Endurance 101 Recommendation

/ Ashley Wingert / Leave a comment

Curious about endurance?  Aarene over at Haiku Farm is doing a series of posts introducing endurance riding and covering the elements of a ride, starting with this post.  She writes really entertaining posts that are also very informative.

It’s also been a good refresher course for me to go through and read these posts, preparing for the eventual day when life circumstances allow me to bring a new horse into this sport again.  When I got started in this sport, it wasn’t that I was completely unaware — I had been doing several years of NATRC at that point — but neither did I know everything that was expected, or even what constituted a “typical” endurance ride, since the only endurance ride I had been to at that point was Tevis.  Not normal.

So I asked a few questions, did some observing, and mostly did what the person in front of me was doing and hoped they were correct.  It wasn’t a complete train wreck, but that first ride was a real eye-opener, and I’m definitely glad I got the early learning curve out of the way on a seasoned, (mostly) forgiving pony.

There is so much that goes in to training a good endurance horse, and this refresher course has been a good reminder for me (not known for my patience) of why it is so important to take the time to put that base on them — not just conditioning, but training.  Some extra time taken in the beginning saves time in the long run, and hopefully results in less retraining issues later on down the road.

(Someone remind me of this post on that “eventual day” when I’m all overly gung-ho to get whatever new equine is in my life out on trail and get competing again.)

Endurance Up

/ Ashley Wingert / 4 Comments

“Cowboy up.”

In my case, cowgirl up.

It’s a common phrase, especially out here in the West, and it’s a succinct way of telling someone to shut up, stop whining, grow a pair, et cetera.  No crybabies allowed.  If you’re gonna run with the big dogs…

You get the idea.

I came into endurance already somewhat familiar with this concept.  Despite the fact that versatility is the hallmark of the POA, and the best way to describe what we did was “Everything,” there was a very strong Western influence to the shows, and the whole POA lifestyle.  Wimps and crybabies weren’t tolerated.  I was a very somewhat nervous fearful cautious rider as I was growing up (Who am I kidding?  I still am…) and as such, didn’t embrace activities such as jumping and gymkhana with quite the same reckless abandon as some of my fellow riding cohorts.

And yeah, I took the accompanying ridicule with (mostly) good humor.  After all, I was training a young horse.  I didn’t want Mimi to learn “gymkhana race brain” and end up being one of those ponies that had to be backed into the gaming arena because they were so hyped up.

“Tough” doesn’t have to equate to “stupid.”

Sometimes, being tough means making the hard decisions, the responsible decisions, and being the stronger person.  And it’s a damn good life skill to have out on the endurance trail.

On the surface, endurance looks like a sport of “only the toughest survive.”  And that’s true.  But what’s your definition of tough?  50 miles over rugged terrain?  100 miles over any terrain?  The rider that rides hard and fast enough to Top Ten?  Or the rider that is out for the full 12 hours of allowed time?  Surely the natural athlete that eats up the miles effortlessly is one tough horse?  But what about the plucky little horse who is all heart that gives their all because they love what they’re doing?

(Incidentally, that last one would be Mimi.)

It takes all kinds of tough.

Some riders can mile after mile, day after day, never appearing to show any kind of discomfort.  For others, they are aided by pharmaceutical means and support wraps.  But they are out there.

No doubt, endurance cultivates “tough.”  It takes not only physical strength, but mental fortitude to make it through an endurance ride.  There aren’t too many people out there that don’t hit a wall at some point during the ride, and you gotta suck it up and forge ahead.  It’s easy to get discouraged when the boring part of the trail seems to go on forever.  There may be a scary section of trail, but you gotta gather your courage, trust your horse, and just do it, because it’s the only way to go.

We (and Alaskan fishermen) keep the foul-weather gear companies in business.  Weather is seen as a poor excuse to sit out the day.  (After all the wet rides I’ve done, I beg to differ on this one.  Cold, wet rides just suck, says the desert rat.)

