled along for the first 10 miles of trail, saving some time for the long walk up Cookie Hill and the trail beyond.  (Yes, they offer you cookies there and I had one, feeling terribly guilty for not being able to share the treat with Sarge.)  In the last few miles back to camp, I caught Gene and Joyce again, so we enjoyed strolling and grazing and walking in, enjoying the ability to linger based upon our earlier speed.

Grace and Gene at the Finish -- 100 miles and fresh as a daisy!

Sarge quite easily made the final pulse.   As is the norm in CTR, we then “hurried up and waited” for the hands-on portion of the judging.  As expected, Sarge lost points for the loin rubs, the opening of an old interference mark the previous day (which I was relieved to see had not been touched on Day Three; speed kills and Sarge’s tyrannical pace on Day Two did us no favors), and surprisingly, a bit of scratches that was starting to develop on both front pasterns.  (Sarge has never had scratches prior.  The calcium chloride on the Vermont roads wreaks havoc in a myriad of ways.)

Another wait, and then the final trot outs.  I decided to switch from a lead line to a longe line to allow for more line and a larger circle, but what I ended up with was more rope than I really needed, and a less than slick line-handling demonstration.  I was simply grateful to have not strangled myself during the trot out, or get the line wrapped around my ankle and dragged to my death.  Sarge looked good, sound and crisp, but it was definitely not the best presentation I’ve ever offered.  The fact that there was an audience left me a little embarrassed.

Ah well, we’d gotten around and that was my goal.

Sarge, who has always been a finicky eater, had eaten at practically every opportunity.  He’d gone out not two, but three days in a row, which was a first for him, and I’m confident he is now capable of caring for himself for a one day 100 mile endurance ride.  Mission accomplished.

All that was left was Mounted Awards, a tradition which leaves most riders feeling profoundly guilty for approaching their horses one more time with tack.  Some riders dress up, I chose instead to dress Sarge up in his dressage pad and snaffle bridle and wore jeans rather than breeches.  (As I told friends, some girls know that a public display of lycra riding wear is not in their best interest.)  Our friend Connie Walker rode her stallion, Otis, bareback, to avoid having to girth him up over a sore spot.

In the line up at Mounted Awards

Sarge was tired but he’s enough of a showman that he fussed a little bit in the arena rather than standing still.   In the end, awards took well over an hour, and it felt like an eternity!   Sarge placed 5th in our division and trotted up happily for his award, which made me feel good.  Some of the other horses didn’t look nearly so sound or bouncy.

Sarge receives his 5th place ribbon from judge, Robin Groves

Our friend Gene, and his mare, Grace, won their division, and looked fantastic.   Likewise, our friend Deb’s young horse Prophet, who really gave her a ride for most of the 100 miles, stood Reserve Champion. 

Delirious with the joy of being OFF the horses

In all, fewer than half the entered horses completed the 100 mile CTR.

It was a tough course, challenging weather, and the calcium chloride on the roads left plenty of horses with sore armpits and girth areas.   To have simply finished was a true accomplishment.

Friends helped me get packed up and trailered over to Gene and Dale’s to wait for my truck to be repaired.  It was a relaxing few days of visiting with friends, sharing meals and laughter, and watching the horses recover uneventfully.  When it turned out the truck would take several days to fix, my husband borrowed a hauling vehicle from my brother and drove to Vermont to rescue us.

As always, it is grand to be home.

It’s funny too.  I’m not sure if I’m more proud of the boy who got around the 100 miles, or the one who valiantly did not.

Happy trails.

–Patti

This weekend was the Ride Between The Rivers near Elkin, West Virginia.

We’ve been told over and over again what a FUN ride this was, how tremendous the hospitality, how tight the parking, and we might have also heard something about the moonshine.

So we packed up Sarge (aka The Staypuff Marshmallow Horse) and Ace, and drove south on Friday morning, leaving my house, dogs and house cat under the care of my eldest niece, Alex.  I am grateful that this child has finally reached an age (just about 14) where she has become truly useful.   I figure I have approximately 10 months before she becomes useful enough that she will no longer think it is “cool” to dogsit for Aunt Patti simply in exchange for taco and brownie fixings, and permission to have a friend or two hang out with her at our home.

Richard and I have been competing for well over a decade and we’ve come to the point that we are selective about the rides we’ll do.  Selective about the difficulty of the haul, selective about the ride’s reputation for trail marking and measurement, selective about the fact that we neither roast parts of our anatomy nor freeze them off.   We’ve got some sort of complex internal mathematics that we do to determine the amount of fun relative to the amount of hassle or challenge, and we’re not too tough or too proud to take a pass on a ride these days.

This ride is tough, there is no question about that.  Note to self:  If Carla tells you you should probably pad for this ride, well then, duh, you should probably pad the horses.  (We did not, and we spent about 50 miles and 9 or so hours lamenting our error.)  Lots of climbs (ready for that), lots of mud due to a couple of storms they’d had in the area that week (not much to be done about that), but the rocks were something we should have prepared for better.  So we slowed down and tip-toed through most of the rocky portions of the course.  (As I must have said 80-some times during the ride — “If we get through this ride with eight hooves with zero stone bruises, we will be REALLY lucky!”)

That said, the toughness of the trail is balanced by its beauty and incredibly gracious WV hospitality.  If you made a caricature of a large group of cheerful and jovial WV horsepeople, divvied up on horses and four wheelers, mixed in a bit of moonshine (or more than a bit), added a country-western cover band and parking so tight that you had no choice but to become very chummy with your neighbors, you’ve got a pretty good picture of ride camp.  (We were parked so close to our buddies Carla and Nicole that we flipped a coin about whose awning we’d share and who’d set up their grill, and we shared both.)  All this hospitality and the challenge of a beautiful course meant there were 74 fifty-milers and 50-some LD horses packed into, hmm, a 100-horse sardine can.

Sarge and Ace were gentlemen throughout the ride, and we had the pleasure of riding for a few miles several times with both old and new friends.  This ride, even though technically part of the NE region, is so close to the MW and SE regions that there was great cross-regional representation.  (I think I actually saw a handful of my Facebook “friends” in person for the first time!)

The ride was not without some foibles.  Rich’s horse, Sarge, was on a set of fairly old shoes, and by the end of the first 18 mile loop, one was loose and another had shifted.  An entire team of farriers, supervised by the farrier who had trained them all, were available, fortunately, and Sarge’s shoes got secured such that we were able to get around the course without losing any.  (Thanks, guys!)

Thankfully also, we were spoiled rotten by our friends’ crew — Allison, Cody and Gina were there as we came into each hold and helped us cool, tack, untack and just generally manage the horses during the vet checks.  Cody, who is not necessarily a horseperson but has that calm and steady personality that horses seem to love, also got to trot Sarge for the vets — his first trot-out ever, and both he and Sarge got As!

At the last hold, Sarge’s gut sounds were diminished despite really good eating on his part.  Sarge is a bit of an enigma.  He’s a voracious eater at home but a fussy eater at rides, and in the past has –while I wouldn’t recommend it– subsisted for an entire ride on a single feedstuff.  Carrots OR apples OR oats OR grass OR, at one fateful ride where I doled them out judiciously all day long, Nature Valley granola bars.  At each of those rides, he’s maintained good gut sounds while worrying me into a profound state of irritation (partly at having to have, at the ready, an entire ride’s worth of a single rotating food choice).

The irony of Sarge is that at the rides where he eats best, his gut sounds are the worst, despite probiotics and judicious and well-timed electrolyting.  He has done better eating over the last season or two, and best when he’s traveling down the trail and spending his time at the holds with one of his barnmates.  At Saturday’s ride, he ate great, so we were surprised to hear that his gut sounds were nearly silent at the final hold; Claire Godwin, DVM, asked that he come back for a re-check.  I was relieved when he went back to our trailer and ate everything in sight.   Hay AND oats AND carrots AND apples AND a granola bar.

I have seen Sarge with that unhappy wrinkled-nostril look and he never once had that on Saturday, so after a guarded thumbs-up from Claire, we set off for the final loop with plans for a lot of smorgasboarding along the trail.  (And yes, we were armed with granola bars.)

It took one long pause at a grassy spot before Sarge really settled down and started grazing with enthusiasm, but he got with the program and was grabbing leaves and mouthfuls of grass for the entire 9 mile loop.   Our slow-down gave us the opportunity to see (aka get passed by) several more friends, including one moment that was either hysterically funny or terrifying (so I opted to gasp in horror and then laugh until I almost fell off when it all appeared to turn out without incident). 

