It was November, 1971. The tiny black Morab filly with a white blaze stood dejectedly in the pasture and stole the heart of a fifteen-year-old girl. At six months and just weaned, the barn manager said she`s just a whisper of a thing, so Whisper became her name. Dr. Alatis and his family of Vienna, Virginia owned Whisper. Dr. Alatis owned a Morgan stallion named Little David (or King David?) and an Arabian mare. Not content to live in separate fields, the mare joined the stallion for a secret tryst. On May 12, 1971, the "secret" was born and Dr. Alatis named the filly David`s Bethsheba, after the biblical story of David and Bethsheba. Somehow, to me, the name didn`t fit; the mare should have been Bethsheba, not the baby. So I stuck with the name Whisper. Working cleaning stalls and flipping burgers, I was able to save the $275 it took to buy her. Whisper shared a 20-acre pasture with a dozen other horses until she became ill with a respiratory infection. There were no stall available, so the stable owner boarded off the end of the barn aisle, put in a gate, and viola!, a baby stall! Throughout her illness, she was a great patient but when she was better, she let the whole barn know by standing in the back corner of her "stall" and jumping out over the front wall! She`s hated stalls ever since and from then on always made her wants very clear to her human companions.
Whisper was a teenage girl`s dream come true. Living out the romance of owning a horse, she was my constant companion. After school, I`d lead her everywhere…to the local store, on the trails, to the swimming hole, back to my suburban tract house about 2 miles from the barn. One of the traits of a Morab is their love and trust of their owners. There wasn`t a place that I took her that she wouldn`t follow willingly. Often the lead rope was just tossed over her neck and she followed, stopping only to eat grass. (Another Morab trait…never starve yourself!) Not only was she a young filly fulfilling my own My Friend Flicka dream, she was going to be gray on top of it all! Don`t know what it is about young girls and gray horses but I think it`s the dream of a beautiful gray, flying over jumps and galloping across the field that puts stars in a girl`s eyes. She was every shade of gray…blue roan, steel gray, dappled gray with a black mane and tail, and finally, flea-bitten with a dazzling pearl white mane and tail. As I look back now, that poor horse had to suffer every idea of "proper care" that a fifteen-year old could inflict. Legs were wrapped, bell boots on, blankets, sheets, baths, braiding, mane pulling, primping, spraying and shining, all patiently tolerated. She was shown "in-hand" in grooming and conditioning and color classes at local shows as a yearling. We were all showing pony hunters at the time, so of course, that would be her "career".
The hunter circuit of the 70`s followed many Thoroughbred track traditions for training. Horses were "backed" at 18 months, ridden at 2 and started showing under saddle soon thereafter and Whisper was no exception. Another Morab trait is intelligence and ability to learn. Having watched other horses ridden and being ponied by them, when I bitted and saddled her she said, "OK". When I backed her, she stood and said "OK". In fact, she wouldn`t move at all! So much for the bucking bronco theory! Throughout her training, she never said no. As a two-year-old, with just two weeks of riding, she won her first pony hunter under saddle class. I have to admit I was quite the little pony hunter snob! We had the Crosby Prix des Nations jumping saddle, the rolled English bridle, the Pytchley riding coat, leather boots, proper pads, leather splint boots and bell boots. I bought everything except the coat out of my after school earnings. The coat was a gift from my mom, who was terrified of horses, puzzled by her horse-crazy daughter, and who I`m sure said many rosaries and prayers for my protection! Whisper tolerated it all but down inside, this just wasn`t her thing.
Fortunately, her size (or lack of it) changed her career path. She matured at 13.3 hands and I was rapidly approaching 18 years old. After 18, I was no longer eligible to show pony hunter. Give up Whisper or give up the potential of the hunter circuit? Easy choice, good-bye show ring!
I`d heard about this sport called Competitive Trail Riding from a friend, Heather Horn. Heather and I went to the very first Old Dominion Endurance ride in Leesburg, VA. to help out with the ride. No one warned us that it only takes once to become an addict!! We began riding trails and at the age of three (almost 4), Whisper was Grand Champion at the Doncaster 20-mile judged pleasure ride. When she was four, she completed the Doncaster 40-mile CTR. On both rides, she was a nut case...just not in front of the judges, smart girl! She wanted to go! Forget this 5 or 7 mph pace, she made it clear that endurance was her sport of choice!
We did a few more CTRs, then took a break while I went to college at Penn State. There, Whisper became a mom, producing a beautiful blood bay colt (geez, another romance!) by a Polish Arabian stallion named Valentez. Jesse was a ham, with his mother`s personality and sense of humor and his father`s stature and handsome looks. Unfortunately, an illness took him from us as a late two-year old and he died on Christmas Eve…a gift to Baby Jesus, I always said!
College was over and I started my "real job" with a medical research firm in Virginia (and later cancer research and pharmaceuticals). Whisper was now grossly overweight (like I said, they`ll never starve themselves!) and out of condition. I attended every available seminar on endurance and conditioning, worked on rides, and slowly brought her back into shape. In the summer of 1980, we did our first 50-mile endurance ride, finishing strongly and in 11th place on the Old Dominion 50. She was a firecracker, never wanting to stop, pulling as hard at the end as she was at the start. It was there that we discovered another "gear" at the trot! Never before had she done this, but her Morgan blood kicked in and there was this incredible Roadster trot! Her tiny feet barely touch the ground and she pushed off her hindquarters with amazing strength. It was like riding a sonnet. Perfect cadence, perfect balance, absolutely airy and smooth! We were passing seasoned horses with riders` jaws dropping as we flew by at a trot to their canter. One man looked at her and said what she was doing was impossible, the length of stride was too big for her little size. I just smiled and waved as we went on down the trail.