Like I said, endurance riders are tough.  But there’s another side to that as well…

“Tough” all depends on the given circumstances of any situation.  Listening to the campfire horror stories, one might get the impression that endurance is really a competition of “Who can be the most insane?” when riders start pulling out stories of various injuries they’ve ridden with/through.  Broken ribs, broken arms, concussions, kicked, stomped, battered, bruised.

I hear that and I think, “I’m a wimp.”

My first 50 I ever tried, I pulled halfway through because the saddle I was riding had tweaked and pulled my ankle into such an unnatural position that it ended up spraining it.  I couldn’t put any weight on it in the stirrup, and couldn’t go stirrup-less on the side because the loose stirrup flopping on the horse’s side kept spooking him.

I clung to the guilt of that ride for a long time.  I felt like a failure as an endurance rider…I should have been tougher.  I should have tried to finish.  All the other “real” endurance riders are going to look down on me because I wimped out over a sprained ankle.  If “x” can get through a ride with whatever-body-part-broken, I should have been able to disregard a measly ankle sprain.

That’s where “tough” can turn around and bite you.  What did I say earlier about “tough” doesn’t have to mean “stupid”?

Okay, I get it…we’re all out to prove how tough we are based on a collective lack of IQ?

Because if you sit back and really look at the big picture, who is that kind of tough actually helping?

Your ego, yes.

More campfire stories.

The local orthopedic surgeon knowing you on a first-name basis.

After that ride, I too got caught up in the “tough” competition.  The following weekend, I took Mimi to a NATRC ride, still sporting the sprained ankle.  Hey, it’s my own pony, I can ride her without stirrups if I need to.

You’re going to ride two days on a still-sprained ankle?  A NATRC ride, where you’re judged on horsemanship, including evenness?  What were you thinking?


Outside forces intervened, and Mimi had a weather-related tie-up only a few miles into the first day.

Did I learn my lesson?  Clearly not…

A month later, Mimi and I had an “incident” that involved a javalina, a sand wash, and a tree.  Lesson learned?  The pony fits under a low-hanging palo verde tree.  I don’t.  End result?  A mild concussion and sprained/bruised hand/wrist.

A week later, we were out in California at another NATRC ride.  I had a wrapped wrist and was pretty much limited to riding/mounting one-handed.  That worked well.  Mimi checked out of that ride back sore, a first for a saddle set-up that had otherwise been working for her for the past two years.

Lesson still didn’t stick, because when I sprained my other ankle stepping/falling out of the back of my horse trailer, my first thought was, “Ah, redemption!  I can make up for the other ankle incident.”

You may all collectively sigh and shake your heads.

Needless to say, that didn’t go well.  It’s one thing to try to work through an injury if it happens while out on trail, but to deliberately start a ride that way is just asking for trouble.  And trouble I got.  That weekend wasn’t one of my finer, since I was uncomfortable, and it made me short-tempered and susceptible to several emotional breakdowns.  We pulled at the first vet check.

Did I finally learn my lesson?  I’d have to say, “Yes.”

This past New Years, I was given a chance to join some friends at the Resolution Ride up in Scottsdale (ride story to eventually come).  It was a three-day ride, and the plan was to try to ride a couple of 25s, since the horse I was riding was young, and I hadn’t done a 50 in over a year.

The day before the ride, I started getting the suspicious sore throat that heralds one of the lovely 24-bug-that-morphs-into-a-cold things I tend to get.  I gobbled cough drops, tea, Airborne…anything to try to stave off the inevitable.

It didn’t work.

By that afternoon, I was sicker than a dog, and miserable.  None of this was made better by the fact a torrential storm had moved in and was dumping gallons of water from the sky.  Since I’m not exactly well-versed in the art of throwing up off the back of a horse, and would be riding a youngster that I’d never even sat on before, I made the decision to sit out the first day.  (Hey, she’s learning!)

I took it easy that first day, and woke up feeling pretty much normal by day two.  The bug had morphed into a head cold, but the worst of that was just a stuffy nose, only slightly worse than the year-round allergies I already live with.

Saddle up, I’m riding!

I had a great ride on a really fun horse that day, and was presented with the opportunity to go out on day three and do the 50.  And I passed.

