Saturday, 50 Miles

    A mere ninety minutes from where I live in Colorado is the Medicine Bow wilderness area, home of the Happy Jack Ride in Wyoming.  And with diesel prices at nearly five dollars a gallon, this was a ride that was too close to miss.  I’d planned to do Happy Jack for the past two years, but both times something had come up that kept me away, and it bothered me that it was so close and still not a part of my riding repertoire.
     Three years ago, I became the recipient of a “free” Arabian, bringing me out of a seven year hiatus from horses, a breadth of time demanded by new motherhood and a rigorous corporate career.  (A note about gift horses--be careful what you ask for—my “free” Arabian has cost me no less than about $100,000, when you add in the arena, barn, fencing, round pen, trailer, camper, big-ass truck……yada, yada, you know how it goes!).  Endurance riding was a sport I had long held an interest in, and now that I had a horse again, I was determined to discover more about this sport that had at its foundation my favorite pastime:  trail riding. 
    So, I made plans to do the Happy Jack.  How hard could it be?  Here I was in March, with my free Arabian (another myth:  any Arabian can do endurance…..NOT!  Although, lucky me, this one certainly could!), and I had all the way to August to get him ready to race.  I decided to be conservative, and set my sights on the 25 miler……well, a couple months later it became supremely evident as to why my Arabian had been free:  he was wild as a March hare (only been ridden a few times when I got him from a weary cowboy who had no use for Arabians), couldn’t stand tied (let’s just say he was the pull-back king), wouldn’t load in the trailer, wouldn’t cross water (not even a mud puddle), and the list went on.  I rather wisely decided at that point that he was not prepared to do any sort of endurance riding until he could do really basic stuff…..like allow the saddle on his back and not spook at butterflies.  So I reluctantly crossed Happy Jack off my list, and settled for getting my guy used to the basics--loading in the trailer, not freaking out when I took my jacket off, and learning not to weave around like a drunk on the trail (like most green horses, he was very unbalanced under saddle).
    The next summer my boy was ready.  We started off with a long distance ride at Linda Fisher’s Kenlyn Urban Challenge in April (great beginner/start off ride), then moved on rather quickly (too quickly, some might say) to a 50-miler at what turned out to be Paschal and Deb Karl’s last Black Hills Ride (awesome ride, so sad this ride is no longer held), then on to another 50-miler at Susie Schomburg’s Shamrock ride in Wyoming (hotter ‘n hell, swore I’d never go back, but the trauma somehow rearranged itself in my brain as something I couldn’t miss the following year…..go figure, humans are weird).  At the end of those three rides we’d done well (to finish is to win) and had a ton of fun, but my guy came home with a pulled back muscle and I had to take him out of competition for the rest of the season.  So once again, no Happy Jack!  (And the treeless saddle was retired forever.)
    This year I was determined.  Not only determined, but well-equipped and ready for anything.  I now had in my stable not one, not two, but THREE really good horses.  My free Arab was now the most awesome junior horse you could ask for, and my 6-year old daughter was able to compete on him—the transformation from such a green, fearful, wild-eyed Arab to this completely beautiful, athletic, willing and honest guardian of my daughter was no less than a perfect miracle, as far as I was concerned (good breeding always comes through, and Taz is out of Linda Fisher’s stud, Awesome Knight).  In addition, I’d picked up a truly wonderful 10-yr old mare named Nanyuri from Sue Romero in New Mexico.  For the first time, I had an experienced endurance horse with miles put on her by a very experienced and accomplished rider.  Let me tell you—it makes a HUGE difference.  You are literally ready to go, no questions asked (well, almost).  And finally, by a strange twist of unexpected luck (kinda like the free Arab…..) I brought home a prize jewel of a mare from Snowy Range, WY.  No kidding, this mare is the Angelina Jolie of the horse world when it comes to looks.  My husband has nick-named her “the movie star.”  I have never met a more gorgeous, more feminine looking mare than my 8-yr old gray, Nadrah (which means “one of a kind” in Arabic).  Pretty is as pretty does, and she also has the athleticism and sanity to match her looks.