Lani Newcomb and Dana formerly-Reeder-and-can’t-remember-her-new-married-name were riding a couple of Lani’s draft crosses and in the last mile before the finish, Lani made the grave error of allowing her mare to canter.  (Apparently, and with good reason, this is something she does not typically do.)  They were behind us at that point, and I heard thundering hooves followed by “coming by on your RIGHT!” in Lani’s booming voice (tinged with a bit of panic, perhaps).  Since I was on the right side of the road, I had to do a little quick figuring in my head and yanked my now-seeming-very-small-and-delicate-flower-of-a-horse into the left hand lane, just as Lani and her mare roared past, followed by Dana (laughing) at a very slightly slower pace, on the other draft cross.

I guess they really wanted to beat us.  <big grin>

We reached the finish line, and a crew of volunteers, their mood perhaps enhanced by some ethanol intake, gave us our placings (48th and 49th) and offered us a swig of sour apple moonshine, which I have to say tasted pretty durned good at the end of a tough ride.  I’d have liked to have offered some to Ace, who was still unable to stand still after 50 miles of tough trail, but I am respectful of AERC’s zero tolerance drug policy.  (For horses.)

Sure enough, our slow-down-and-chow strategy worked and Sarge was all As on his final vetting.  We tucked the boys into hay and ice boots and settled in for a shower, cocktails, dinner, cocktails, awards, cocktails, laughter and cocktails, not necessarily in that order.

A couple of hard luck awards on this ride.  One to Cathryn Rice, whose horse went over on her before the start of the fifty.  Thank heavens for helmets, as even WITH her helmet on, Cathryn Rice lost consciousness and got to take a trip to the hospital instead of down the trail.  Apparently she argued with the ride management a bit before getting shipped off in the ambulance — “Does this mean you are not going to let me ride?”

Um.  No.

Cathryn was alive and well and showing off the series of photos that the photographer caught of her fall later in the afternoon.

Emily Matthews didn’t get hurt, but had a heckuva time simply getting to camp.  One breakdown, and three potential haulers all failed before she finally got to camp with the fourth driver, after 22 hours camped out at the dealer’s lot.  And then her horse got pulled at the finish.  <shaking head>

Rough weekend but she still looked cheerful and accepted a lovely horse-shoe-created prize made and donated by the ride’s farriers.

After awards, we putzed around and took care of the horses and the acoustics in camp made the music from the tent sound even better at our trailer.  Indulged in a bit more moonshine and lots of story-telling with our friends, but no worries, what’s said in West Virginia stays in West Virginia.

Put this ride on your to-do list.  We are told that they are getting a bigger ride camp field for next year, which might decrease the coziness but will definitely allow for more riders!  And this terrific ride, managed by Roger and Jennifer Poling, and run by the able-bodied and four-wheelered members of the RBRRC club, is one of those rides where the fun/challenge teeter-totter definitely tilts in the FUN direction.

Thanks to everyone who made this ride such a great time!

Rachel and I headed out Wednesday at about 5:30 a.m. in an effort to avoid any bridge traffic and allow time for the boys to settle in after our 4 hour haul.

As we pulled out of the driveway, I high-fived Rachel and said “we are going to have an adventure!”

Damn straight.  And then some.

At the border, I got out of the truck, health papers in hand (I think the health papers had bad juju, but more on that later), and slammed my middle finger in the door.  Ow.  (It is possible I cursed.)  Bleeding and shaking my hand vigorously, I got the health papers signed, while Rachel got me a bag of ice.  Half of my fingernail turned a deep shade of purple.  There goes the manicure!

Really though, what right-handed endurance rider really uses their right hand fingers for anything more than gesturing the competition anyway?  It throbbed delightfully for the rest of the trip and well into the night, but that was it.   I have to say that it didn’t bother me in the least during the ride, although I worried mightily that it would.

In a bit of good luck, we arrived at the ride camp at precisely the right moment to be parked by Joe Mezenberg in the last camping spot immediately adjacent to the vet check.  We also arrived right at the start of the opening ceremonies for the Canadian National competition and sort of got to be a part of the parade.  <insert look of chagrin>

Ace and our trailer on the left, crewing area on the right

More good luck in the form of an unseasonably cool forecast, with a high of 70 expected and a low in the low 50s (it actually got down to 44 degrees).

Last but not least, we had the good fortune to have my friend Janet, a Canadian dressage rider and instructor, volunteer to crew for us.  She turned out to be absolutely invaluable, packing her Kia full of all the necessities and lots of luxuries for the away holds, greeting us with a smile and slushies, holding horses and running vet cards hither and thither. 

The ride briefing was a mix of information for both the FEI and open riders.  It is always a bit of a juxtaposition to be a competitor at a Canadian FEI endurance ride, largely because the Canadians tend to be laid back and casual, and for that reason, FEI is a strange bedfellow.  So the nonchalant charm and friendly openness of Canada with some added militant FEI rules and hoopla that inevitably affects all the competitors, including those who are not riding FEI.

The 100 mile ride consisted of a 40 mile loop (with a 16.5, 12.5, and 11 mile leg within) with two away holds (at different spots), back to camp, and then two repeat 17.5 mile loops, and two repeat 12.5 mile loops over much of the same trail.

I’d ridden the first 40 mile loop, as had Rachel, in previous rides from this location, and we were looking forward to doing it again.  Gorgeous vistas and wooded trails and riding along the edge of farm fields, some ups and downs, but nothing terribly technical or challenging.  We counted on the second part of the ride to be flat and easy, but a little boring and perhaps a bit sandy.

Rachel and I found ourselves rushing a bit to tack up in the morning.  Ace was amped (per usual); Ned was unimpressed.  Janet came out just in time to help us with the last minute chores of tightening girths, and mounting up, then waved us off after first noting that she saw her first horse warming up “not inverted.”  Ah, these dressage queens!

We headed out on course with the boys, no doubt, at least a little inverted.

After a mile or two, Rachel and I found a nice little niche of space for the boys where we weren’t crowding the riders in front of us, nor being crowded from behind.  Last year, at this same ride, in his first attempt at a 100, Ace was way too wound up, way too racy, and so this was perfect.  He trotted along in a nice balance with very little fussing, and Ned looked very much on his game. 

It’s funny, I don’t think of 16+H Ned as being “big” when I ride him (unless I am about to fall, or just recently fell, off of him), but watching him go along from 15.1H Ace, he seemed big and strong and mighty.  One of the best parts of the ride was simply admiring how effortlesslyhe handled everything all day long.  Boinging along with an air of supreme confidence.  I’d told Rachel this was how he would be, but it took seeing him actually do it to make me believe my own tale.

In to the first hold at 16.5 miles at the rear of the pack (as expected).  Janet waved us over immediately, and we managed to wind our way through the crowd amongst still-edgy and fresh horses to our crew spot.  Both boys’ pulses were down without a single sponge of water, so we stripped their tack and took them to be vetted.

As it was all day long, the boys vetted in with 44s or 48s or 52s, with all As, or close to it, on their vet cards.  In fact, I think there was only one 60 on one vet card from a single vet check.  (The pulse parameter was 64.)  It was our goal to ride the horses well within their abilities and have plenty of horse at the end of the ride.   We also hoped to be done by midnight.

We kept gushing to Janet about how spoiled we were as we ate our chilled fruit and she cleaned off the boys’ interference boots and held them while we hit the potty.  She pointed to her little Kia parked between two massive dually trucks and we all had a good laugh about the advantages of crewing out of a subcompact car.

Out for the 12.5 miles to the next away hold.  This section of trail was just lovely, riding into and out of farms, through the woods, along fields and through a river.  The front-running FEI riders had extended their lead and so it was a little less hectic at this hold, and again, the boys were all As and happy to eat.

It was clear here just how different my two boys are.  Ned came back from vetting, got to immediate work on his slushie, ate his and then reached over to work on Ace’s.  Ace ate his own slushie, then flung his head (and slushie) around, saw and stared at the horses in a pasture beside the hold area, grabbed some grass then turned back and sprinkled hay all over us.  Ned is a very focused eater, Ace is more ADHD.

We discovered Ace had interfered on a hind fetlock so we added a pair of boots to his wardrobe, and he trotted out of the hold like a Hackney Pony.