Why?  Because I know myself.  I wasn’t in shape to do a 50, especially on the heels of already having ridden a day.  I could have done a 50 by itself and had I been sans flu/cold.  I knew my limits, and as much fun as it would have been…the girl finally learned her lesson.  It wouldn’t have been fair to the horse to tote my out-of-shape carcass (which is what I would have been after about 20 miles) around, it wouldn’t have been fair to my riding partner to make her slow down to accommodate me, and it wouldn’t have been fair to myself.

Which brings me to my point:  How does that kind of “tough” impact your horse?  If you’re injured, your body is naturally compensating to protect the injured area.  In the case of a sprained ankle, more weight is going to be put on the uninjured side.  Ditto the case with an arm or ribs.  Head injury?  At the very least, your mind is fuzzy, your balance is impaired, and you may not be making the best decisions.  (Kinda like drinking, only not as much fun.)

We’ve all proven how “tough” we are just by doing this crazy sport.  How does a little bit of self-preservation mitigate that?  I’m all for being “tough” (Who’s seen Annie Get Your Gun?  “Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better” comes to mind…) but it shouldn’t be at the cost to your horse.  That said…

Endurance UP!

Reader Feedback: I shared some of my dumber moments…so tell me I’m not alone!  Have you had your “tough” moments that you later regretted?

Wild One

/ Ashley Wingert / 1 Comment

Someone really needs to remind my pony that: 1) She’s 18 years old and 2) Despite the fact that she lives surrounded by them, she is not actually an Arabian.

Friday’s day-long dust storm ushered in an overnight rain storm, and with it, and significant drop in temperatures.  Last week it was still in the high 80s.  Saturday, it was in the 50s.  Overall, I’m a fair-weather desert rat…but this weather change feels SO good.  Storm clouds lingered on the higher peaks of the Mazatzal Mountains and Four Peaks, which lie to the northeast of the Valley, and once they cleared off, a light dusting of white powder could be seen from miles away.  (Yes, we do get snow in the desert.)

Today was slightly warmer — in the 60s.  Absolutely perfect fall weather.  Mimi felt really good with the cooler temperatures.  She’s a funny little thing in that she really doesn’t like the cold, especially if it’s also wet.  But this kind of weather, particularly in the middle of a sunny day, makes her very happy.

She was super-energetic for our ride today, and I know I’m going to have to bum a ride from someone in fairly short order and get her out again…she needs ten miles or so to wear her out!  She had some issues with the idea of “walk” today, even offering a jig several times.  A jig!  In the arena!

What happened to my show-trained arena pony???

She is fun to ride when she’s that energetic, though.  Very forward and surprisingly easy to ride.  And it warms my heart to see her have that much energy and forwardness even for something like arena work.

(Today was a picture fail day…I actually needed two hands on the reins.  But I’ll leave you with an amusing mental image of my “confused cowgirl” look I’m currently rocking: western-style shirt, blue jeans, cowboy boots…English-style endurance saddle, helmet, and western leather headstall and rope reins for today’s schooling session.  Is it any wonder endurance is a good fit for me?)

Play Day

/ Ashley Wingert / Leave a comment

Last week, the barn owner asked me if I would be able to help out on irrigation day (I was going to be in the neighborhood anyway) by opening up the last irrigation ditch port and keeping an eye on the last 20 or so minutes of irrigation.

So just for kicks, Mimi and I “monitored” the irrigation as it came in…by riding in it.  Picture an approximately 4 acre pasture, covered in up to a foot of water in some places.  Because it was so newly irrigated and there’s a mature (if sparse) covering of grass in the pasture, it hadn’t yet gotten muddy.  The ground was firm, Mimi’s bare hooves gave her plenty of grip…so we went out and played.

She waded pretty cautiously at first, testing the footing to see if it was solid.  When we ventured into the deeper section, she sniffed at the water, then started pawing at it.  A couple times, she felt like she was going to offer to roll, and that earned her a swift boot in the ribs.  Funny, because she’s never once tried to roll in any other water crossings we’ve done.  Y’know, ’cause water crossing opportunities are so prolific in the desert… ;)

Flooded-out pasture.  Cell phone with its not-ideal camera
was the only camera I had on me.