Now 50`s were fine, but we were ready to try a hundred. The Old Dominion Hundred to be exact. It was the first year the ride was held in Front Royal, Virginia. We were told it was tough and we prepared for it carefully. Being Miss Independent that I was, I chose to ride Cavalry, without a crew. Being young and foolish and having an iron butt, I also rode it in jeans and the Crosby Prix des Nations. It was breathtakingly beautiful with mist rising from the fields as we trotted along the dirt lanes in the silent coolness of the morning. Crossing the Shenandoah at McCoy`s Ford was a delight. The water was bathtub warm and up to Whisper`s shoulder. I carried little baggies of grain and tubes of electrolytes for Whisper, Gatorade, trail mix, and a sandwich for myself. Things were great for about the first 60 miles, then, for the first time in her life, Whisper said, "whoa, what`s going on here. I don`t think I like this anymore!" We were alone for about 15 miles and Whisper "hit the wall" mentally. We caught up with Rick Hill just before a vet check, which perked Whisper up, and we rode the rest of the way together. Now, Rick was a local resident and rode the trails often. Good thing, because I was never so grateful to have a big white Arab butt in front of me as I was that night in the pitch dark over Sherman`s Gap! Rick was wonderful and at each vet check when I wanted to pull, he`d encourage me. The vets looked at Whisper, declared her in great shape and kicked me out of each one, threatening to close the next check if we didn`t move along. For those of you who have ridded the OD and wonder about the cut-off times at the holds, you have Rick and I to blame for them; we set the slow pace! We crossed McCoy`s in the moonlight and Whisper said, "Hey, I know where we are and home and food is over that way!" We flew that last 12.5 miles! Just before the last climb, there was a wide creek. I got off in the water to cool Whisper down and planned to tail up the climb. I hopped back on until we got to the hill and found out that getting wet was a big mistake! My legs were numb and I couldn`t get off the horse. My sweet little pony carried my dead weight up that mountain like a trooper. We finished in 23.5 hours. I slid off and got the saddle and bridle off. By then my legs hurt so bad, I could hardly move, my hands were shaking and numb. I went into the tent to get my wet jeans off. Forty-five minutes later, I was still trying to get them off. Matthew Mackay-Smith came to my tent and told me I only had 15 minutes left to present Whisper for final vetting. He saw my plight and offered to trot her out for me. I looked at him tearfully and said "You can`t, I`m riding Cavalry!" He was very sweet as he gently explained to me that I was not in contention for the award since some other riders top-tenned and could he please help me and trot Whisper out for me. We walked over arm in arm in the early dawn and I watched as my little Morab with a big heart trotted soundly and passed the final vetting.
We continued in endurance for a few more years and finished every ride we started. Then my life took another path and I stopped competing for a time. Whisper remained my riding companion and produced a filly, again by an Arabian stallion, Jazz Singer. Jazz at Dawn was sold as a three-year old to a woman in New England. Whisper taught all my nieces to ride, plus a few neighbor kids. The highlight of her teaching career was teaching a young girl who was blind. Krissy was diagnosed with retinoblastoma, a rare form of eye cancer, at age three and within a year, lost both eyes to the disease. She would come out with my friend Cathy and "see" Whisper with her hands. Whisper sensed that Krissy was a special child and never did anything to frighten her. In one lesson, Cathy was leading Whisper and looking ahead when Whisper slowed and stopped. Kathy looked back and Krissy had slipped sideways in the saddle and was halfway to the ground. Whisper knew her little friend was in trouble, stopped, and patiently waited for help. No spooking, no mis-step, just plain old Morab common sense.
Through all the good and bad times of my life, Whisper has been there, moving with me on the east coast and finally here, to California. Though she`s always been a feisty and opinionated mare, she`s always given 150%. At age 27, she foundered severely and I thought it was going to be the end. She fought back bravely and after almost three months of barely being able to stand, she turned around and pulled out of it. Last year, at the Norco Endurance rides, we held a five-mile retired partner`s honor ride. She was back in her element and took off with me for the entire 5 miles! She was 28 and her feet had completely recovered.
Now, at age 29, with Cushings, she`s beginning to slow a bit. We still go out on little trail rides and except for a bit of arthritis in her right front, she`s sound. In the last few months, it`s been harder to keep weight on her and she`s eating wet Senior feed as a necessary part of her ration for the first time. I know the time will come for us to say good-bye and I pray that when the time comes, it will be peaceful, with her head on my shoulder, looking out to the trails she loves so much. After that, I will fly back to Virginia with her ashes and we`ll climb Sherman`s Gap together again. She`ll stay there, welcoming every horse from the Old Dominion at the top of the climb.
Only once in a lifetime is someone lucky enough to have a perfect relationship. Mine started at age 15 with a tiny black Morab filly with a white blaze.
Tuesday, September 05, 2000
Wednesday, July 12, 2000
WHY DOES MY HORSE NEED ELECTROLYTES - Michael Foss, DVM
The muscular activity of a ride produces heat and heat needs to be dissipated for the horse to continue down the trail. The main way for a horse to get rid of this heat is to sweat. Sweating is done by "sweat glands" which secrete water and electrolytes. An analysis of equine sweat shows that it contains sodium, potassium, chloride, calcium and magnesium. An important point is that these electrolytes are actually concentrated in sweat, compared to blood. So as a horse sweats, it is losing more electrolyte than it is water. It is easy for a horse to actually loose pound of electrolytes during a ride!
Where do electrolytes come from? The horse normally has a small constant supply from the plants it eats. These salts are absorbed from the small intestine, go into the blood where they are distributed to the various body cells. The functions of the electrolytes are numerous and complex. Let`s just say they keep you alive. Deficiencies of electrolytes are summarized as follows:
# 1. Low Sodium causes decreased blood volume which you see as dehydration.
# 2. Low Chloride results in "alkalosis" or a change in blood pH which causes poor gut function or colic.
# 3. Low Potassium presents mainly as weak muscles.
# 4. Low Calcium appears as weak muscles and "Thumps."
Combinations of these deficiencies contribute to tying up and exhausted horse syndrome. In milder forms all you may experience is decreased performance.
So why does my horse need electrolytes? When God designed the horse the horse only needed to run long enough to escape a hungry predator. These short bursts of speed would produce minimal sweat, and the electrolytes were readily replaced by natural feeds before the next "escape" was needed. When we ask the horse to travel for 25 to 100 miles at once, we are certainly exceeding "design capacity." The further and faster we go, the more we exceed this natural capacity.
Common sense suggests to us that if you are using something (electrolytes) at an unnaturally high rate, then you should supplement it to prevent problems. Here is the "art" of electrolyte supplementation. Many factors contribute to sweat production. The most significant ones are temperature, humidity, speed of the horse, distance, amount of climb and conditioning. Other factors will be diet, footing of the trail and your mental attitude. It is not possible to accurately measure how much your horse is sweating, nor can we predict the specific weather conditions and work load along the trail. In addition, each horse is an individual and some horses need more electrolytes than others.
How will you know if the electrolytes are working? From a veterinary point we can take blood from your horse at the end of a ride and measure the blood level of electrolytes. As a rider you need to look for changes in your horse`s performance. When did the horse start drinking? (Should be before the 25 mile point.) How did the horse feel? More energetic? Better pulse recoveries? Better appetite?