Eleven miles back to camp, and I kept warning Rachel about the upcoming twisty and wooded section of trail on this loop, as I’d ridden it the previous year and been happy to be on handy little Ace rather than tall and lanky Ned.  It turned out that Ned navigated the section of trail brilliantly, bending left and right and left and shifting back beautifully to avoid crushing Rachel’s knees.  I told her I wanted to ride behind her “for entertainment purposes” but it was dreadfully uneventful.

Here we met up with “Dually” — a Namibian endurance rider on one of Darolyn Butler’s horses — and rode with her for much of the next 30 or so miles.  She was on a tiny little Arabian mare, so it was a bit of a sight to see big Ned and the little mare going down the trail together.  The little mare cantered most of the time to keep up with the boys.  Dually delighted us with tales of past endurance adventures and her parents’ ranch in Namibia.  Rachel has spent a good deal of time in Africa and so the two had all sorts of interests and travels in common.

Back to camp where we found Janet settled in back at the trailer at our perfect little spot.  We crewed the boys right at the trailer and it was so handy to run in to grab something out of the fridge or the trailer’s tack room.  Forty miles down and here the vets really gave us a good ribbing about the horses’ pulse rates.

“Is he alive?” Ann Stuart, DVM, asked me. 

“Are you even riding him?” Ned’s vet asked Rachel. 

I changed Ace from his dressage saddle (which I love) to the treeless saddle (which he loves, and in which I ride like the equitational equivalent of a troll) simply to make sure he stayed comfortable all day.

I ate and drank a little differently on this ride, having “bonked” a bit on my previous ride on Ned. 

While heat was not an issue here, I really tried to focus on my water consumption and completely eliminated the Gatorade (which I think irritates my stomach).  I ate a lot more fruit (which was so incredibly freshing — cut up melon and pineapple and grapes) and carbs (crackers and such), and less protein (cheese and nuts).  I also discovered a really tasty and easy to get down yogurt drink from Stonyfied that I will definitely use again.  I did use sugar-free electrolyte tabs in my drinking water from time to time to ensure I was covering my ‘lyte needs.  (I also ate some of Ace’s Lyte Nows accidentally pretty much every time I used my teeth to uncap his syringe on trail.   It made me much more zealous about rinsing out the horses’ mouths after dosing them.  Man, that stuff is nasty salty!)

Whether the cool weather was the reason, or the change in food and drink, I felt better on this 100 than I have ever felt, physically.  I also recovered better.   (I was unable to find any BCAAs in time for the ride, as some other 100-mile riders suggested, but I do plan to add that to my regimen as well.)

Out for the first of the 17.5 mile loops.  We left the hold a few minutes late (we did that just about all day long) but managed to catch Dually within a few miles.  One of the best parts about the ride was the pacing.  Ace would lead, then Ned would lead, and all day long we kept up a rather healthy 8-9 mph pace.  Sure, we’d stop to let them eat and drink, or take a little extra time at the holds, but we were keeping a reasonable pace that the boys could sustain, hopefully for 100 miles.  As we left each hold, I’d tell Janet when I anticipated we’d return based on that pace, and I’m pretty sure we kept our word just about every time.

This loop consisted of trails in and around a spruce tree farm, scalloping large fields, and then sandy forested trails, with some gravel and paved roads connecting them.   We also got to ride the dreaded “puddle trail,” which not only had deep and muddy puddles (from which Ned loved to drink) but lots of overhanging branches and limbs, so we had to take our time there.

We caught up with our local friend, Helen Lynn, and her boy Quimby.  She’d planned to ride the 100 a bit faster than us, but Quimby had lost his buddy (lame at the previous vet check) so he’d lost a bit of his ambition.  He fell in along with us and we all rode the remainder of the entire ride together. 

We were at about 58 miles at this point in the ride, and I got a little paranoid about Ace, since at this ride last year he’d been sound and happy for 58 miles, trotted into the hold sound, got untacked and cramped high up on the left hind, ending our day.  I asked Rachel if he looked even behind as we trotted down a road and she said “Yes, why?” and I said I was just being paranoid.  I was.  He never took a bad step for the 100 miles.

This was a nice 50 minute hold (the others had been 40 and 30 minutes) so we had a bit of time to actually sit down, eat and relax.  I’m not a big fan of 30 minute holds and we had four of them in this ride.  So when we felt that we or the boys needed a little extra time, we just plain took it.

None of us were really looking forward to riding the 17.5 mile loop again, but it actually went quite well.  We tried to keep the same pace and nearly did, riding it about 10 minutes slower this time than the first.  At the water tank at the midway point of this loop, some of the volunteers from Canada offered us jugs of cold water to pour over the horses, which was great. 

Back to camp with 75 miles under our belt, and knowing we only had two loops to go.  Up to the vets where we realized Ned had sprung the shoe on his left front foot, the one with the nasty horizontal stress line.  Amazingly, he was absolutely square and sound, so he passed the vetting and we found the farrier, had him pull the shoe and just rasp off the edges of his foot, and put on an easy boot.  Ned wears an easy boot very well, since he has big, round feet, and happily goes down the trail in them for miles without losing them or damaging his hooves.  I didn’t want the ride farrier to try tacking on a spare shoe with that crack in place.  Tom (my farrier) and I are going to figure out a plan for that one.  (Ned is still wearing the easy boot now in the pasture.)

The other bad news was that Rachel started to feel nauseous after she trotted Ned out.  We still don’t know if it was the lamb samosa she’d eaten at the previous hold, or electrolytes, or Advil upsetting her stomach, or dehydration or what, but she felt decidedly unwell. 

The farrier time took away from the boys’ eating time, so we stayed a few extra minutes and also got Rachel to drink some electrolyted water and nibble on a little food.  I asked Helen if she was going to leave without us, and she just looked at me and rolled her eyes.  We all laughed.

Out for the 12.5 mile loop, which we knew we’d be riding in the dark the next time around.  It turned out to be the most technical trail with the most twists and turns and I started to worry about if it would be glowsticked, and how heavily.  We all made mental notes of the turns and the hazards on trail, as there were a lot of low branches, quick turns from one trail to another and a couple of sections of deep sand.

Poor Rachel.  When we trotted, it literally rocked her stomach, and for the next several minutes, she would burp.  And let me make a note about Rachel’s burps.  [Forgive me, Rachel.]  This girl can BURP.  I mean frat boy, beer-drinking, serious depth and volume burps.  It would have been giggle-worthy, except for the fact that we knew that she felt terrible.  She is one tough broad, however, and never whined once, never asked us to slow down, never threatened to quit.

We made fairly good time on this loop, vetted through, the boys still all As and Ace dragging Janet down to the cone and back as though he were vetting in for the start of the ride.  We were reassured that the trail would be glow-sticked by our friend Joe, who parked us the day before (we love Joe!), and Janet headed for home.  She had a long drive and had to be at work early in the morning and was concerned about making the trip after a short night of sleep.  We bid her adieu but I refused to hug her, suspecting I smelled pretty bad.

Rachel still felt like crap, but we had one more loop to ride and had to get our flashlights ready, and our glowsticks on our horses’ breast collars.  We had considered doing so the day before, but thought it might be behavior worthy of jinxing us out of actually RIDING the last loop of the ride.

There were only a few other 100 milers out on trail, and I’m sure all of the FEI horses were either finished or withdrawn at that point (only 9 of 24 FEI horses completed), but we got lots of whoops and hollers and yells of encouragement as we headed out on the last loop.

Helen’s horse, Quimby, was pretty brave in the dark, so he took lots of turns leading.  At first Ace was rather hesitant and spooky, and I think he actually did better when both of my glowsticks managed to fall off the breast collar. (Guess I’m better off putting them on before I’m weary from 88 miles of riding.)  The trail was marked absolutely WONDERFULLY, and we were so grateful!  We never had to turn on a flashlight or search for the trail; it was marked to death, and you could see the next glowstick ahead practically anywhere we were on trail.  (We found the gentleman who glow-sticked the trail the next day at the Awards ceremony and I not only thanked him profusely, I blew him kisses!)

Each of the boys took turns leading and we could hear Rachel burp repeatedly after each long trot.  “Want to slow down, Rach?  We can just walk them in.” 

“No, I’m fine.”

What a tough chick!  [Note to self:  My friend Mel Blittersdorf makes and sells Tough Chick reflective helmet decals.  Must.purchase.one.for.Rachel.]

Poor Helen was up front on the puddle trail.  We were doing fine, remembering which direction to go around the puddles from our first time through the trail, but we went around the last puddle, entirely forgetting the long branch jutting out.  It apparently caught Helen right across the shoulders and sent her flying off and down onto the trail.  It was dark, but we could hear the loud thud from behind.  (Ouch.)  Quimby simply stuck around and Helen climbed back on.  Another tough broad. 