It was a good chance just to play.  No pressure, no work, and a chance to remind Mimi that the saddle doesn’t always mean doing boring circles.

Memory Exercise: A Ride Story, One Year Later

/ Ashley Wingert / 1 Comment

I should win an award.  “Longest Time Waiting For Ride Story” or something.  It’s been a year since I did the LD at McDowell Mountain Park with Beamer, and I’m just now sitting down to write about it.  Timely reporting fail.  It wasn’t that the ride was bad, either.  I just lacked the motivation at the time to sit down and write.  Then we sold the horse, and I really didn’t want to write.  I think I’m finally getting to the point where I feel like writing again.  Not okay with the horse being gone…will probably never be fully okay with that, because that means being okay with where my life is at right now, and that’s not happening.

So we’re going to put my memory to the test, and see how much of the ride I can remember.  Fortunately, I’ve got a lot of pictures.  So even if the story doesn’t turn out to be very entertaining…enjoy the photogenic horse.

History


Going to the ride was something of a last-minute whim.  Well, last minute as in “a month ahead of time.”  A month to get Beamer, who had never really been out on his own, and who had had most of the summer off, back in shape.  Mimi was down for the count with an abscess, Dad was down for the count with being crazy-busy with work…I was without a horse, Beamer was without a rider.  Do the math, and between the four of us, we had one functioning riding team.

He did really well in the month leading up to the ride out on his own.  Dad and I took turns taking him out by himself at the San Tans, and he really impressed me, enough to where I felt comfortable with the notion of taking him to a ride, where we’d at least have other horses around us, if not riding with us.  Also bolstering this confidence was the discovery that my saddle fit him.  My designed-for-flat-wide-backed-horses-with-no-withers Duett actually fit him.  The Skito Dryback pad provided sufficient padding to keep the saddle off his withers, and after switching between Dad’s saddle and mine, there was no determinable difference in his movement.  All the sweeter for me, since I really love my saddle.  (As an aside…to date, that saddle’s been on four different horses for rides, and fit all four of them.  Four varying conformations.  Color me impressed.)

Friday


Fast forward to the Friday of the ride.  He loaded into the trailer with nary a peep (this horse has awesome trailer manners) and dug into his hay bag.  Mimi, stuck in the barn, was furious, and sulked in the corner of her stall as we left.  I tried to bribe her with food, but that only went so far…

McDowell is about an hour away from the barn, and an easy drive.  We got there early afternoon, and as soon as I opened up the trailer, Beamer looked around, gave the horsey equivalent of a shoulder shrug, and hopped out of the trailer.  I’m sure it really helped that he’d done two previous rides there — another reason I felt this would be a good ride for us.  This may have bitten us in the butt at some point…but more on that later.

We wandered around camp for a few minutes, him on a loose lead, taking in the sights.  Then it was back to the trailer, and he got installed on Mimi’s side of the trailer — and her HiTie.  He’d been on the HiTie approximately once before, and that was only after he had gone 25 miles.  Didn’t phase him at all, although he didn’t entirely catch on to the “I can turn myself around in a circle” concept.  He did like the “more moving space” concept.

If I didn’t know for a fact this was Beamer (and the blue
bucket to prove it), I would swear it was The Pony.

He’s a really good camper, and we ended up with horses next to us and horses behind us, so he was surrounded by a safe, horsey companion bubble.

Vet-In.  Dr. Rick knows me…and he knows Beamer.  Just not
together.  Had a couple moments of amused confusion.

We went over and vetted in, pausing along the way to explain to several people that “No, my pony didn’t grow; No, I didn’t technically get a new horse; Yes, that horse is familiar because it’s actually my father’s horse.”  Vetting went off without a hitch, and I have to pause for a moment to admire Beamer’s trot.  Even his lazy trot (which he did for that vet-in) is nicer than Mimi’s best trot. Arab versus non-Arab, I guess.  (And younger and sound versus older and fused hocks.)  He also vetted in barefoot, which was awesome.  Beautiful decomposed granite that makes up the parking lot means great footing for trot-outs.