    On top of having three really solid horses,  I had been conditioning regularly and doing my homework, reading books, riding in 20 degree winter weather to keep conditioning over winter, etc.  I was completely hooked on endurance, much to my husband’s dismay (I think he is hoping I will quit all this nonsense…..what should I tell him?).  No pulled muscle was going to keep me out this time.  So this year Happy Jack went on my schedule, and this year, I actually went!
    I truly didn’t realize that such as gem of a place as the Medicine Bow Wilderness area existed between Cheyenne, an old, dusty cow-town currently experiencing major growing pains (thanks, natural gas industry), and Laramie, which is a wind-blown college town clinging for dear life to the edge of the Wyoming prairie.  Both towns were suddenly elevated in my mind by this easily accessible natural resource.  Turning off the Happy Jack road and onto the national forest exit where signs marked the Happy Jack Ride, you then drive through dusty hills encrusted with sagebrush on either side of the rutted dirt road.  The “bows” as they’re called, rise up, thick with the almost black look of pine, cradling the lower sagey areas.  Amidst all this are Road-Runner cartoon-like escarpments of fat granite fingers, jutting up to blue skies complete with rock climbers dangling off their precipices.  As if this weren’t enough, there are valleys of aspen and beaver-dammed ponds, herds of cattle lazing about, ATVers cheerfully roaring by, dirt bikers (my 9-yr old son was thrilled), errant campers parked in verdant nooks, meandering creeks—in essence, all the ingredients for a totally fun recreational playground without the over-regulation you will typically find in my homestate of Colorado.  It was downright refreshing.
    We pulled in to the campground under overcast skies.  The many mud puddles were testament to Wyoming’s unusually wet spring and summer, and the state was stunning in its atypical lushness—grasslands a rippling sea of emerald green, mountains green with leafy aspen, rivers, creeks and reservoirs bursting to overflow.  In stark contrast and literally the moment you crossed state lines, Colorado was a desert of drought and the color of dirt as far as one could see.  Depressing.  Hay prices were at record highs.  I was only too happy to continue buying my hay from Wyoming farmers, as I had been doing for several years.
    We set up camp in record time—I noticed each time I was faster and more efficient.  My husband, Michael, leveled our camper, my son helped to set up our electric corral, my daughter flitted about with her bunny (the most well-traveled rabbit you’ll ever meet), and I unloaded the horses, filled up the water buckets, and located the registration tent.  I signed up for one fifty-miler for the next day, Saturday, and then the 25-miler with my daughter.  Then bought the required certified hay at $10 a bale.  My grand total was $280 for two days of riding, which didn’t include the money I’d spent on fuel and the other miscellaneous expenses of getting to a ride.  Ouch.  Endurance riding is expensive, and now I was getting my daughter into it.  Still, it was probably less than the hunter/jumper/dressage scene and at least it offered a little something for the whole family.
    There was no ride meeting, which suited me fine.  Everything was neatly written out in memo-format for ride participants, with a map included.  Nice.  I chatted briefly with Cheryl Winters of Max Tack, who’s been doing endurance since the dawn of time, and she gave me some helpful tips.  She pointed out that the first loop was 25 miles—I nodded blankly, then it hit me—that was half of the whole ride, with no vet stop!  And she said it was all through rolling hills, and I noted outloud that one would need to be careful not to go too fast on that first loop and burn up all the energy in your horse’s bucket.  Cheryl nodded agreement, like a patient teacher to a struggling student.  The second and third loops were said to be more technical, with more elevation climbs and single-track rocky trails—those sounded like fun to me, and Cheryl agreed that they were the more interesting loops.