Since Rachel was sick, and Helen was no doubt sore, I appointed myself Head Cheerleader, and every once in a while would pipe up — “Good job, boys!  Last loop, almost done!  Good boys!”

On the last section of road within a couple of miles of the finish, we were riding three abreast, Ace STILL pulling on me to go faster, Ned with his head and ears up, eyes bright, looking for all the world like he was simply going on a little hack, Quimby right there, strong and true.

Amazing.

In to the finish, where the in-timer, Dave, no doubt delirious from lack of sleep and really, truly gratefully looking forward to being relieved of duties, gushed over us, and gave us our final in-time.  12:12, for a ride time of 15 hours or thereabouts.

Back to the trailer, and since it had gotten quite cold, I scrambled in the dark for wool dress sheets for the boys.  Rachel was squatting quietly, just holding Ned as he ate hay, still obviously sick, so I helped her untack and get Ned covered.  Ace was still wound up and moving about, but I finally got his boots and tack off and his back covered.  (We missed Janet!)

I reassured Rachel we’d find someone to trot Ned, and that she could just go to bed once we were done vetting through.  I felt terrible that she felt so awful and I just wanted her to be able to lie down.

You have to love the Canadians.  At an American ride, it would be quiet in camp at midnight, with just a few hardy volunteers and vets waiting up for the last of the riders to complete.  In Canada it is called “an excuse to party.”  There was music on in the tent, people laughing and talking and it is possible that alcohol was being consumed.  We led the horses up and I shouted out — “Hey, what’s a girl got to do to get her horse vetted over here?”

Whoops and hollers and cheers went up and the vets flocked around to do the horses’ final vetting.  Ace, clearly not over-ridden, had to be reminded to stand still for the hands on, and DRAGGED me through the trot out.  (Oh, how I missed you at that moment, Janet!)  Absolutely all As on his final vetting, and Stan Alkemade hugged me, knowing it was Ace’s first 100 completion.

Duane Barnett vetted Ned, and Rachel was clearly not up to jogging him out, so I took him and trotted him.  Absolutely no hesitation, plenty of impulsion, and as I always do when I finish a 100, I told him over and over as we jogged “Good boy, you’re done, good boy!”  He knew.

Crystal Woodhouse, bless her, after finishing her 100 an hour or so prior, showered and waited up for me so she could give me a congratulatory hug.  Boy, I hope I didn’t smell too awful!   I can’t tell you how badly I needed to brush my teeth.

It is a humbling thing, always, to witness these generous animals perform this incredible act of endurance with such grace and strength, and in some cases, humor.  And the army of people it takes to organize and run the ride that accommodates it. There is really nothing quite like a one day 100 mile ride. 

The boys were metabolically just fine, simply in need of blankets and hay and water, and Rachel was seriously in need of a bed.  She resisted, but I insisted that it was “easy-peasy” to settle the boys in, and told her, in no uncertain terms, to hit the sack.  (Ah yes, and that is why they call me “Mean Patti.”  Or “Drill Seargent.”)

I had some alone time then, me and the boys, so I just fussed over them a bit, hugged them, thanked them, checked their legs, adjusted their heavy blankets to make sure they wouldn’t get a chill overnight, and just generally loved on them a bit.  What kind of lucky girl am I, to be able to do what I do, and to be blessed with two such incredibly athletic horses with such different (and mostly charming) personalities?

And boy, was I pooped.  Usually I’m wound up after a 100, unable to even think of going to bed for an hour or more, but I think I had a bit more than my usual plateful of worry for this ride.  It wasn’t just about Ace getting around, it was about making sure Ned and Rachel got around too. 

It was such a privilege to have Rachel ride and care for Ned so beautifully, and to be able to share him with my friend, knowing he would take care of himself and her, and with all probability get her through her first one day 100.  At 16, and with ten years of competition under his belt, I know his endurance days are numbered, so every single ride is precious.

With the boys tucked in and munching hay, their eyes half-closed, I headed for the trailer and a hot shower.   And bed.

As usual, I slept fitfully, waking at 6 or so to feed the boys, who were right as rain.  Ned, as usual, had a bit of fill in his front legs; experience has taught me that it as much from the heat of wearing the interference boots as anything else.  They’d cleaned up almost all of their mountain of hay and nickered for breakfast.  Good boys!

Spent the day puttering and cleaning up.  Rachel still not well.  She spoke to her boyfriend and it turns out he was having a stomach ailment too, so she might have just had a supremely badly-timed case of food poisoning. 

We watched the BC trot outs — very impressive, the horses looked great! – as we hand-grazed Ned and Ace.  Went to awards, where we learned that there was about a 50% completion rate.  This seemed low to me for such an unseasonably cool and pleasant day and what struck me as a very do-able trail.

Ned (down) and Ace dozing about 12 hours after completing; note the easy boot on Ned

Ace, in ice boots, couldn't resist a bit of piaffe and mouth-yawing as the Ride N Tie horses left camp the afternoon after finishing the 100.

Our plan was to hit the road late in the afternoon to catch the bridge at it’s lowest Canada-to-USA traffic time just after dinner.  This all went swimmingly until right before the bridge crossing when I went to take the health papers out of the red vinyl zipped envelope where I ALWAYS KEEP THEM AND THEY WERE NOT THERE.

This resulted in us pulling over at the Canadian Customs Building, ripping the truck and trailer apart searching for them, fruitlessly.  I went inside to plead my case to the Customs person on the Canadian side, whose basic words of wisdom were, paraphrasing, “sorry lady, I can’t help you, the US is going to refuse your entry.”

This resulted in roughly 90 minutes of frantic cell phone calls to the endurance ride personnel after hunting down their phone numbers through my husband and the AERC directory and calls to their husbands/wives.  Apparently, like me, none of them had cell signal at camp; all went to voice mail.   I called my vet, who couldn’t figure out what to do, but gave me the names/numbers of people nearby with whom I might be able to stay, should I not be able to get into the country until Monday when we could get new papers issued.  I called my brother in law, Trooper Fred, who works with the DHS Task Force; he couldn’t track down his DHS friend at the border.  Finally I went back into Canadian Customs to find out how to turn around; clearly we were going to have to drive the three hours back to camp.

At some point during all of this, Rachel was lying on the Customs area sidewalk, occasionally burping, still obviously in digestive distress.  Did I say “Poor Rachel” yet?

A female Customs officer, clearly feeling pity for the nearly-in-tears-slightly-ragged-perhaps-chafed-and-sore middle aged woman in her presence, dug deeper.  She searched the file for a copy of our papers, found they’d already been sent to Ottawa.  Finally she took us outside, and suggested we simply cross the bridge and plead our case; she suggested that the Customs personnel knew the welfare of the horses was important.  I called Rich and he said Fred had just called and suggested we do the same.

Okay, deal done.  We were going to throw ourselves on the mercy of US Customs.  I asked Rachel if she thought I should cry.  She suggested I might do it without coaching anyway.

We presented our ID to the agent in the booth, told him we were in a ‘real predicament’, explained the situation, and he made several jokes, asked us several pointed and surprising questions (was this a test of some sort, I wondered) and kept Rachel’s passport and my license, gave us a slip of paper.  We got parked in an off area by an agent and directed inside the Customs office.  There was a huge group of people in the room, and so Rachel headed back out to open the horses’ windows and get them some water, anticipating a lengthy wait.

Fortunately, we got called up within minutes, before Rachel even returned, and flustered, I told the agent our situation.  At first he said, “I can’t help you, where are your papers?”  I explained to him that they “might be” 3 hours back north, that I lived only an hour from the border and that I was worried about the welfare of the horses, since they’d completed a 100 mile trail ride the day prior and were in potential metabolic distress.  (Of course, I was pretty certain they were actually wolfing down hay, and mostly just irritated at standing around in a warm trailer.)  I did mention my brother in law, who worked with DHS.  Suddenly, the agent walked away, came back in mere moments and thrust the passport and license at me and said, loudly, “Get out of here.”

“You mean I can go?”  I was just stunned.  I thought they’d want to get SOME proof of something, or even just LOOK at the horses.

He thrust the now-stamped little slip back in my hand and said, sternly,  ”Don’t let it happen again!”

As if.