My biggest challenge was going to be pre-riding on Friday.  It’s a necessity with Beamer.  He needs that time to blow off some steam, even if it’s just a couple of miles.  He’s usually higher than a kite, and feels like riding a powder-keg, per my father.  If we could get through this –alone — than we’d probably stand a chance of managing the ride just fine.  We just had to survive Friday afternoon.

I’ll admit — I had more than a few nerves going on at this point.  Beamer is a lot bigger than I’m used to (five inches, to be exact) and a very powerful horse.  He’d tossed me off on a couple of occasions very shortly after we got him, and I’ve been a bit wary of him ever since.  So we started off hand-walking down the service road the 25s would the starting on the next morning.  The other necessity for me with Beamer is a mounting block of sorts.  I don’t flat-mount 15hh horses.  About a hundred yards or so down the trail, I spotted some nice sturdy rocks just off the trail and used them to slither on.

Beamer was definitely up, and we tiptoed our way down the trail.  He gave me a couple head shakes on one of the downhills, suggesting how very much he would like to trot…and subsequently buck.  I declined.  We walked.  We probably went out another mile or so, then turned around.  Heading home, I allowed him some very brief controlled trotting moments.  He reminds me of a pressure cooker: You have to bleed the steam off slowly, in a controlled manner.  If you let it all out at once, your lid is going to explode and hit the ceiling.

Once we got back to camp, we stood around talking to a few people around the check-in/vet-in area, and he was great.  Standing there all relaxed and curious about what was happening.  He drank some at the trough, then we meandered back to the trailer.  He got dinner, and I got a ride briefing.

He was a great camper overnight…I never even heard him out there.  I did have to remember to talk to him when I’d open up the door, otherwise the sudden opening of the dressing room door would tend to startle him.

The Ride


Specifics escape me, but I want to say we had a fairly early start…6:30, maybe?  I was up super-early to allow myself plenty of time to eat, put Beamer’s Renegades on, mess with saddlepacks, and the whole “new and different horse” thing.  Fortunately, the vet check between Loop One (15 miles) and Loop Two (10 miles) was back in camp, so I didn’t have to pack the crew box or worry about getting food together.

Got my coffee and gave Beamer his breakfast, then set to work nibbling on something for myself.  I have to eat on ride mornings — years of show training instilled an almost instinctive ability to eat, despite nerves and busy-ness — but I can’t eat quickly.  In between bites of hard-boiled egg and peanut butter toast, I slipped Beamer’s boots on.  This horse was made for Renegades.  They go on so easy and fit his feet perfectly.  They were the one thing I wasn’t worried about at all, since I’ve been with Dad and Beamer for every one of their miles and seen their track record with these boots.

(He’s had two boots come off in a period of five years.  Earlier on, we had trouble with Beamer wearing out the Velcro straps very quickly, especially in the highs.  He’d drag his toes and roll the Velcro.  Shortening his toes ended that problem.)


Dad came up to crew for us, since home was only about half an hour away.  His help was appreciated, and most important, his moral support.  He knows the horse much better than I do, too, so he’d be able to give me feedback at the vetcheck of how Beamer looked.  (One of Beamer’s nicknames, given in one of my not-so-charitable moments, is “Sandbagger.”  He can be the biggest lazy-a** of a horse sometimes, and doesn’t necessarily love haaaaaard work.)  Dad knows the difference between “Sandbag Beamer” and “Tired Beamer.”

Dad was also responsible for getting a ton of pictures of us, since I wasn’t brave enough to bring my camera along.  I was planning on two hands on the reins at all times, never mind taking pictures.

Last-minute tack adjustments.  Yes, we are disgustingly
color-coordinated.  Did I mention it was a Halloween ride?
I wasn’t even going for the Halloween effect — it was the
Renegade Sport Orange subliminal color advertising at work.
If the color didn’t work, my Renegade t-shirt did.