    Back at camp I did my usual pre-race ritual:  small amount of grain mixed with a top dressing of a supplement called EquiPride (the only supplement I’ve ever used that I’ve actually seen a real, markable difference in my horses’ coats, hooves, and weight)—it contains a mixture of minerals, biotin, glucosamine, electrolytes, all in a fermented base of flax seed which is immediately absorbed into the gut.  Then I plopped in a dose of powdered electrolyte (I use Finish Line, and love it—I also had Dr. Dane Frazier examine the mixture the prior winter when I attended one of his electrolyte seminars, and he gave it a thumbs-up), and added a small amount of water to each bucket to mix the contents and make it hard for the horses to only pick out the tastiest morsels.  In general, they are not overly excited about taking their electrolytes in their grain, but will eat it if there’s nothing else put out.  Before all my rides, I pre-load electrolytes about four days prior to the race, a practice which is hotly debated and which some claim does nothing and that the electrolytes are merely excreted.  My thought is that I am trailering my horses for some time, and they don’t drink as well, and then I’m racing them.  If I preload, I at least have more assurance that they will be starting their run with more of a chance of being hydrated (electrolytes encourage drinking) and of having a base amount of electrolytes in their system.  Remember:  you’ve got a severely compromised horse when the electrolyte balance is out of whack.  It is absolutely crucial for effective muscular contractions, including regulation of a horse’s heart.  Problems such as tying up (azoturia), thumps (diaphragmatic flutter), colic, and basic fatigue can be attributed to an inadequate electrolyte balance and general dehydration.
    What about the beet pulp, you may be asking?  I quit doing beet pulp.  It was a personal decision I made based on a few things:  One, my horse suffered a serious choking episode when he ate some dry shredded beet pulp pieces that had fallen on the ground, unbeknownst to me.  This was a couple pieces—that was all.  It immediately swelled up in his throat, and it was a very touch-and-go hour for us while we waited for the vet.  I thought he was going to die—he was foaming at the mouth, trying to roll (I initially thought he was colicking), and making the most horrible noises.  Literally right as the vet got out of her truck, the lump that had been stuck in his throat suddenly went down, and he started to graze as if nothing had ever happened.  So, if you do use beet pulp, be very careful not to let any spill where you horse can nibble at it.
    But moreso than the scary choking episode, I had heard so many anecdotal stories of horses colicking and of owners feeling convinced, based on the events leading up to the colic, that the beet pulp had played a critical role in the illness.  On top of that, my own feeling is that suddenly loading the gut of a horse with a bunch of wet, sloppy pulp could very well create a reverse osmosis process, thereby actually pulling water from the gut and leaving a bunch of dry, fibery stuff for their gut to then deal with, thereby setting the stage for an impaction.  None of this is scientific or in any way proven—it is just a “gut” feeling on my part (no pun intended!).  Anyway, I also can’t help but think it’s a marketing ploy to get folks to buy something that was once nothing more than a waste-product of the sugar industry that was thrown away and worth nothing.  Now it’s an industry in itself.  Makes me suspicious.  Bottom line for me:  I don’t use it anymore, and I’ve not had any problems with my horses being dehydrated as a result.  Instead of using beet pulp, I think you’re better off electrolyting responsibly (smaller more frequent doses are best), and then making sure to stop frequently on the trail to let your horse drink and eat grass—at least once per hour.  Again—just my opinion.
    I got a good night’s sleep—now in my second year of competing, I can finally sleep before a race, yeah!  Woke up at 4:30, drank my coffee in bed while my family snoozed away, jumped outside in my pajamas to a star-studded sky still untouched by the sun’s wake up call, and threw my horses some hay.  Came back in washed, dressed, choked down a banana, then went out to equip my saddle, and lay everything out—helmet, filled water bottles, electrolytes, snack for my horse/snack for me, Garmin GPS, knife, emergency contact card, vet supplies, first aid kit, etc.  Then I pulled Nan out of her corral, stuck some hay under nose at the trailer, and began tacking up. 
    A full 15 minutes before the 7 o’clock start, we were ready to go, so meandered around camp, and ran into Sandy Hancock, who was riding out to find me.  We condition together occasionally, and have done one ride together.  Our mares pace exceptionally well together, so even though we’re both devoted to the “ride your own ride” motto, we’ve found that our own ride often tends to be right alongside each other.  It works.  Also, Sandy doesn’t talk my ear off with nonsense (like the time I got stuck with a Jesus-freak who wanted to convert me for 50 miles—I was dying for a pair of earplugs!)  And, Sandy is a nurse—very handy on the trail, and I always learn a few new things.