How do you put all this information together? First, there is no magic formula to fit all horses, but there is a "concept" to use. Electrolyte usage should be a planned project and should begin before the ride starts. Remember, you are preventing problems, not treating problems.
Administration of electrolytes has a maximal effect 6 to 10 hours after you give them. So what you want to do is give a "loading dose" the night before the ride. The next morning give a dose before the ride starts and then a dose every vet check. One last dose after the ride helps the horse recover more quickly. It is important to give the electrolytes at the end of the vet check so you do not disturb its eating and drinking pattern. When you electrolyte on the trail do so after the horse has drunk.
The dose to give is going to vary tremendously. If it is a slow cool ride, you will give very little. If you hit a hot humid day, you should give lots! (And slow down too!!!!) As a starting point at a hot day ride use 2 ounces of electrolytes for a dose. For example, a 50 miler might do the following:
8 p.m. Friday night, 2 oz.;
4:30 a.m. Sat., 2 oz.;
vet check 1, 2 oz;
vet check 2, 2 oz;
vet check 3, 2 oz;
finish, 2 oz.
Experience will teach you how to adjust dosage from here. If it is cooler, you would keep the same frequency, just give a smaller dose. If it is really hot and humid, you might give a bigger dose. The 1999 World Championship Endurance Ride gave a good example of electrolyte usage. Some of the front running horses were getting 6 ounces of electrolytes at each vet check!
What kind of electrolytes should you use? There are many products out there. Most are not appropriate for endurance use. If they contain "Bicarbonate," they are contraindicated. If they contain more than 50% sugar, they are not formulated for endurance use. My personal choices are Enduralyte, Enduramax, and Perform N Win.
One final note: A dose of electrolytes the night before (or 8 hours before) a long warm trail ride is also beneficial.
Happy Trails.
Where do electrolytes come from? The horse normally has a small constant supply from the plants it eats. These salts are absorbed from the small intestine, go into the blood where they are distributed to the various body cells. The functions of the electrolytes are numerous and complex. Let`s just say they keep you alive. Deficiencies of electrolytes are summarized as follows:
# 1. Low Sodium causes decreased blood volume which you see as dehydration.
# 2. Low Chloride results in "alkalosis" or a change in blood pH which causes poor gut function or colic.
# 3. Low Potassium presents mainly as weak muscles.
# 4. Low Calcium appears as weak muscles and "Thumps."
Combinations of these deficiencies contribute to tying up and exhausted horse syndrome. In milder forms all you may experience is decreased performance.
So why does my horse need electrolytes? When God designed the horse the horse only needed to run long enough to escape a hungry predator. These short bursts of speed would produce minimal sweat, and the electrolytes were readily replaced by natural feeds before the next "escape" was needed. When we ask the horse to travel for 25 to 100 miles at once, we are certainly exceeding "design capacity." The further and faster we go, the more we exceed this natural capacity.
Common sense suggests to us that if you are using something (electrolytes) at an unnaturally high rate, then you should supplement it to prevent problems. Here is the "art" of electrolyte supplementation. Many factors contribute to sweat production. The most significant ones are temperature, humidity, speed of the horse, distance, amount of climb and conditioning. Other factors will be diet, footing of the trail and your mental attitude. It is not possible to accurately measure how much your horse is sweating, nor can we predict the specific weather conditions and work load along the trail. In addition, each horse is an individual and some horses need more electrolytes than others.
How will you know if the electrolytes are working? From a veterinary point we can take blood from your horse at the end of a ride and measure the blood level of electrolytes. As a rider you need to look for changes in your horse`s performance. When did the horse start drinking? (Should be before the 25 mile point.) How did the horse feel? More energetic? Better pulse recoveries? Better appetite?
How do you put all this information together? First, there is no magic formula to fit all horses, but there is a "concept" to use. Electrolyte usage should be a planned project and should begin before the ride starts. Remember, you are preventing problems, not treating problems.
Administration of electrolytes has a maximal effect 6 to 10 hours after you give them. So what you want to do is give a "loading dose" the night before the ride. The next morning give a dose before the ride starts and then a dose every vet check. One last dose after the ride helps the horse recover more quickly. It is important to give the electrolytes at the end of the vet check so you do not disturb its eating and drinking pattern. When you electrolyte on the trail do so after the horse has drunk.
The dose to give is going to vary tremendously. If it is a slow cool ride, you will give very little. If you hit a hot humid day, you should give lots! (And slow down too!!!!) As a starting point at a hot day ride use 2 ounces of electrolytes for a dose. For example, a 50 miler might do the following:
8 p.m. Friday night, 2 oz.;
4:30 a.m. Sat., 2 oz.;
vet check 1, 2 oz;
vet check 2, 2 oz;
vet check 3, 2 oz;
finish, 2 oz.
Experience will teach you how to adjust dosage from here. If it is cooler, you would keep the same frequency, just give a smaller dose. If it is really hot and humid, you might give a bigger dose. The 1999 World Championship Endurance Ride gave a good example of electrolyte usage. Some of the front running horses were getting 6 ounces of electrolytes at each vet check!
What kind of electrolytes should you use? There are many products out there. Most are not appropriate for endurance use. If they contain "Bicarbonate," they are contraindicated. If they contain more than 50% sugar, they are not formulated for endurance use. My personal choices are Enduralyte, Enduramax, and Perform N Win.
One final note: A dose of electrolytes the night before (or 8 hours before) a long warm trail ride is also beneficial.
Happy Trails.
Tuesday, May 23, 2000
The Pride Project: How to Speak CBC in One Easy Lesson - Susan Garlinghouse
Susan Garlinghouse, MS; Barney Fleming, DVM
You signed up for the project, rode the miles and held the horse at vet checks while blood was drawn. A few weeks later, you received a confusing packet of mysterious numbers that might just as well be Superbowl statistics as blood chemistry results. How are you supposed to translate this into useable information?
This article can be found at Susan Garlinghouse`s website: http://www.shady-acres.com/susan/cbc.shtml
You signed up for the project, rode the miles and held the horse at vet checks while blood was drawn. A few weeks later, you received a confusing packet of mysterious numbers that might just as well be Superbowl statistics as blood chemistry results. How are you supposed to translate this into useable information?
This article can be found at Susan Garlinghouse`s website: http://www.shady-acres.com/susan/cbc.shtml
Friday, March 24, 2000
Unwritten Rules
The Golden Unwritten Rule is:
--If you are confused, ask! Find the vet or the manager or one of the un-rude longer distance people--they will most likely steer you in the right direction.