Beamer is almost disgustingly calm on the ground.  Really, he has fabulous ground manners.  Please note the “no hands on the lead” display.  One of these days, I’m going to run across a horse that actually requires me to pay attention on the ground…

I did my last-minute tack fidgets, gave Beamer his accustomed couple circles of lunging, took a deep breath, and scrambled on.  It was still plenty early, and I had timed things just right to give me my accustomed 15 minutes of warm-up.  We walked up to the start and walked circles.  Most amusingly, the only behavioral indiscretion on Beamer’s part came when we’d turn and start walking away from the start.  He threatened to hop up and down a couple times, and then settled as soon as we faced the starting area again.

Up, but keeping it together.  The tail is only at half-mast,
which is a good sign.  The grin isn’t faked, either.



Okay, this is good.  He wants to go.

We started off pretty much in the middle of the pack, which is how Beamer prefers it.  The warm-up time allowed us to go right along at a trot.  He really held it together, despite the horse with the grass hula skirt that was right on his tail.  I could tell it was concerning him, so I let them pass, and he relaxed.

We hit a sand wash almost immediately, and I was able to let him move out at a nice trot.  I got a few head-shakes out of him when I’d check him, but again…keeping it together.

Alerting on the hula skirt behind us.

The wash was only a short stretch, and then we connected up to the Scenic Trail that runs along a ridgeline with a fabulous view of the Verde River in the distance.  Halfway up the hill, I experienced one of Beamer’s acrobatic feats.  Tired of me checking him, wondering why the horses ahead of him all disappeared around the corner, and concerned about the horses in the wash below us, he let out an impressive buck.  While trotting.  On a rocky singletrack.  Uphill.

This horse is an athletic freak.

I checked him, let out some colorful language, and we kept moving forward.  Made some pretty good time along the ridgeline, and he didn’t spook at the bench that Mimi always spooks at.  It’s really a pretty trail, and I love the 360* views.  When I’ve done the ride in the past, the 50s didn’t do this section of trail until the afternoon, and by then it was hot, and not nearly as much fun.

Down on the other side of the mountain, there was a water stop at the road, and the ride photographer stationed nearby.

Photographer Dean Stanton got a great series of pics.  B
was alert, a little wary, but the end result was beautiful!

 He wasn’t much interested in water, but given that it was only five or so miles into the ride, I wasn’t surprised.

Stopped for the road crossing.  He didn’t want to stop.

There were sufficient horses around us that he was plenty motivated to keep going, and wanted to do more than trot.  Given we had only gone about five miles, and given that he had already displayed some vertical hind-end enthusiasm, I elected for a trot.  He’s got a big trot when he’s motivated.

This section of the park is probably my least favorite, especially as you approach the northwestern-most corner.  The trail has a lot of blind curves and is quite brushy in some places.  B has never been fond of it either, but we made it through unscathed, with only one bike popping up behind us and startling B.

There was another water stop at the far end of this loop.  I actually hopped off here to adjust my pad (general endurance cut, no billet straps, so it tends to wiggle about under my saddle) and sloshed a bit of water on B’s neck.  He did not appreciate the gesture, even though he was fuzzy (I had clipped his neck earlier in the week, and braided his mane that morning) and getting sweaty.  He also didn’t drink.  Again, we’d only come 10 miles or so, but he usually drinks by this point.  Internalized nerves were probably interfering to some degree.

The benefit of riding a horse you enough is younger, tougher, and has more natural athleticism than your own horse?  You only lose a couple of minutes worrying about them before taking the tough love, “they’ll learn not to ignore water when it’s offered” tactic.  Me being me, though…I still worried a bit.  But I didn’t waste time trying to bribe him.  Found a suitable dirt pile and scrambled back on.  (13.3hh is sounding better all the time.)

A little ways past the water stop, one of my rear boot bags started flopping around, and I did my best to jerry-rig it in place without getting off the horse.  Also, with only using one hand, since I didn’t trust him enough to let go of both reins.  It sorta stayed in place…until we started trotting again.  Yanked it off and clipped it to the front of my saddle, where I could hold it in place.