Rachel and I were virtually giddy exiting the parking area.   The agents had to move a cone to allow me out and the agent teased me, “if you hit it, do I get to have a ride on the horse?”  I suggested that I might be under a bit too much duress for a driving test at that exact moment.  He let me go.  I did not hit anything.

We called and let everyone know we had indeed gotten back into our home country and sure enough, I got a call as I approached our driveway an hour or so later.  Yep, I’d left the file folder with my health papers at registration.  Yep, they’d be happy to mail them back to me.

Home at 9:30 p.m.  Ned was stomping in the trailer the moment we hit the driveway.  After they were unloaded and turned out, my boys both drank out of the tank and immediately galloped down to the pasture.  Rachel still burping.  I poured her a Squirt, hoping that might help her tummy, poured one for myself, added a healthy measure of vodka.

After a good night’s sleep, I was feeling grand.  Rachel’s tummy was better this morning; we went over the boys with a fine-toothed comb and they looked great. I’m really not even sore.  Going downstairs is the only owie thing; my calves are a little tight.

Yep, we had an adventure, didn’t we?

Next stop, Moonlight in Vermont, July 17th.

I love it when a plan comes together …   And so far, so good.

Yesterday did a 3 or 4 fast, hilly heat acclimation ride on both boys.  This involved tacking up when it was muggy and hot, then going as fast as we needed to go (and then some) to stay ahead of the carnivorous deer flies on the trail on our little 3+ mile loop.

When I got back from each ride, I stripped tack, hosed the horse for 3 minutes, and took their pulse.  Both down to 60.  Cross-tied them, put on hoof dressing and one minute later, both of them were down to 52.

So that’s a good sign, as they were both blowing and hot when we got back to the barn, but quickly recovered.  Rachel and I will have to take pains to ensure that Ned’s core temperature doesn’t get way up there if it’s hot, but he’s far more heat-fit and ready than I would have guessed.

I am in the process of making lists.  Lists of what groceries to buy, what to pack, what to wash, what we’ll need at the away vet checks, blah, blah, blah.

It helps to be the sort of girl who knows there is a hyphen in anal-retentive.

I’ve been joking that God wanted to help me with my own heat acclimation by causing the A/C to fail in both my Subaru and the F-450, and by preventing the estimator from returning our calls about the proposal for A/C in the house.  I’ve been making a point of walking when it’s hot and muggy, hanging out at my brother’s pool with my nieces (important work) and enjoying sweltering in my car as I run around hither and thither picking up the items on above, aforementioned list.

My most wonderful friend, Janet, AKA Sas, has volunteered, with no arm twisting whatsoever, to come and crew for us next week.  As you can imagine, I almost fainted with joy when she offered and have been trying to think of the ultimate crewing thank you gift.   She’s a DQ (dressage queen) rather than an endurance person, but she’s experienced with handling unruly horses so should be a welcome addition when Ace gets wound up at a hold and I’m feeling homicidal.

I sent her the “explicit and detailed” crewing instructions that my friend Zoe requested when crewing for Ned and me at Vermont a few years ago, but keep telling her we’ll both be ridiculously grateful to have a friendly face to say hello and hold a horse while we hit the porta-potty.

I’ve been checking the forecast.  Of course.  And it’s looking rainy and relatively cool for next week. 

Considering the alternatives (hot and ridiculously muggy) I’ll take it.

I’m stopping to pick up some Hammer Nutrition products from a bike shop tomorrow, including electrolyte capsules and some BCAAs that some of the other 100 mile riders recommend.  Will let you know how they work.  Have every intention of hydrating like a banshee.

Yesterday I tried an Ensure for breakfast (over ice) rather than actual food.  Must admit, the stuff felt a little queasy in my tummy at first, but I rode both boys and did barn chores in the heat and felt fine.

Whatever works!

The ride itself was much like the decade we’ve competed together.

Moments of ups, downs, pride, embarrassment, laughter, impatience, disheartenment and renewal.

My friend Joanie, a complete non-horsey type, decided going to Canada with me sound like “an adventure” so I set off in the early morning hours on Saturday to go pick her up and head for the border.

I had several moments of cursing and frustration when trying to fuel up in town and finding that the nozzle would not reach the auxiliary diesel tank on the back of the flatbed and having to back the trailer out of the truck fueling area to the “auto” diesel island, some distance and at a sharp angle from the original. I haven’t hauled the rig for several months so this was not the ideal way to get re-acquainted with my backing up skills.

Ned, never patient in the trailer, helped me out by screaming his fool head off (really, at 16 years of age and after HOW many miles in that trailer?!) and kicking and pawing such that it sounded like he might come through the wall at any moment. I do believe that at some point I yelled “Knock it the F(*$ off!” in my most horse whispering bellow.

I did get fueled eventually, and out of the fuel station without hitting anything, and picked up Joanie and her German Shepherd, Sundance, who gratefully was a mellow traveler and lovely camper. Joanie was absolutely stunned by the size of the rig and the fact that *I* drive the thing.

The border crossing was smooth except for the apparent necessity, by both nations involved, of installation of additional concrete barriers here and there, and the choice to repaint lines and fill potholes in the most ridiculous locations on a holiday weekend, necessitating a lot of really careful driving, and in one case, the need to back up the rig and “re-try” to get around a concrete barrier after paying a toll.

The weather at camp was all over the place — breezy, then raining, then the sun peeking out, then cool, so we enjoyed the afternoon under the awning and having a visit from Janet, who was just down the road (an hour and a half!) coaching Amelia through her second level debut. Terrific to catch up.

I told a couple of Canadian chums, including our favorite ride vet, Stan, about the Decade Team thing, and Stan winked and said we’d “get through” in a conspiratorial sort of way.

The forecast called for hot and humid and dry, not ideal when the footing on these trails has been deteriorating over the years. In the past, they’d been what I would call perfect footing, hard-packed sand with a firm base, but now they’d become churned and eroded and really deep in many, many spots.

Ned was absolutely full of himself, screaming regularly from his paddock. He has always considered himself the Equine Welcome Committee and I had to reassure Joan that he really would shut up during the overnight hours.

And yes, he vetted in with his penis dangling. Of course. <rolling eyes> Sigh.

As we were tacking up the morning of the ride, Stan popped by to warn me that the heat index was in the dangerous range. It wasn’t hot (56 degrees), but very humid, and the sort of weather that might tempt someone to over-ride the first loop without realizing how warm their horse had become, and how little their sweat was evaporating.

There were two loops for the ride, each ridden twice, each roughly 12.5 miles long.

Ned warmed up far more gentlemanly than I had anticipated, and we got to ride with a number of our Canadian friends on the first loop, but never with any for more than a few miles. Ned kept up a very manageable pace, rather rateable, and actually working in a nice frame with only a couple of yeehaw leaps to remind me that he was indeed all that and a bag of chips.

First loop done in 1 hour 23 minutes. That was about right. CRI was 15/13 and he was all As.

After vetting I simply put him in his paddock where he ate and then gleefully rolled in the sand he’d churned up overnight. Filthy but happy. I only sponged off the necessary areas before retacking so I’m sure we were quite a lovely sight heading out on the second loop. (He did that at every hold, and went out of every vet check largely ick-colored.)

At the start of the second loop, we got caught up in a pack of five or six horses, heading along at a healthy clip, and I stayed to the back of the group. While I tried to convince Ned to stay about seven or eight horse lengths back, we had to negotiate, and mostly ended up about four lengths behind. To say that we both ate a lot of dust would be an understatement. It was gross. (This further convinced me that Tevis will never be on my Bucket List, as the dust there is legendary. Ack.)

I finally pulled Ned out of the vortex of this group at a water stop, and we came in at a much more sedate pace. About 1.5 hours on this loop.

I blew it on this pulse in. Pulse parameter was 64, and I cooled Ned down to 60, which happened rather quickly, then headed to the vetting area. There we had to wait behind that pack of horses who came in just ahead of us, standing in the sun, for 5 or 6 minutes, until one of the vets was available. His pulse was 65. <rolling eyes> Big horses like Ned tend to hold core body heat, and as they stand around, it comes to the surface, their heart rate goes up, and kaplooey.

I cursed myself, headed back to the trailer for more spongeing, and when we re-presented, he was 52. (Now THERE was ten minutes of our ride that we wouldn’t get back!)

Duh. Operator error all the way. Joan offered to trot Ned for the vet and did a valiant job. Yes, Ned dangled his penis. All day. Every trot out. (No need to ask; he’s Ned. It is what it is.)