We were the first to move down the trail when it was called open, and I found myself engulfed by some of the the usual veteran front runners—Karen Croone, Sharon and Crockett Dumas, the Browneller girls (or at least one of them), Lynn and Charlie Oslick-Williams, Tennessee Mahoney, and so on.  It was a great morning, clear and crisp, and the forecast was for a high of 85—perfect.  Sandy had just gotten through knee surgery only days before the ride, and I suddenly realized that she was a ways behind me, hanging on for dear life while her mare, Zoe, bucked—typical start-out antics for that horse.  So I gladly slowed up (the pace at 11-12 mph was a bit fast for me, and I knew it), and hung back with Sandy to help her mare chill out.  It worked, and we continued on, rejoining the crowd as they had doubled back a bit trying to figure out where to cross the highway.  Funny how that works.

The first loop was not bad, but easy to do it too quickly, as Cheryl had warned me.  The entire course is on two-lane jeep trails through rolling hills dotted with Ponderosa pines and scenic overlooks into the Medicine Bows.  There were only about 100 gates to open, of which I was acutely aware since I insisted on opening all of them due to Sandy’s knee.  A couple I could barely get closed again, and I am no weakling.  The front runners were by now long gone, and we both wondered—and were rather impressed—by how they could keep up that pace.  I knew my horse and I weren’t ready for that—maybe one day, but not today.  And I also knew that I would never push my horse for the sake of my own ego—the worst mistake anyone can make, in my book.  The front runners who had passed us were well-seasoned, experienced riders who, for the most part, lived their life conditioning their horses.  And, I think most of these riders knew when to push and when to back off—an invisible line that is very difficult to navigate, and not without risks, especially when you’re new to the sport, and even when you’re a veteran.

Did I mention explosive diarrhea?  About six miles into the first loop, I had that all-too familiar and dreaded sensation of a sick stomach—and the 10 mph trot wasn’t helping.  I had eaten yogurt for breakfast, which wasn't my "normal" pre-race meal, so I immediately blamed it on that.  I tightened my belly muscles and tried to ignore the feeling, praying it would go away and turn out to be nothing.  No such luck.  About ten miles into the loop, eyeing a thick stand of pines, I suddenly blurted out my news to Sandy.  Again, I was glad she was a nurse—I was sure she had to deal with this kind of stuff all the time, and at least she wouldn’t be too horrified.  By now I was in such agony, that it was difficult to even feel embarrassed—I just had to GO, and the trees we were coming up on looked like an oasis in the desert.  We’d passed two riders about three miles ago, so I figured we still even had time for me to jump off, fling myself into the woods, get the job done, and then jump back on my horse without us being noticed.  So, that’s what I did, and learned another thing in the process:  never forget to bring toilet paper!  (Again, thanks Sandy!  She even had a probiotic with her, which I gulped down in desperation, hoping it would settle my rebelling stomach.)

On we went, trot, trot, trot.  My stomach was in full rebellion, and it was difficult to concentrate and get past that sick feeling going through my body.  I did my best.  More gates, huff puff, a few swear words, I almost gave up on one gate, but then finally got it back together.  At fifteen miles we took a 10-minute rest, and let our horses graze, then finished it off with a dose of electrolytes.  My mare was refusing to drink, as she always did for the first twenty miles, and as usual, it was making me nervous.  Back on and bouncing down the road again, each step an agony to my belly, would this loop never end????  Finally we saw the highway, and knew we were only a few miles from camp now—surely I could make it?  Actually, not so, and again, with even less care than before and cars zooming by and volunteers in plain sight in their fluorescent orange gear to direct us over the road, I flung myself off my horse and made my way, crab-like and hunched over, to the best spot I could find.   Agony.  I couldn’t believe this was happening to me.  “I don’t think it was the yogurt,” Sandy called out, trying to be helpful.

Back on my horse, we quickly made our way back across the highway, and had a few moments of despair when it seemed we were inadvertently on the third loop and maybe not going back to camp, afterall……next to stomach troubles, that has got to be the worst feeling in the world!  But, no, here was the ribbon, and voila, there was the pop up camper and the water tanks that led us back to the dirt road, now we knew where we were, oh hallelujah, visions of my little bathroom at the camper floated before my eyes like an angel.  At that moment, my camper and all it’s monthly payments were suddenly, without question, worth every penny and every bit of interest paid.  A toilet and shower of one’s own, at the camp, was nothing less than heaven on earth in my present condition.