Shortly beyond this point, we got off the nice single-track and into a wash.  A rather deep wash that’s really shrubby on both sides.  Beamer got very up and this point, so I hopped off to walk him, lest someone come up behind us and send him launching.  This was my major tactical mistake of the ride.  I got off to walk…and couldn’t get back on.  There wasn’t a good, safe place to mount, and whenever I’d go to get on, Beamer would sidle away.  So we walked.

Did I mention this wash was about two miles long?  I hand-walked all. of. it.  Unfortunately, this really cost us some serious time.  Finally got out of the wash and to the water stop.  Beamer drank, I sponged him, and tied my boot bag back in place.  And re-adjusted my saddle pad.  Again.

I was hot, sweaty, and a little bit peeved at this point, and a bit annoyed that there wasn’t a suitable place to get on.  (Ya think you should learn to flat-mount a tall horse, O’ Out-of-Shape One?)

So I ended up hand-walking out of the water stop.  Note to self: When someone offers to give you a hand, take them up on it.  Tried getting on a couple more times past the stop, and B wasn’t having it.  He was liking this whole “rider walks” gig.

Low point…leading out because I can’t figure out how to get
back on my horse.

I finally found a large pile of rocks that were used to surround one of the trail signs.  As Beamer sidled away one more time, the end of my reins might have connected with his shoulder, and I might have called him some very colorful names…but it made my point.  I was done with his games.

Funny enough, he stepped right up to the rocks after that.  Epic mounting fail on my part was what followed next.  I knew it was a bad spot to get on, but there was literally nothing else to use.  So as I hopped up and swung my leg, my foot hit the metal sign.

Kudos to Beamer…he really held it together.  That would have been enough to incite a bucking fit, but all he did was surge forward, with his butt tucked in concern and head up.  Fortunately I had my reins.  Only one stirrup, though.  So he redeemed himself, although I considered spooking him my revenge for the endless walking.

Now it was a mission to make up time.  We got trotting, and then cantering.  He’s got a great canter.  The textbook, rocking-horse kind of canter.  It’s not super-speedy, but we clip along, and it’s really surefooted.  Best part was the trail was a gentle downhill grade, and he felt perfectly balanced and comfortable.  (Can’t safely canter downhill on an already-downhill-built pony.)

Time was of the essence now…which is of course why he decided the water trough at the next road crossing looked delicious.  Guess he figured out that “use it or lose it” thing…

The way back into camp was The Wash that McDowell is infamous for — two miles of fairly deep sand.  Having done this ride twice, Beamer knows this wash.  He was a trooper heading down it, though — probably helped that we were heading for “home.”

Sorta dragging in at the end of Loop One.  Grin is for the
camera, since I was more grim at this point.

We trotted most of the back in, and I hopped off just outside of camp.  Dad was waiting for us, a bit concerned because we were pretty near the tail-end of the pack.

 By the time we walked in, I loosened my girth, let him drink, and removed his S-hack, B was down.  Wow, that horse pulses in fast.  (It was probably less than two minutes.)

He vetted in great…I want to say all As.

He doesn’t even look tired.  I, OTOH, look wilted.

We had an hour hold, during which time I managed to sit down for probably ten whole minutes.  (Tevis practice.)  I stripped tack for whatever reason, which is the first time I can recall ever doing so.  I suspect it had something to do with the heat, and the fact we were back at the  trailer, so could dump it on a saddle tack.  I think I wanted to pull the saddle pad out and reset the whole thing in an effort to keep the pad from wiggling so much.

In that hour, I managed to: untack, feed the horse, eat, pull off the annoying boot bags, check the GPS (alarmingly, the “15” mile loop was clocking in at 18), take a potty break, shed my long-sleeve t-shirt, re-tack, and be in the saddle again five minutes before my out-time.

A little effort, B?  Both of my feet are off the ground.

I was racing the clock now, and had determined that the next loop was probably somewhere between 8-10 miles.  I had an hour and half to finish.  I wasn’t sure I could make it…but I was going to try.

B got another drink at the trough, and then we walked around as we waited for the “go” from the out-timer.