Still all As, and metabolically fine, though we had lost the middle of the pack gang we’d had for company on trail with my pulse down SNAFU.

As I told Joanie, the third loop is always the worst. Ned hates repeat trail, the sun was up and it was HOT, and now he had no one to chase. Sure enough, Ned trotted along in a demoralized way for most of this loop. I know Ned, and this was not physical, this was mental, and as Joan suggested, who knows whose demoralization was feeding whose?

Finished the loop up in 1:45, twenty minutes slower than the first time around when I was riding with the handbrake on the entire time.

This time Ned met the pulse but failed the CRI, 15/17, so I told Stan I’d bring him up to be rechecked before heading out for the final loop. I was feeling a little punky myself, took a little extra time to drink and eat and soak my head and to cool Ned, and his recheck CRI was 15/13, good enough to go on. Did I mention it was hot? And humid? Ick.

I promised Stan (hahahaha) that I would not try to catch the front runners on the last loop. (In truth, they were due in for their finish in the next twenty minutes or so.)

Last loop. I changed from my treed Solstice to the Bob Marshall treeless, as this is what Rachel rides in and what she’ll ride Ned in if we do the 100, so I want to get his back accustomed to it again. I hate the saddle, I equitate in it horribly, but I have to say, a bit of change was rather nice.

Ned jog-trotted the first couple of miles, and then we were caught by Wendy Macoubrey, who is an FEI Canadian rider, a long time friend, and just a sweet, fun person. She was riding her young horse and had a junior (Charlie) riding her veteran FEI horse, Meriah, and Meriah had had a weird day of getting warm and inverted (which means respiration rate exceeding heart rate) so they’d spent extra time in the hold. Like me, Wendy was not enjoying the heat, so we vowed to one another to take our time and take care of all of ourselves on the last loop.

We reminded one another to drink, took lots of walk breaks (especially in the deep sand and on the downhills), took turns leading (which allows the following horses a mental break), and spent a long, long time at the water tubs, cooling the horses and soaking our heads. Wendy cooled Charlie and me by soaking us repeatedly with water from her electrolyting syringe and we laughed our whole way into the finish. Ned’s fun meter was back in working order. Yippeee!

The trail was marked for the CTR with each of the last five mileage markers (“5 miles to go”, “4 miles to go … “) so at each marker we celebrated, whooped, patted the horses and reminded them it was the last loop, and everyone was re-invigorated. It was a lovely way to finish the ride.

We came in 17th, 18th and 19th and did lots of whooping to celebrate our Top Twenty finish (there is no such thing) and then Wendy bragged to the timers about Ned’s Decade Team accomplishment, which was very sweet.

Led Ned in the last 1/10th mile or so, took the time to really cool him down, and presented him for his completion where he was all As.

Stinky hugs all around.

Ned looked fantastic. I was really impressed since he was ready for neither the heat and humidity nor the deep sand. He was STARVING and settled in to eat and drink and then rest, occasionally screaming a joyous greeting to some horse or another coming in off the trail.

I, on the other hand, started to feel unwell. I’d really been careful about eating/drinking and getting my Gatorade in, but I had a similar episode after the MD ride, lightheaded and dizzy, and suspected low blood sugar. Snarfed a couple of Oreos (no doubt recommended for all endurance athletes) and felt a lot better. Had a shower, puttered around, headed down for the ride dinner, where we sat (in the sun) eating.

The whole damned feeling came over me again. Not heat exhaustion, as I’ve BTDT. I spent a few minutes sitting with my head between my knees, then Joanie and I snuck back to the trailer where I spent some time lying on the LQ couch, sipping (sweetened) ice tea and eating a couple more Oreos. My blood pressure tends to run low (despite my substantialness) so I suspect that I got dehydrated/low sugar enough for it to crash a bit.

Joan took great care of me and force fed me water until I was peeing every ten minutes it seemed and I bounced right back. Ate some more salty stuff, but missed Awards, not wanting to get faint again when I walked up for my completion award. (I would NEVER live that down; bad enough to have a horse with a fifth leg, don’t you think?)

The Canadians, who are SUCH partiers and so incredibly hospitable, came and found me and encouraged me to come drinking with them (oh dear, so NOT a good idea!) and then delivered a pomegranate martini to me, so I could enjoy that before retiring for the evening. I sipped it alternately between water gulps (thanks Joanie!) while watching Ned stand around in his ice boots.

Some day I am determined to party with the Canadians. Seems there is always a drive the next morning, or a ride to be done, but someday I will hang out and let loose and I have a feeling it will be note-worthy! (And then some.)

Packing up and driving home the next morning was blissfully uneventful, and I was home by noon, where Ned marched up the driveway and out into the paddock. The best thing is watching them settle in and no doubt tell the other horses how phenomenally they won the ride — Ace and Ned were nose to nose, chatting, and then Ace sniffed him all over. Could surely smell the rock star essence on him, right?

Rich has a home blood pressure monitor, so I’ve been checking mine since I got home. It’s running decidedly low, 97/77, 88/62, and this has been when I’m feeling just fine.

I’ve been doing a little digging on nutrition for endurance athletes and will experiment with some changes before the 100 in five weeks. I cannot bonk mid-ride and expect to get through the thing. I have a feeling I am going to have to super-hydrate and do more carbs, possibly fruit and fruit juices (going to try V-8 Splash) and even some crap carbs like Oreos, and do a little less of the protein I typically do (cheese, nuts). This light-headed thing is new to me, although I am the first to admit I’ve felt like crap from time to time during the last half of a 100. I emailed the 100 milers’ group and they suggested this sort of metabolic thing often happens during perimenopause, so I wonder if losing my girl bits has triggered some of it (although I do have my ovaries, sorry if TMI).

This is all rather irritating to me, as I never got fatigued on the ride, actually was able to focus on my equitation throughout, and am not even sore, unless I sit for too damned long, and then it’s just a little stiffness. So I am feeling rather fit, other than the near-fainting shit. LOL

Ned is feeling grand. His legs are tight and cold, he looks rather ripped, and his back is absolutely rock solid.

All we have to do now is some speed and hill work alternated with rest, and we will be primed and ready to go for the 100 in five weeks. And oh yeah, do some heat acclimation for both of us.

Ace is owed a long conditioning ride, so I am planning that for this weekend, and then he goes on the same program as Ned.

I wore a pair of past-their-prime riding tights this weekend, and Joan took some photos, revealing some bulges and horrifying lumps and general lardgeness so I am also going to work on dropping some tonnage before the 100. Ace doesn’t need to carry that. The sad tights (hell, they rode up my leg from UNDER my half chaps, can you say spandex long gone?) went in the trash. The photos are soon to follow, LOL. For the 100, I will be wearing a new pair of smooth-the-bump tights and maybe Spanx. Kidding.

All in all, a lovely weekend!

Thanks for reading.

–Patti

Vermont/Moonlight 50

Ned is 15 this season, with over 2000 miles to his credit, and the most frequently used phrase when I talk about him and our endurance competition plans is “he doesn’t owe me a thing.”

He doesn’t.

All those miles on a body that is not classically made for endurance – too big, too warmbloody, movement more suited to dressage than the profound daisy-cutting efficiency that is ideal in endurance, heat management issues, a topline only a mother could love, a profoundly opinionated temperament that often lands us in the “I refuse to go 1 mph faster than this.” But stoic, and never a quitter. (A slower-downer, but not a quitter.) Recently, his chiropractor started talking kissing spine in his SI region – which would be a reasonable explanation for his lifelong aversion to steep downhills and the ongoing issues we’ve had with loin soreness, which I’ve always sworn was not related to saddle fit, but the work, based on the patterns of soreness. I’ve managed Ned with a huge dose of worry and a lot of paranoia over the years.

So Ace has been getting primed and prepped for a 100, and Rich and I decided we’d head to Vermont for the 50, and ride together, with Rich understanding that we’d be slowing he and Sarge down mightily.

My friend and dressage instructor, Dorothy, who has now ridden Ned twice on LD rides (25 and 30 miles) agreed to travel with us and crew, since all of the holds at the VT ride are away from camp, and she felt she owed us for the privilege of riding Ned in those rides. (Stop laughing.)

Thursday we had an uneventful drive to Vermont (thank heavens, after the last trip), got parked at the top of the hill, beside the pond, overlooking the entire camp and the valley (gorgeous!) and settled in.

Friday found Dorothy and I taking the crew directions (notoriously WRONG for this ride) and checking out the hold locations, with me explaining what we’d need and which direction we’d be coming from, and where they’d likely park her (huge turnout for the ride would mean tight parking at the holds and on-trail fly by crewing locations).