Somehow I made it through the vet check and the trot out and even did Sandy’s trot out.  When my husband saw my face blanched with pain, and I told him the state I was in, he asked if I thought I would make it through the rest of the ride?  At the risk of offending you, dear reader, I will repeat what I said because it still makes me giggle:  “I’m going to finish this ride even if I have to shit my way through it!”  He didn’t think that was a very ladylike response.  Well, I agree, but still—I paid my $85 and I wasn’t about to quit!  And it reminded me of a funny story a well-respected veteran rider had told me, of another rider jumping off her horse to relieve herself while they were stopped to open a gate, and accidentally splashing urine on his leg while he was struggling with the gate.  His summation of the event:  “I think she’s been at it a little too long.”  And now I likewise understood how the long hours in the saddle, the closeness you feel with your equine partner, who poops and pees without hesitation and without a trace of embarrassment, and the heat of competition and the no-quit mind-set that takes root, leaves its mark on you.  Like the mountain men of old, and the cowboys and all the others who found themselves for long periods of time in nature and away from the trappings of civilization, you get a little on the “wild side.”  Everything is decidedly “au naturel.”  And I think it’s exactly that state of mind that becomes the most enticing element for the endurance competitor.

There was an hour hold, and then we were on to the second loop, which was fifteen miles.  As we headed out, about a mile into the loop, here, unbelievably, came Karen Croone on her gelding, Rocket, looking fresh as daisies…..!!!!  (How do they do it????)  Our mares, gung-ho and difficult to pace during the first loop, were not seeing the merit of another loop and now it was dawning on them that there was more to go.  They weren’t thrilled, and we had to push them out of the camp at the start of that second loop.  Sandy kept saying to her mare, “I told you so!”  We did manage to get them into a pathetic 7 mph pace, with lots of sudden stops into grassy glens like they had seen the golden arches of McDonalds.  They were tired and uninspired, and we just took it slow, and instead admired the astounding granite spires with climbers clinging to them like lovers, the swaying aspens, the eye-splitting green of the meadows, the lazy cattle.   

I would love to know Karen’s secrets, but also have to say that my favorite rides are becoming those that don’t loop back over and over again into base camp, have slightly shorter holds, and even a few “gate and gos.”  If you remember that a lot of the ride goes on in your own brain as much as your body, and that the horse is similarly wired, it quickly becomes evident that rides that proceed in one huge loop are the best, psychologically at least.  You are not having to continuously push your horse back out of camp and your horse doesn’t get to thinking he’s done when he’s not.  Anyway, whatever Karen does, she certainly has managed to condition her horse not only physically, but psychologically as well, which could be argued is as important as physical conditioning—a horse that is convinced and determined to win is in a much better place that a horse that may be physically fit, but not have the mindset to win.  Same with people.

The third loop started off badly.  As we began, not in top ten placement but only a couple places from it, Sandy suddenly noticed that my mare’s hind shoe was off entirely on one foot, and on the other, holding on by one nail.  We were about to begin the rockiest part of the entire race, and my mare suddenly was missing two shoes!  And we’d just been cleared to go!  I said several choice swear words, directed at myself for being such an idiot as to have somehow not noticed during the one hour hold, and got to fixing the problem with two Easyboots.  Meanwhile, Susie Jones and her riding buddy, who had been behind us, went on and we lost our place.  Not a big deal, but definitely another lesson learned:  don’t let your guard down at the hold, and LOOK at your horse to make sure nothing’s amiss.  (In my own defense, my still flip-flopping tummy wasn’t helping my thought processes, and yet that’s still no excuse.) Now with two Easyboots, off we went.  (And as Sandy kept saying, in her good-natured way, at least she noticed it and at least I had the boots.  I just growled for a few more minutes, then apologized later.)

The third loop was said to be 10 miles, but my Garmin said it was only about 7 by the time we finished.  And it was a beautiful loop, indeed quite rocky, but winding through pine forests, and onto mountain tops with sweeping views, and back into marshy spots thick with aspen where you were just certain you would see a moose wandering through……we never did, but that last part of the ride was my favorite.

We finished in 12^th and 13^th place, better than I’d expected.  I didn’t get to the dinner and ride meeting that night, preferring to stay close to my bathroom and nurse my sore belly and just in general get some rest.  I had promised my 6 year old daughter that we would ride together in the 25 the next day, and I was determined to keep that promise.  How could I look into her green, excited eyes and not come through?  She’d spent the day playing with her rabbit, shopping at Max Tack, and making tons of new friends with the camp kids, but all with the delighted expectation that she would be riding the next day.  So it was my job to get better.