1. Always be as courteous as you can. This will get you further than anything. Then if you are in a really bad mood or things are going bad, your courtesy level drops a level and it still doesn`t seem too bad to people.:-)
2. If you come to a water stop and horses are drinking, either wait for them to finish, or ask if you may go through them.
3. At a vet check, never ever walk your horse through the area where they are doing a trot out.
4. When you are getting a P&R, look around and see who else is there. If you finish your P&R and they haven`t, don`t just walk your horse through the group. You will probably raise the heart rate of the others by leaving. You don`t necessarily have to wait for everyone, but when you do leave, be just a little curtious, and maybe even ask if it is alright.
5. If there is a group of horses stopped on the trail, ask if you can pass or if there is something wrong. There may be a horse or rider in trouble up ahead, or there may be a washed out trail that you`ll go sailing off if you push through.
6. Inform the vet if you think there is anything wrong with your horse. The vet will not pull you automatically. They will help you.
7. Inform the vet if your horse kicks, bites, doesn`t like to be touched there, or what ever. A vet that has been kicked at isn`t going to give you a BC.
8. At the vet check, if waiting in line (or where ever horses are bunched up) give space around you. Don`t crowd. I really hate to have some horse back into my horse because the handler couldn`t handle the horse. And the vets get really upset when a horse runs into them.
9. At a gate, if some one must dismount to open the gate, wait for that person to remount before leaving. And always leave in the order that you arrived at the gate. Once underway, you may change the order.
10. At a water tank, don`t dunk your slimey sweaty sponge in the drinking water. Put water in a bucket and sponge from the bucket.
11. At a running stream, it`s ok to sponge from the water. Also look where your horse is putting his feet. Don`t step on some ones reins. And look where the muddy water is coming from.
12. The horses and riders of a higher distance usually have the right away at the vet checks. But, if there is an unoccupied vet, be sure to wave and tell him/her that you are waiting. Generally there is one vet who will do all the BC vetting, so they may not want to deal with anyone other than those presenting for the BC.
13. It is your responsibility to make sure that when you hand over your rider card, that you get *your* rider card back and not some one else`s.
14. Don`t take all the free stuff - water, hay, ice, whatever. Leave some for the next horse and rider.
14. Common, or not so common, courtesy to everyone.
15. And for the helpers and volunteers out there, please forgive us all and not take it personally when DIMR (distance-induced mental retardation) takes over.
THE GOLDEN RULES OF ENDURANCE RIDING
1. To feed and condition as we all know we should.
2. Not to push too hard as a beginner or a pro.
3. To start slow and finish as a winner to yourself.
4. To be friendly and courteous on and off the trail.
5. To encourage new riders and help riders in need of it.
6. To be courteous to P/R volunteers, officials and to ride management.
* Now, "do unto others as you would have do unto you", doesn`t always hold true. Can you imagine stopping before the finish line and letting your competition win?
--If you are confused, ask! Find the vet or the manager or one of the un-rude longer distance people--they will most likely steer you in the right direction.
1. Always be as courteous as you can. This will get you further than anything. Then if you are in a really bad mood or things are going bad, your courtesy level drops a level and it still doesn`t seem too bad to people.:-)
2. If you come to a water stop and horses are drinking, either wait for them to finish, or ask if you may go through them.
3. At a vet check, never ever walk your horse through the area where they are doing a trot out.
4. When you are getting a P&R, look around and see who else is there. If you finish your P&R and they haven`t, don`t just walk your horse through the group. You will probably raise the heart rate of the others by leaving. You don`t necessarily have to wait for everyone, but when you do leave, be just a little curtious, and maybe even ask if it is alright.
5. If there is a group of horses stopped on the trail, ask if you can pass or if there is something wrong. There may be a horse or rider in trouble up ahead, or there may be a washed out trail that you`ll go sailing off if you push through.
6. Inform the vet if you think there is anything wrong with your horse. The vet will not pull you automatically. They will help you.
7. Inform the vet if your horse kicks, bites, doesn`t like to be touched there, or what ever. A vet that has been kicked at isn`t going to give you a BC.
8. At the vet check, if waiting in line (or where ever horses are bunched up) give space around you. Don`t crowd. I really hate to have some horse back into my horse because the handler couldn`t handle the horse. And the vets get really upset when a horse runs into them.
9. At a gate, if some one must dismount to open the gate, wait for that person to remount before leaving. And always leave in the order that you arrived at the gate. Once underway, you may change the order.
10. At a water tank, don`t dunk your slimey sweaty sponge in the drinking water. Put water in a bucket and sponge from the bucket.
11. At a running stream, it`s ok to sponge from the water. Also look where your horse is putting his feet. Don`t step on some ones reins. And look where the muddy water is coming from.
12. The horses and riders of a higher distance usually have the right away at the vet checks. But, if there is an unoccupied vet, be sure to wave and tell him/her that you are waiting. Generally there is one vet who will do all the BC vetting, so they may not want to deal with anyone other than those presenting for the BC.
13. It is your responsibility to make sure that when you hand over your rider card, that you get *your* rider card back and not some one else`s.
14. Don`t take all the free stuff - water, hay, ice, whatever. Leave some for the next horse and rider.
14. Common, or not so common, courtesy to everyone.
15. And for the helpers and volunteers out there, please forgive us all and not take it personally when DIMR (distance-induced mental retardation) takes over.
THE GOLDEN RULES OF ENDURANCE RIDING
1. To feed and condition as we all know we should.
2. Not to push too hard as a beginner or a pro.
3. To start slow and finish as a winner to yourself.
4. To be friendly and courteous on and off the trail.
5. To encourage new riders and help riders in need of it.
6. To be courteous to P/R volunteers, officials and to ride management.
* Now, "do unto others as you would have do unto you", doesn`t always hold true. Can you imagine stopping before the finish line and letting your competition win?
Tuesday, March 21, 2000
Egypt`s First Organized Endurance Event - Maryanne Gabbani
Cairo, Egypt
March 11, It`s really happening:
We`ve gotten upwards of 70 or so riders registered from all over Egypt, the tents are up, the poles for the trails are being laid today, the Dubai contingent is arriving this afternoon and the press conference is set for the Mena House Oberoi Hotel at the base of the pyramids at Giza.....and the organising committee is almost dead!! But not so dead that we aren`t all riding as well. The response to this has bee wonderful here and we have riders of all ages and social categories, something special for Egypt which is still a pretty stratified society. I want to thank all of you on Ridecamp, because without all the things that I`ve learned from you all over the last year, we wouldn`t be here. I`ve been relatively comfortable advising all these guys because I`ve had some of the best endurance riders and vets and managers in the world to back me up.