Repeatedly I reminded Dorothy how narrow the roads were and that she’d really need to watch for not only horses and runners, but other crew vehicles rushing to get to their riders. Several times we had to pull way over to allow other vehicles, including horse trailers, to pass. (Suzy can attest to the narrowness of the roads near GMHA, right Suzy?)

So you can see where this is going, right?

I’m driving up a road, we’re on the way to our next stop, and here comes another truck, obviously from the ride, in the opposite direction. I swing over as far as possible, confident we have enough room to get past one another.

Until I see the huge rock jutting out into the road. No way I can move over to avoid it – we have no room. So I hit it with my dually wheel, it bends my rim, and the tire pops and the entire flatbed of the truck LEAPS to the left. Fark!
I see the other driver’s tail light fall to the road.

Damn. We hit him.

He gets out of the truck, yelling and waving his arms, and I pull over somewhere as safe as possible, walk back past the truck, point to the rock as he’s continuing to yell, and say “I hit that trying to get over as far as I could. I blew a tire, the whole truck bounced, that’s how I hit you.”

This seems to calm him down a little, as I’m being silent and wondering why it is MY responsibility, on the same narrow road, to avoid HIM. Doesn’t he have some responsibility to get over as much as he can? He has the far more forgiving side of the road. I stay silent. He wants to call the police. Okay, I say, but we could just exchange insurance information, as God knows there is no cell signal within 5 miles. I take out my camera, which I’d intended to use to take photos of scenery, take shots of the rock, of the road, of the damage to both vehicles.

Another rider comes by in a truck on their way back to camp, agrees to get Rich, and ask him to come down or call US Rider.

My friend in the other truck leaves, still grumbling.

Rich gets a ride to our spot, we decide to limp the truck back to camp, where he changes the tire and rim (and we’re not allowed to hit anything else, I’m told). I warn him that the other rider might make trouble when he returns, but alas, he comes back, a little bit sheepish, tells me the police told him (duh) that we should just exchange insurance information. He starts to express that he thinks I hit him with my driver’s side mirror, looks at ours (unmarked entirely), then shows me the spot I theoretically hit. I point out the rust (“I don’t think this is fresh”) as Dorothy yells from the horses’ paddock area – “WE DID NOT HIT YOU WITH THE MIRROR!”

He quietly takes my information. I am still being polite, ask him his name, ask him what distance he’s riding (the 100, his first), tell him I’ve done it twice, tell him that it is a good one and that I’m sure he’ll have a great ride. So, back to the ride.

And the run. I forgot to remind you that this ride is run concurrently with a 100 mile ultramarathon. Same course, same time. The runners (100 mile) start at 4 a.m. to the overwhelmingly loud speakered-in Chariots Of Fire soundtrack, the 100 mile riders start at 5 a.m. , the 75 mile riders start at 9 a.m. and the 50 mile riders start at 2 p.m., ensuring most everyone will get to ride in the moonlight.

It is very odd to sit around on ride day and wait for the ride to begin at 2 p.m.

We putter and pace and walk the horses and check and recheck our crewing stuff, try to eat a little lunch, and when we head down to the start, we learn there are 60-some horses going out. We know from our pre-ride the day before that Sarge is going to be a handful. He’d been there before and come in 3rd, and he was well-rested and well-fed and full of piss and vinegar.

So when 2 p.m. came, I let Ned leap into a big trot and out we headed, in the lead. I figured that discretion was the better part of valor and that, frankly, we’d be safer up front than in a pack of 60 horses, all charged up and heading down a wide road. We were right, apparently. Dorothy said it was a rodeo a minute or two after we left. We never even felt the charged-up atmosphere.

First 12 mile loop took you around the neighborhood and back to camp. We passed the rock I hit, and I pointed it out to Rich with great pride as we sailed past. The course, generally, has a lot of hard packed gravel road (at least half the course) but also areas of single track trail, challenging, and almost everything is either going up, or going down. It was warm, and most of the trail was single track (not Ned’s strong suit) and he fought and blundered his way through it, not in the least bit catty, but determined to keep up with Sarge.

Back to camp for a 15 minute stop and go, and we were the 7th or 8th to arrive. The most remarkable thing happened there, however. Sarge stuck his head in a bucket, and he ATE. We worry over Sarge horribly. He’s a notoriously terrible eater on 50s, having done entire rides on, say, granola bars, or even carrots, if they were the food of the day. Or a few mouthfuls of grain at each hold. And here he was, matching Ned mouthful for mouthful (Ned being a Champion of Eaters). We were tickled.

Back on for a fly-by trot past the vet to ensure we’re still sound (no real “vet check” at this hold) and head 8 miles to Tuacknback Farm, this gorgeous place where we will join up with the 100 mile riders and runners and the 75 mile riders and finish the rest of the trail together.

We are still near the front, passing and occasionally being passed, reminding people who missed turns (several, actually – I’m always surprised how little attention riders pay to trail markings!), and still going at a blistering pace, we start climbing a hill. I can tell we’re getting close to Tuacknback Farm, this absolutely gorgeous, pristine farm with stone walls, split rail fence and the most beautiful yellow and fieldstone outbuildings, but I’m accustomed to coming up the road and around (having done the 100 there twice in the most recent years). As we climb the hill, the riders in front of us slow to a jog. Ned does not jog, so we trot on past them, climbing, climbing and damn, we pop up and there’s the vet check – we’d come in from the other direction, and in a million years I never would have let Ned come in so hot or so fast if I’d had any idea. I was sure we were still a ½ mile or so out. (Duh!)

This hold was a zoo. Riders from every distance, crews everywhere. Somehow we spot Dorothy and we find our way to her, twisting and turning through the maze of muck tubs and horses and crew members. Ned is HOT. I strip his tack and we start spongeing like mad. Dorothy had ice water, but it still took me a good ten minutes, at least, to get Ned down, and then just barely, to a heart rate of 64. I took Sarge to the vets, Dorothy took Ned, and I was dreading that Ned might flunk the CRI (cardiac recovery index – pulse taken before and after a 125 foot trot out and back – hot horses often have their pulse jump back up, a sign that they are not continuing to recover).

Sarge did fine, and I heard the vet say “64” (just barely making the pulse parameter) for Ned, then watched Ned trot straight and sure (and with no dangling willy!). I hear little of the rest and take Sarge back to our spot, all As. He starts eating immediately (AGAIN!) and Dorothy approaches with Ned.

“How was his CRI?”

“All As.”

I grab his card. 64/60 is his CRI. Just fine. I start to grab a sponge to cool him some more, instinctively assuming he was still warm. I touch his shoulder. He’s begun to cool. Phew. I leave him alone and let him simply eat. He continues to cool beautifully. Damn, dodged that bullet. Grab some Gatorade myself, laugh about the fact that you don’t eat or drink as well when you’re going this fast, and relax for the rest of the 45 minute hold.

From here on out, we are on familiar trail for both Sarge and Ned. It’s 30 miles, but they know exactly where they are going. Ned, in particular, suddenly seems to realize (to his great relief, I’m sure) that I was not lying when I told him he only had to do “half of the ride.” (Just the 50 instead of the 100.)

I’ve got to say something about the homes and farms in this area. They are absolutely postcard gorgeous. I mean, immaculately kept, but not necessarily formal. Rock walls and perennial gardens, casually laid out but obviously beautifully kept. Everything matching – barns and houses and outbuildings – and well … just breathtaking views down into valleys and up to the mountains and, well, damn, I wish I got photos of something other than a rock I hit with a dually tire on the truck.

(This is the ride where, a few years back, the photographers took a shot of Sarge and Rich that ended up on the cover of Endurance News, and not just that, WON the publication an award for some magazine contest. It is THAT breathtaking. And Sarge and Rich are cute too.)

It’s 18 miles to the next hold, with two fly by crew stops, and now we start to see a few runners. Since we are making such good time, these are the front runners of the runners, and they are actually RUNNING, looking good (they’re at 70 miles or so at this point). When I did the 100 the first time, it was about 9 p.m. rather than 5 p.m. when I came through this hold and I’ll tell you, the slower runners looked far rougher than this group.

Two women were running together, and we chatted as we went by. “Hey” they said, “can you order us a pizza?”

We responded that we’d take care of it, and pop a bottle of red wine for them back at camp.