            (What I didn’t know and didn’t find out until the next day was that my friend, Tennessee Mahoney’s mare, had colicked.  It was a bad colic, and touch and go for a bit.  I felt bad that I found out so late, otherwise I would have gone over to give my good wishes and see if there was anything to do to help.  I am so proud of Tennessee for sharing her story with me and others.  If you are interested in learning from her story, it's next door, to the right .)

Sunday, 25 Miles

The second and final day of the ride dawned clear and beautiful.  I was ready to go, and so was my daughter Jackie.  We did our normal routine of tacking up, making sure rain gear was attached and enough yummy snacks to keep a 6-year old going.  This would be the first time Jackie would be riding Taz in a competition, and only her second 25-miler, and I was a little nervous.  She had proudly announced to anyone that would listen that she was now “riding an Arab.”  He was definitely a step-up from her bombproof pony, Rodeo, whom she’d been riding since she was four years old, and who flinched at nothing and took everything in stride.  His worst habit was nipping the top of her straw-colored head when she cinched him up.  By comparison, Taz could be really sensitive about things and wasn’t nearly as tolerant about scary things, like saddles slipping around, etc.  My goal was to ride at the very back, and get through the start.  I’d ridden Taz all last year, and he could really be a handful at the start.  I reminded myself that he would be pacing with his beloved pasture mate, my mare Nadrah, so I expected him to be calmer.  In the worst case, we could get off and walk, or I would pony him for a while.  One way or another, we would get it done, and done safely.

The 25 milers were called to open trail at 8 am, and a group of about twenty-five riders headed out.  I kept us to the very back, and as we hit the main road, Taz began to prance and whinny for his other beloved pasture mate who was left back at camp.  I anxiously looked back at Jackie, encouraging her to keep close to me, and was proud to see that she had Taz firmly in hand, her eyes straight ahead on the trail, refusing to be scared by his nervousness.  I knew if she lost it this early on, we’d have trouble getting through the race.  But she was doing a great job, and that was all it took.  Within half a mile, Taz had settled, and we got into a great, working pace.  Soon we were passing other riders right and left.  My spirits soared—I really hadn’t expected things to go this well, and I kept turning back to check on Jackie, and she was just posting along like a little pro, all business.  We had already planned how we would ride, and I’d reminded her that we weren’t going to stop every five minutes for a snack, or to rest.  I told her she would be expected to trot the whole way, and she had nodded her head and promised me that she could do it.

At one point she said she was hot, and I told her she’d just have to stay hot for a while, until we came to a good stopping point.  She took that in stride.  Now it was just the two of us, and we’d left the back stragglers behind, but the front runners were still out of sight.  We whipped through a gate in record time, and a few minutes later, ran into the middle part of the group, all bunched up on single track trail.  This is my least favorite place to be in a race—all bunched up in a group without a way to go around.  We bided our time, with an emphasis on good sportsmanship and manners—don’t get pushy, I kept reminding myself.  We finally got around that group, and soon were caught up with the front runners.  Jackie had a huge smile on her face, and during our 10 mph trot, she would remark on the landscape.  At one point we were weaving in and out of aspen trees, like a roller coaster on horseback, and we were enjoying the challenge of moving in and out of the trees, and Jackie was giggling.

Much to my surprise, there was a bona fide cowboy in our midst, and in the front, no less. Occasionally he would do gallant things like hop off and move a log.  Susan Butler, who was right in front of me, flippantly requested him to please remove all the rocks, too……ha ha.  At one point his white cowboy hat got knocked off by a low branch, and he had to get off and get it.  I was grateful for my helmet, especially when I knocked my forehead into a tree branch for about the third time.  Still, cowboy hats are oh-so-stylish, and I would love to wear one if it made any sense for me to do so.  Alas, it didn’t.