Tomorrow morning is the big day. I`ll be out celebrating my birthday from 6 am until whenever and hopefully everything will go relatively smoothly. We have lots of volunteers to help and should have a training group of about 4 vets and 15 final year students on hand. I went out along the track yesterday just fooling around with Radar...he`s fit and sassy and will be quite the handful tomorrow with LOTS of horses to keep up with. Mr. Sociability just loves having lots of equines around. Then I went out again with our "ambulance/first aid" manager...a friend who is recovering from a broken hip from a horse kick and can`t ride but can do desert driving very well, to go over the route and look for any potential trouble spots. On our way back, I was looking around and I had at least 10 pyramids, temples and monuments spread all around within about 15 km and the sun and cloud on the desert. Quite frankly, I was awestruck at the beauty of the place. I can`t believe that I`m so lucky to ride here every day and I hope that this is the beginning of opening the area to riders from all over the world.
I`ll post again when it`s all over and then I`m off to New York with my 16 yr old daughter so she can visit college with her brother for spring break. I`ll be ready for some room service.
BTW, we found some great non-toxic (more or less) washable kid`s markers at a stationery store. I tried them out on my hand and it took a number of washings till they came off, so we will probably use them. Then people can have their choice of colors. Unfortunately, we don`t have much lumber to mark here, and the only livestock they mark are sheep with spray paint.
-----------March 13-----------------
It`s over and was actually pretty much a success. The FEI/UAE crew was supposed to fly in yesterday afternoon and meet with the organisers and local vets about 4 pm then go to a press conference at the Mena House Oberoi at 6. They flew in ok, but their luggage flew on to Katmandhu, so rather than meet with us they filled out lost luggage forms and bought toothbrushes and other necessary items. The first we saw of them was the press conference at the hotel and I was delighted to find that one of the vets was Tony Pavord, who had visited with us in the fall. Jim Bryan was another and Dr. Bobby was a third. Feisal Seddiq was the UAE man and all of us got to hear the plan together, which didn`t allow much time for us to tell him what we had. They were expecting about 25 riders, mostly foreign. We had 100 riders, mostly Egyptian and mostly stallions. They were planning a mass start, we were figuring on staggered starts. Was interesting. At the dinner after the press conference, I sat down with the vets, stewards and ground jury right away to let them know what we had so things wouldn`t be a total shock. They were not wild about the fact that we had so many stallions, but I told them that they were regularly used for work and were used to dealing with people and mares, so they hopefully wouldn`t be too bad.
This morning I was up at 6 am brewing pots of expresso to take some decent coffee for people and headed out to the club with my daughter and a friend of hers. We already had a group of horses by the time the vets arrived at 7:30. Yas (my daughter) got pressed into service as a translator, photographer (for horses without photos) and butt marker. As the other young help arrived, I assigned translators to the UAE crew to make sure they could talk to some of our unilingual riders. (Bet most of you ride managers don`t have to think about THAT one!) By 8:30, the place was a nuthouse. We probably had about 75% stallions and just enough mares to make things interesting. Luckily, all the club horses could be vetted through and returned to their boxes until ride time and there was enough room to keep everyone separate. We only had one loose horse before the race, a stallion that some moron was walking around in just a bridle whose reins broke. He ran up to a couple of horses including Radar and was chased off without too much trouble. I`ve found that if you act like a seriously miffed mare and yell at them, they back off quickly. Radar, as a previously unmanageable stallion who lost his family jewels, found the whole thing wonderfully exciting but was a good fellow even so.
Most of these horses have never been vet checked, trotted out in lanes, or had large numbers inscribed on their hindquarters. New stuff for everyone. By racetime, at 11 everyone was checked and numbered and split into two groups of fifty for the start. I was number 49....Yas thought they should have given me 51 for my birthday, but I figure that I got two years off for good behaviour... so I went in the first group. A bunch of us from Sakkara were in that group and we left a little late because we knew that the wind would be at our backs and on the way out, the front runners would be eating dust. (Mind you we ate it on the way back, but by then we were all so filthy that it didn`t matter any more.) It was so great to see a line of riders snaking across the desert. At one point a bunch sang me `Happy Birthday`. They had water at the 5 km mark, but few of the horses wanted to drink, tho` the riders were happy to, and at the 10 km stop. They checked heart rates and had a trot by there. Discovered that Radar DOES NOT like hand held HRM`s for whatever reason, but he was at 56 at the halfway point anyway.
The way back was lovely with the wind in our faces and we met the second group on their way out. The horses were all having a wonderful time and there were some great flat places for long canters. We had one horse get loose from a rider on his way back and come careening into camp after I`d arrived. This was a particularly hard-mouthed stallion that had been ridden by a 61 yr old man, a former jockey... so on the small side... and the rider had injured his hand in a accident before the ride. I told him later that if he`d had to be vet checked, or if I were his mother, he wouldn`t have ridden. But people were watching the desert and saw the horse coming so everyone was ready. Luckily the rider had dismounted to check the horse so we had no falls.
Results: Congrats from the UAE on our turnout and organisation (we take a bow). Out of 100 horses registered, only 2 didn`t pass the initial vet check and one was withdrawn by a rider who felt her horse was borderline. No one timed out of qualification, and only 4 horses didn`t pass the second check. We are delighted and incredibly sunburned and about 2 kgs lighter after a shower to wash the dust out. The route was gorgeous, but not one of our really stunning places, so there`s nowhere to go but up.
Now I`m off to dinner at an excellent Chinese restaurant, where I will be properly surprised for my birthday party...which I could easily skip except that I`m STARVING.
Maryanne Stroud Gabbani
March 11, It`s really happening:
We`ve gotten upwards of 70 or so riders registered from all over Egypt, the tents are up, the poles for the trails are being laid today, the Dubai contingent is arriving this afternoon and the press conference is set for the Mena House Oberoi Hotel at the base of the pyramids at Giza.....and the organising committee is almost dead!! But not so dead that we aren`t all riding as well. The response to this has bee wonderful here and we have riders of all ages and social categories, something special for Egypt which is still a pretty stratified society. I want to thank all of you on Ridecamp, because without all the things that I`ve learned from you all over the last year, we wouldn`t be here. I`ve been relatively comfortable advising all these guys because I`ve had some of the best endurance riders and vets and managers in the world to back me up.