I was racing the clock now, and had determined that the next loop was probably somewhere between 8-10 miles.  I had an hour and half to finish.  I wasn’t sure I could make it…but I was going to try.

Waiting to head out on Loop Two.

B got another drink at the trough, and then we walked around as we waited for the “go” from the out-timer.  I wanted to make sure he was plenty warmed-up so we could hit the ground running…okay, trotting.  I was determined to make every second of the second loop count.

The impressive trot lasted until we hit the sand wash again (all of about ten seconds…) and then it was back to peddle-peddle-peddle for the next two miles.  I’d get a bit of a peddle-trot out of him, then we’d slouch to a walk again.  Peddle-trot-slouch-walk.  There were two riders behind me, and we leapfrogged up the wash this way.  None of our horses were particularly motivated or wanted to lead, so the old “go ahead, follow the one in front of you” standby wasn’t working so well.  Once we hit the single-track again, he picked up.  (Why does this surprise me…it happened this way the other two times.)

Of course we had to stop at the water trough at the road crossing again.  After that, we did got a good clip going.  Until we hit the next wash.  B slowed down, but I wheedled, peddled, coaxed, cajoled, and encouraged him up the wash at a respectable trot.  Motivation was trying to stay ahead of the two ladies behind us.  He did really good, and got a lot of “atta boy” praises along the way.

Once we hit single-track, he picked it up again, and we really upped the speed with some nice stretches of cantering.  There was enough up and down on the trail that it really broke things up…good for the rest, but harder to keep up a good average pace.

The trail eventually looped back around to the same water stop from earlier in the day…and this time, I stayed mounted.  (She eventually catches on, that one…)  He drank, then we boogied.

I love this picture.  :)  Heading home for the final stretch.

We were both familiar with this stretch right after the water, and we flew.  I was so impressed with B…he was cantering along on a loose rein, cheerfully watching the trail.  At one point, we had an impressive skid moment…he hit a slick batch of decomposed granite and both hind feet skidded forward…and he never missed a beat.  Still kept right on cantering.  See above re: Athletic Freak.

We were clipping right along…came to the road crossing again, he drank (again), and then we hit the wash.  And B hit the wall.  Didn’t matter how much I begged, pleaded, peddled, cajoled, prodded, whatnot…he wasn’t gonna go.  Nope, not down that wash again.  He’d cheerfully walk out, but he wasn’t going to trot again.  Well, we had about a mile and half to go…and five minutes to make it.  Well, that wasn’t going to happen.

I was bummed, but resigned.  He’d done his best, and really, done more than I expected: 25 miles, all by himself.  I’m guessing he was just mentally done at this point and tired of being on his own.  We ended up coming in about 20 minutes overtime.  *sigh*  I’d called Dad from down in the wash to let him know.

Just as a courtesy, we pulsed down (B was something in the low 40’s, so he wasn’t physically tired, just mentally a bit done-in for the day.  He still looked really perky and was starving back at the trailer.) and did an exit check and turned in my vet card.

We took B back to the trailer and cleaned him up and let him rest while we packed up the trailer.  (Ooo, forgot how nice finishing while it’s still early afternoon can be.)

So I was really tickled with B, even if we didn’t officially complete.  But wait…there’s an epilogue to this story…

Aftermath

Remember when I said I GPS’d the first loop at 18 miles?  Well, when I pulled my boot bags off at lunch, I forgot to pull out my GPS to record the second loop.  A couple days post-ride, I get an e-mail from the trail master of the ride, wondering if I had a GPS track of the LD.  No, not the whole thing…but I have the first loop.  Okay, she says.  We believe there were some mileage discrepancies, and I’m going to go out to the park today and ride the LD trail myself.

A couple days later, I hear from her and the ride manager: the 25 actually GPS’d closer to 29 miles, therefore the mileage was being increased to a 30…and the completion time extended by an hour and fifteen minutes.  Which means we actually got our finish.  Yeah!!!

We ended up coming in 33rd out of 38, with a ride time of 5:32.

October 2011


I can’t believe how much of that I remembered.  It was clearly a good ride for me to recall so much.  I really had fun, and was pleased as punch with how Beamer did.