We saw them again several miles later (the horses have vet checks, the runners have aid stations, so they often separate and then meet up again) and told them that Dominos was on the way.

We ride on and off with another rider, and hit a section of trail that Ned hates. This was his low point, this section of trail, in the last 100. It’s a roughly two mile long stretch of downhill single track. Loamy and twisty and a must-walk trail for Ned, and for most any horse. Somehow it seems that with the SI issues, it’s more comfortable for him to trot downhill, as much as that goes against MY judgment – a 1200 pound BIG beast pounding downhill on gravel roads. I tell myself to ‘trust him’ for the entire ride and where he WANTS to trot downhill, I let him, cringeing every stride. But here, we walk, and he pouts, and I tell him it will be over soon, and it eventually is, and when we hit another gravel road, he leaps into his big trot, flips his head around several times, relieved to be done with it.

A fly by with Dorothy at Rojek’s gorgeous farm, where we travel down their groomed trails, wisely choosing NOT to jump the little cross country fences strategically placed here and there. We sponge for a few minutes, but don’t linger, heading right back out at a booming trot.

The trail takes us back to a spot within, no kidding, 1/10 of a mile of the camp, where we meet Dorothy for a quick spongeing and a snack, and Ned pouts around the corner. As I sponge him, he rests his chin on the flatbed of the truck. Literally. He has been here before, he knows the trail, and he is sulking, as he knows he’s not finished yet, he’s not going to camp (and it is SO CLOSE that he can smell his paddock), but I was really relieved that when Sarge trotted off, he gladly joined him and seemed to be over his pout in short order. There is no mistaking how Ned is feeling at any given moment. If you are not listening, he will tell you more loudly, rest assured.

We hum right along to the next vet check. I know where THIS one is, and how we’ll come in, so we wisely walk up the hill into it, so that Ned is not blazing hot. We told Dorothy we thought we’d be there at 8:30, but it’s only 7:51. Oopsie. She’s not quite set up when we arrive, but we manage to sponge and get the boys vetted in the indoor arena. I’ve never been to this vet check when it’s been light before, and it’s a lovely spot. The arena has been watered and it’s a pleasure to trot the horses out on flat, firm footing with no little dips or soft spots, and they both look great. A vet who knows Ned vets him, laughs with me that he’s impressed that I’m riding two of them in today’s ride, and we both marvel that Ned seems to respect Dorothy enough (or something!) that he doesn’t drop his penis and lag behind when she trots him out.

We get our out time and damned if Sarge doesn’t spend the entire hold eating again. This is a short hold and we need to get our glowsticks on our breastcollars for the night riding. We ask Dorothy to check with the out timer about what place we’re in. 7th and 8th. Wow. I tell Rich again that if he wants to go ahead and leave Ned and me, we don’t want to hold him back, but it’s my birthday and Rich says he’s having fun, and that we’ll ride the whole ride together.

It’s 12 miles with two fly bys to the finish. Ned is absolutely certain where he is now. It’s just starting to get dark in the woods, the roads are still bright, and he does not need the glowsticks to follow the trail home. He’s making sharp turns like a motorcycle and I am laughing out loud.

I point out to Rich where I hallucinated on my first hundred, seeing a house and a TV on in a second story bedroom at 3 a.m., when in fact there was just a little lonely blue glowstick hanging from a tree. Ah, memories of good times.

We both have a ton of horse left, and they are begging to go FASTER.

The first section of the trail is roads, so the boys simply fly. We pass two other 50 milers, and two riders in the 75. We head into the woods, into some fairly trappy trail, and do some walking. Back out on the road and flying again, and we hit the first fly-by, do a bit of spongeing, tell Dorothy we’ll see her at the cemetery and set off again.

We are still moving fast. Occasionally we climb a hill at a trot and Ned hints subtly that he’d like to walk, and I ask him to, yelling ahead to Rich that Ned needs a break. But that is only occasionally, and Ned takes his little breathers, then leaps back into a trot and catches Sarge and passes him, and it starts all over again.

We go so fast that Dorothy is not there when we get to the cemetery.

Now, this is a bit of a quandary. No crew, and of course, when she arrives, she’ll simply wait for us, thinking we haven’t arrived yet. Luckily there is another crew there, for a rider who is well behind us and they take our numbers and agree that they’ll let Dorothy know that she missed us and that we’ll see her at the finish line.

Phew.

Not ten minutes later we HEAR our truck drive by on a road nearby. Ah, those Ford diesels. This one enhanced in various ways that makes it sound as unique as the cry of a mother’s individual baby. (I guess. <laughing>)

It’s fully dark now and we’re 2.4 miles from camp. This is amongst the trickiest parts of the trail, and I remember both dreading it and looking forward to it (almost home!) on the 2nd 100 we did here. Back then, fatigued and a little sore, both of us, and having to navigate tight turns and narrow, rocky trail and washed out sections and tree roots and lots of up and down dipsy-doodles was not easy.

It’s different this time, as we are holding the horses back. We insist that they walk some sections, but then, when they offer to trot, we let them. At this point you’re following glowsticks but trying not to steer, as a glow stick ahead could have several sharp turns in the trail before you reach it. It’s a tricky game of trust, and staying out of the way, and staying in a half seat, but upright and ready for a change. When Ned started cantering on this section, I started giggling uncontrollably. He’d drop out from under me (dipsy doodle down), rise up in front of me (little uphill) and make turns that made me grab mane and laugh out loud. It was scary and nutty and some of the most fun I’ve had on a horse.

A little section of road where we passed our last runner – “looking good!” (as if we could SEE him!) – and back into the woods, where the glowsticks were now sitting in milk jugs, signaling that we were within ¼ mile of the finish.

Still, down the hill, the boys wanted to trot. I insisted to Rich that we walk since I didn’t want to do a face plant when Ned tripped so close to the finish (turns out one of the 100s did just that at about 90 miles, remounted, finished, then went to the hospital because she was so badly bruised – she was released and at awards in the a.m.).

Finished. 9:51. Remarkable how there are SO MANY people there at that hour, applauding and whooping, as opposed to midnight and 4:30 a.m. when I’ve finished before. 5th and 6th place. Rich insisted I come in ahead of him although on any other day, we’d have done it the other way, since we both knew Sarge pulled Ned along to some degree. (But it was my birthday, so in lieu of a card … )

Rich wanted to stand Sarge for Best Condition, a privilege for only the Top Ten riders. I declined, knowing that 1 hour from the finish Ned could not be easily convinced to act peppy for a trot out – he was done, he knew he was done, and well, let’s face it, he didn’t owe me trotting out like a horse who had done nothing.

Heck, he didn’t owe me what he’d just done.

We putzed around down at the finish line area for the hour to pass to stand Sarge for BC. They ate EVERYTHING we had while Dorothy and Rich headed up to get the truck. I mean, laughingly arguing over the last of the carrots and the apples and the dengie and the oats in the little buckets, knocking over one another’s and then swapping, play-nipping at one another and posturing, and then nickering when it was all gone and I brought out the last of the granola bars until Dorothy could return with more slushies.

Alone with the boys, I had a nice cry on Ned’s shoulder, thanking him and reminding him that, no matter what other horses came along, he’d always be “the one.” Of course, he already knows that. This is the third time I’d cried on that horse in almost the very same spot.

Sarge looked very good for his BC trot out (thanks Dorothy!) but the horses who won the ride were an hour ahead and the math just didn’t add up, so he didn’t win.

When we were done presenting Sarge, Dorothy and I led the boys up the hill, Rich took the truck, and someone yells HAPPY BIRTHDAY from a vehicle parked nearby. “Who is that?!” It was my friend Gene, he’d gotten pulled at 70 miles, bummer, and he was heading for home nearby. (High attrition rate for the ride overall, but especially the 50, where only 35 of 63 finished. Oh, and hey, let me insert casually here that Rich and I beat Valerie Kanavy.)

Settled the boys in for the night, blanketed them, sent Dorothy back to the hotel, and threw some dinner on the grill (I’d done the whole ride on Gatorade, a bottle of V8 and three cheese curds). A hot shower and I crawled into bed in the trailer.

“It’s 11:50 – you’ve got ten minutes until your birthday is over. Is there anything else you want?”

A top ten finish out of 63 horses on a tough course on my prior-to-this not fast horse?

A healthy horse wanting to go faster at the end?

Another horse who suddenly learned to eat on this ride?

The privilege of riding with my husband past beautifully kept homes and farms and views that would take your breath away?

With runners far more insane than us?

Nope, I had it all.