Tomorrow morning is the big day. I`ll be out celebrating my birthday from 6 am until whenever and hopefully everything will go relatively smoothly. We have lots of volunteers to help and should have a training group of about 4 vets and 15 final year students on hand. I went out along the track yesterday just fooling around with Radar...he`s fit and sassy and will be quite the handful tomorrow with LOTS of horses to keep up with. Mr. Sociability just loves having lots of equines around. Then I went out again with our "ambulance/first aid" manager...a friend who is recovering from a broken hip from a horse kick and can`t ride but can do desert driving very well, to go over the route and look for any potential trouble spots. On our way back, I was looking around and I had at least 10 pyramids, temples and monuments spread all around within about 15 km and the sun and cloud on the desert. Quite frankly, I was awestruck at the beauty of the place. I can`t believe that I`m so lucky to ride here every day and I hope that this is the beginning of opening the area to riders from all over the world.
I`ll post again when it`s all over and then I`m off to New York with my 16 yr old daughter so she can visit college with her brother for spring break. I`ll be ready for some room service.
BTW, we found some great non-toxic (more or less) washable kid`s markers at a stationery store. I tried them out on my hand and it took a number of washings till they came off, so we will probably use them. Then people can have their choice of colors. Unfortunately, we don`t have much lumber to mark here, and the only livestock they mark are sheep with spray paint.
-----------March 13-----------------
It`s over and was actually pretty much a success. The FEI/UAE crew was supposed to fly in yesterday afternoon and meet with the organisers and local vets about 4 pm then go to a press conference at the Mena House Oberoi at 6. They flew in ok, but their luggage flew on to Katmandhu, so rather than meet with us they filled out lost luggage forms and bought toothbrushes and other necessary items. The first we saw of them was the press conference at the hotel and I was delighted to find that one of the vets was Tony Pavord, who had visited with us in the fall. Jim Bryan was another and Dr. Bobby was a third. Feisal Seddiq was the UAE man and all of us got to hear the plan together, which didn`t allow much time for us to tell him what we had. They were expecting about 25 riders, mostly foreign. We had 100 riders, mostly Egyptian and mostly stallions. They were planning a mass start, we were figuring on staggered starts. Was interesting. At the dinner after the press conference, I sat down with the vets, stewards and ground jury right away to let them know what we had so things wouldn`t be a total shock. They were not wild about the fact that we had so many stallions, but I told them that they were regularly used for work and were used to dealing with people and mares, so they hopefully wouldn`t be too bad.
This morning I was up at 6 am brewing pots of expresso to take some decent coffee for people and headed out to the club with my daughter and a friend of hers. We already had a group of horses by the time the vets arrived at 7:30. Yas (my daughter) got pressed into service as a translator, photographer (for horses without photos) and butt marker. As the other young help arrived, I assigned translators to the UAE crew to make sure they could talk to some of our unilingual riders. (Bet most of you ride managers don`t have to think about THAT one!) By 8:30, the place was a nuthouse. We probably had about 75% stallions and just enough mares to make things interesting. Luckily, all the club horses could be vetted through and returned to their boxes until ride time and there was enough room to keep everyone separate. We only had one loose horse before the race, a stallion that some moron was walking around in just a bridle whose reins broke. He ran up to a couple of horses including Radar and was chased off without too much trouble. I`ve found that if you act like a seriously miffed mare and yell at them, they back off quickly. Radar, as a previously unmanageable stallion who lost his family jewels, found the whole thing wonderfully exciting but was a good fellow even so.
Most of these horses have never been vet checked, trotted out in lanes, or had large numbers inscribed on their hindquarters. New stuff for everyone. By racetime, at 11 everyone was checked and numbered and split into two groups of fifty for the start. I was number 49....Yas thought they should have given me 51 for my birthday, but I figure that I got two years off for good behaviour... so I went in the first group. A bunch of us from Sakkara were in that group and we left a little late because we knew that the wind would be at our backs and on the way out, the front runners would be eating dust. (Mind you we ate it on the way back, but by then we were all so filthy that it didn`t matter any more.) It was so great to see a line of riders snaking across the desert. At one point a bunch sang me `Happy Birthday`. They had water at the 5 km mark, but few of the horses wanted to drink, tho` the riders were happy to, and at the 10 km stop. They checked heart rates and had a trot by there. Discovered that Radar DOES NOT like hand held HRM`s for whatever reason, but he was at 56 at the halfway point anyway.
The way back was lovely with the wind in our faces and we met the second group on their way out. The horses were all having a wonderful time and there were some great flat places for long canters. We had one horse get loose from a rider on his way back and come careening into camp after I`d arrived. This was a particularly hard-mouthed stallion that had been ridden by a 61 yr old man, a former jockey... so on the small side... and the rider had injured his hand in a accident before the ride. I told him later that if he`d had to be vet checked, or if I were his mother, he wouldn`t have ridden. But people were watching the desert and saw the horse coming so everyone was ready. Luckily the rider had dismounted to check the horse so we had no falls.
Results: Congrats from the UAE on our turnout and organisation (we take a bow). Out of 100 horses registered, only 2 didn`t pass the initial vet check and one was withdrawn by a rider who felt her horse was borderline. No one timed out of qualification, and only 4 horses didn`t pass the second check. We are delighted and incredibly sunburned and about 2 kgs lighter after a shower to wash the dust out. The route was gorgeous, but not one of our really stunning places, so there`s nowhere to go but up.
Now I`m off to dinner at an excellent Chinese restaurant, where I will be properly surprised for my birthday party...which I could easily skip except that I`m STARVING.
Maryanne Stroud Gabbani
Egypt`s First Endurance Ride: A Pheromonal Perspective - Richard Hoath
I think my first mistake was entering Sam under his full name Samarkand. Much as with a Chow called Rover on a day to day basis who is then elevated to his pedigree name Supreme Emperor Yung Hua of Hanan for the purposes of parading at Cruft`s, it went straight to his head and, most strikingly, to other baser regions of a stallion`s anatomy. The 20 kilometres I had no qualms about. He could eat it up. But here was a horse with a sexual appetite not just for his own kind, and at times gender, but also with a tendency to confuse four wheels for four legs. The mere scent of engine oil, a jeep in heat, will send him just as wild as the most coquettish mare. Whereas we all had to cope with our horses` reactions to 100 of their own kin and kind, I had the additional worry of scores of owner`s cars that Sam found deeply attractive. There was the additional tease of three very attractive ambulances and a number of horse trucks playing hard to get.