I saw Gary and Kathy Richey up ahead, in the very front.  It was fun to see them doing so well.  Like me, this is only their second year of competing, and every time I see them they are getting better and better.  Still, I couldn’t help but give them an evil grin when we passed them, with the cowboy being the only guy in front of us.  He was riding a stunning Arab/Saddlebred cross gelding with a trot that wouldn’t quit.  He gave Jackie a piece of gum (at a trot) and promised her it would help her win.  She cozied up to that cowboy immediately, and whenever he got out of sight, she would ask me where Jim went?  Sigh. I wasn’t surprised, he was like the damn Marlboro man come back to life—Big hat, wrinkles in all the right spots, leather chaps, big ol’ saddle, and a gorgeous horse.  Even at the tender age of 6-almost-7, my daughter, in the universal way of all females, still recognized a great cowboy icon when she saw one!

The horses were super pumped and doing great.  Taz and Nadrah both were 50-mile horses, so a twenty-five was cake and the weather was cool, so I really felt good about letting them run.   At one point a small group of us were at a full gallop over a field, heading into the last gate of the first loop.  Jackie was skylighted on a ridge, against the bluest sky, and it was just awesome, that feeling.  I felt so completely lucky to be able to share this with my daughter.  My hope is that it will be something that we have in common when she turns into a dreadful teenager.  My hope is that the language of horses will keep us talking, keep us going strong through those rough years, if they come.

Back at camp we rested, did our hold, and headed out again, minutes before Jim the Cowboy.  Jackie, bless her little 6-year old heart, wanted to wait for him, but I assured her he would catch up.  I fully expected it, too, knowing that horse and his ground-covering trot, and also knowing that under that good-natured, easy smile, Mr. Jim-The-Cowboy was just as competitive as I was.  But it wasn’t until we had descended into a valley and come out on the banks of a creek to let our horses drink that I suddenly heard voices coming out of the woods and towards us. 

And here came Jim.  Come on over here, he says, there’s a better place to water your horse, but my mare and Taz were both sucking up water where they were at, and I could hear more riders coming.  Yes, I am a competitive gal, and I was not going to lose our placing if I could help it.  And sure enough, here came Gary Richey, with his own evil grin, thinking he’d caught us up.  (Actually, I think it’s impossible for Gary to look evil.)

So as Jim nonchalantly turned away from the trail to the better water spot, I kicked my horse forward and ordered Jackie to do the same, which was against her wishes she loudly told me (she wanted to follow Jim), but off we went, as the rest of the group came down to water.  I knew we only had minutes to put the trail between us and the others, and as if reading my thoughts the trail opened up into a two-lane jeep trail, with perfect footing.  We let the horses gallop, and they whipped it up into overdrive, and I could feel the energy and the joy of running come right through my mare and into my body.  We must have galloped for a good half mile, and I kept turning my head back, to make sure my girl was okay and still with me, and all I saw was her huge smile and Taz with his eyes lit up and his ears pricked forward, just running for all he was worth, and I knew it would be okay, he never does anything bad when he runs, I‘ve run him enough times to know.

That half mile gallop stands out in my mind like gold, like a shining moment of perfection in my memory, that wild, untamed run back towards “home” on good horses, through a perfect mountain pine forest, a run of victory that put the trail firmly between us and the others and brought us back into camp in 6^th and 7^th place.  I was so proud of my daughter.  What fun!

Later when I saw Jim he smiled, still chewing that gum, and remarked on how he’d tried to catch up with us but he just couldn’t……I didn’t say anything, just smiled.  If he knew how hard we worked at it, he would’ve just laughed and laughed.  (Well anyway, Jim—now you know!).

As we were vetting through at a far-reached try for Best Condition, the wind had whipped up and it began to hail and rain.  Never did get to see how we did, but I’m sure it went to the adorable red-headed teenaged boy that had come in first (I think) on his Appy cow horse.  I saw him doing his trot out for BC, and they looked great.  How refreshing to see boys and men riding—it’s rare.  Meanwhile, the 50-milers were dragging back out onto the trail, miserable and hunched in the rain, and I was glad I’d pick the first day to do my fifty.  It’s difficult to ride in rain, and downright scary to ride in thunder, hail and lightening.  There were a lot of second day riders who had ridden the 50 with me the day before, and my hat was off to them. 

So, I finally did Happy Jack, and it was better than I ever thought it would be.  The best part was sharing the ride with my daughter, which I never imagined would take place so quickly.  Thanks, Bob and Mary Jo, for sharing your neck of the woods with us.

 --Michelle Smith, August, 2008