So out comes Sam(arkand) for his vet check. For him it was birthday and Christmas, Thanksgiving and the Eid, Independence day and Sinai Liberation all wrapped into one. At 21 he should be doing the horse equivalent of getting kicks out of a bit of gardening, sucking on a pipe and thinking fondly of times past. But then Sam`s biological clock has a chronology of it`s own. It is April and he has just developed his winter coat. He went through puberty at around 15 and has had every intention since then of making up for lost time. This was an opportunity he was to grab with both hoofs. Khamis, my groom who with Sam`s libido had a role more akin to head e unuch at a harem, wove between the other horses and assorted vehicles with as little impact as possible. Little is relative. Prancing like a dancing horse on coke he snorted fire at anything wheeled or legged that came within scent shot. My main fear for the vet check was a dope test for Viagra. I don`t give it him but I`m sure he gets it from somewhere. Anyhow as Khamis negotiated the minefield of sexually irresistable objects of desire, animate and inanimate, I did the necessary paperwork. The actual check went fairly smoothly though he did fall in love with a small table (four legs - what their made of doesn`t matter) and while a vet without clipboard is just a vet, a vet clutching a clipboard becomes a challenge to his virility. His heart was 50 and his gait A though whether his trot was on four legs or two was difficult to ascertain. He got his number written on his backside by a tentative assistant. "Does he kick?" she asked having seen him do so at various targets in the previous 15 seconds "Not normally" I replied with perfect honesty. But today was not normal. 37 was successfully emblazoned on each buttock and after making unreciprocated passes at a couple of Jeep Cherokees and challenging a Land Cruiser and a First Aid vehicle to a fight he was taken back to his box.
We returned to the field of competition (or conflict?) at about 11.00. A few minutes before the off there was apparently a brief. I watched from afar as a huddle of numbered riders listened intently to someone in obvious authority. I got as close as I dared, Khamis having disappeared for a well earned nervous breakdown, but figured I would just have to pick the brains of my fellow entrants once we got on the trail. While the briefing took place Sam rose to the challenge of a lawn sprinkler and neighed loudly and furiously at two white chairs and a goalpost. For me the ride could not start soon enough.
Then came the part I was dreading. While up until now I could either leave Sam in Khamis`s capable hands under the excuse of `paperwork` or keep him far enough away from the other equines as to render him relatively calm, there was no avoiding the start, a start where he was surrounded by 50 odd fellow members of the genus Equss. Surrounded by seductive mares, confrontational stallions and another man with a clipboard his neighs drowned out the mild, background drones of lowflying aircraft. Not knowing whether to buck or rear or with what leg to kick out with he took advantage of having a limb at each corner and used them all with equal abandon. I imagined a view from directly above, a desert seething with horses and in the middle an empty circle of sand in the middle of which is a single horse snorting and prancing mounted (in the innocent sense of the word) by a rider apologizing and uttering conciliatory statements such as "He`s really not like this normally." Or "Careful, he`s a bit excited" - the latter being an early entrant for the Understatement of the Year 2000 contest. I felt like a rodeo rider in a dressage competition and was amazed that I had not received similar advise to Kate who was told she ought to geld Massaoud. I might have done had Sam let the vets get a word in edgeways.
We start. Thank God! I thought but the gratitude was premature by at least 20 kilometres. For me this was to be a 20 km ride done just as we had trained, mostly trot with walk and canter. A sensible, calculated ride, a ride we had done hundreds of times before but just a bit longer. A ride to enjoy and relax. Sam`s take on this was different. For Sam this was a chance to perform for 20 km and not one second was to be missed. It was a ride where the desert was not mere terrain but a stage and Sam had no intention of being and understudy or bit part, no ambitions to be part of the chorus or a walk on, walk off. He was to be a Hamlet, a Macbeth, a towering Lear or simmering Othello. So neck arched, nostrils flared he strode across the desert like an equine colossus I`m convinced utterly aware that the vehicles driving past at intervals contained cameramen. We got to the 5km point more slightly slowly than our usual rides but whereas normally at 5 km he would not have broken sweat he was now lathered up to the point that he looked like a wedding cake with a mane. He took water before taking offence at the bucket and then more alarmingly at all the other horses around him, even horses he knew. We left the rest point with his pulse rate considerably higher than when we entered it and continued our ride/performance. My last recollection was of a vet kindly offering the advise that I should get him clipped. Or was it snipped?
For most people the second leg of the race was just that, the second leg. For Sam it was Act II in a four act drama for which he was the only main character. The other 50 were bit parts, mares to be seduced, stallions to be challenged, cars to be put in their place. We tried riding with `friends` but for Sam they play must go on. We tried riding alone but Sam was not one for soliloquies. For once he had an audience and boy was he going to milk it. And so we advanced towards the half way point. We paused briefly to proposition a railway signal and do a little play within a play for a group of rather bewildered railway workers and then continued on to the 10km point. I`m new to endurance riding and was willing to take advise from anyone who knew more than me - which was everyone. But I should not have listened to the person who advised that I pour water over Sam`s head. He took offence - deep offence - and having just done 10 horizontal kilometres we added an extra vertical one. Another lesson. Sam does not like water poured on his head even with the kindest intentions. Rather optimistically I was passed a bottle of water for myself and took advantage of a brief lull in Sam`s libido as he sized up a particularly attractive pile of jerry cans to grab a few drops for myself. We then did the trot test which Sam passed and subsequently rewarded his vetinarian adjudicator with a friendly buck. The poor man had one of those clipboards again. I asked how long we had to stay at the checkpoint to be told that we could go when I felt the horse was ready. Sam was ready the moment he arrived and every second we stayed there with other horses coming in right left and centre his pulse was going up and up. You see, for him, hard work though he made it, the 5km stretches between water stops were the rests. Come the stops he could get in some serious stallioning (my own verb) in with an audience that was, if not appreciative at least close and paying attention to him and not to whoever was on top of them or on where they were going.
As we left the halfway point I informed Sam that he should at least try to look a little tired and perhaps, as a bonus for me, pretend to feel a little tired. But no way. Acts III and IV were played with all the enthusiasm of a young thespian on the first night of his first major role. We briefly renewed our aquaintance with the railway signal and gave another feisty performance for the railway guards. A helicopter passed over, its throbbing rotors deafened by Sam`s neigh. At the 15 km stop there were more buckets to kick and I refused the advise to pour water over Sam`s head at this stage on the grounds that I was sane. The steward insisted it was a wonderful idea. I insisted that as ideas go it sucked while Sam leapt up and down as other horses joined us, substituting horizontal momentum for vertical momentum. By this time I had lost (I hoped temporarily) all my friends from Saqarra. They say that in the States one of the best ways to meet new people is to go out walking a dog. I think that probably depends on your dog and how it behaves. I can assure anyone looking for a companion in life that riding Sam in an Endurance Prance is a short cut to social pariah. Wind in our faces, hormones rushing round his body at a speed and concentration one can only wonder at, Sam and I danced our way along the last part of the course. Maryanne, Molly and Zena in a fit of insanity or bravery or for a bet, joined us. Babsi drove past in a jeep yelling "Go Sam! Go!". It was a deeply attractive four-wheel drive. I cannot remember if horses can see colour but I have always admired the dark blue. Sam now admired it and Babsi`s encouragements were misconstrued as he took the vehicle to be a large mare. Walk your horse in had been a piece of advise. Keeping Sam to a walk on that final stretch, or Scene to continue the theatre analogy, probably raised his heart beat to double that that it would have been if I had let him gallop. Still advise is advise and we reached the finish.
Prior to the ride I had assumed that he would have been a little tired and anxious for a rest and a graze. Not so. For Sam if this was the end this was going to be a dramatic exit, Prospero`s farewell to the stage as the curtain falls on The Tempest. He finished much as he had started, as though the 20 km had been an annoying little interlude. I dismounted and Khamis was there to help with Mr. Stallion as he pranced and neighed and danced his way amongst the assembled throngs. We finished at 12.57 so the time limit for the vet check was by 1.27. I went to see Maryanne while Sam asserted his manhood to a pile of saddles and asked for advise. "Well normally you try to get the vet check done as soon as you feel the horse is ready." Pause. "But having seen Sam over the past few kilometres I recommend 1.27. Finding a quiet corner for Sam to `calm down` was impossible. By 1.17 he had fallen in love, or rather lust, with the same horse box twice and was now proclaimed his sexual rights to the steward`s table. I could almost see his pulse going up the longer we waited so I decided to go for the vet check. As fate would have it just as he was about to have his heart monitored a particularly attractive purebred mare appeared, in his eyes no doubt like manna from heaven, in the vet booth right next door. He felt it necessary to go ballistic, a feeling compounded, I am convinced, by the fact he now had a sizeable crowd of `admirers` keeping a healthy distance and probably wondering why the horse was being checked as he clearly could not have been on the ride. "He`s excited" I explained rather unnecessarily repeating my entry for the Understatement of the Year competition. The vet took me to one side. `Look` he said ` You`ve still got ten minutes, take him round the back.`
If there is one thing that Sam appreciates more than an audience it is food. Khamis had conjured up a pile of berseem from I know not where but while his stomach for a few precious minutes took precedence over his libido his heart rate came down. By the time of the vet check it was a miraculous 58 and his gait A. We passed. I was proud.
So out comes Sam(arkand) for his vet check. For him it was birthday and Christmas, Thanksgiving and the Eid, Independence day and Sinai Liberation all wrapped into one. At 21 he should be doing the horse equivalent of getting kicks out of a bit of gardening, sucking on a pipe and thinking fondly of times past. But then Sam`s biological clock has a chronology of it`s own. It is April and he has just developed his winter coat. He went through puberty at around 15 and has had every intention since then of making up for lost time. This was an opportunity he was to grab with both hoofs. Khamis, my groom who with Sam`s libido had a role more akin to head e unuch at a harem, wove between the other horses and assorted vehicles with as little impact as possible. Little is relative. Prancing like a dancing horse on coke he snorted fire at anything wheeled or legged that came within scent shot. My main fear for the vet check was a dope test for Viagra. I don`t give it him but I`m sure he gets it from somewhere. Anyhow as Khamis negotiated the minefield of sexually irresistable objects of desire, animate and inanimate, I did the necessary paperwork. The actual check went fairly smoothly though he did fall in love with a small table (four legs - what their made of doesn`t matter) and while a vet without clipboard is just a vet, a vet clutching a clipboard becomes a challenge to his virility. His heart was 50 and his gait A though whether his trot was on four legs or two was difficult to ascertain. He got his number written on his backside by a tentative assistant. "Does he kick?" she asked having seen him do so at various targets in the previous 15 seconds "Not normally" I replied with perfect honesty. But today was not normal. 37 was successfully emblazoned on each buttock and after making unreciprocated passes at a couple of Jeep Cherokees and challenging a Land Cruiser and a First Aid vehicle to a fight he was taken back to his box.
We returned to the field of competition (or conflict?) at about 11.00. A few minutes before the off there was apparently a brief. I watched from afar as a huddle of numbered riders listened intently to someone in obvious authority. I got as close as I dared, Khamis having disappeared for a well earned nervous breakdown, but figured I would just have to pick the brains of my fellow entrants once we got on the trail. While the briefing took place Sam rose to the challenge of a lawn sprinkler and neighed loudly and furiously at two white chairs and a goalpost. For me the ride could not start soon enough.
Then came the part I was dreading. While up until now I could either leave Sam in Khamis`s capable hands under the excuse of `paperwork` or keep him far enough away from the other equines as to render him relatively calm, there was no avoiding the start, a start where he was surrounded by 50 odd fellow members of the genus Equss. Surrounded by seductive mares, confrontational stallions and another man with a clipboard his neighs drowned out the mild, background drones of lowflying aircraft. Not knowing whether to buck or rear or with what leg to kick out with he took advantage of having a limb at each corner and used them all with equal abandon. I imagined a view from directly above, a desert seething with horses and in the middle an empty circle of sand in the middle of which is a single horse snorting and prancing mounted (in the innocent sense of the word) by a rider apologizing and uttering conciliatory statements such as "He`s really not like this normally." Or "Careful, he`s a bit excited" - the latter being an early entrant for the Understatement of the Year 2000 contest. I felt like a rodeo rider in a dressage competition and was amazed that I had not received similar advise to Kate who was told she ought to geld Massaoud. I might have done had Sam let the vets get a word in edgeways.
We start. Thank God! I thought but the gratitude was premature by at least 20 kilometres. For me this was to be a 20 km ride done just as we had trained, mostly trot with walk and canter. A sensible, calculated ride, a ride we had done hundreds of times before but just a bit longer. A ride to enjoy and relax. Sam`s take on this was different. For Sam this was a chance to perform for 20 km and not one second was to be missed. It was a ride where the desert was not mere terrain but a stage and Sam had no intention of being and understudy or bit part, no ambitions to be part of the chorus or a walk on, walk off. He was to be a Hamlet, a Macbeth, a towering Lear or simmering Othello. So neck arched, nostrils flared he strode across the desert like an equine colossus I`m convinced utterly aware that the vehicles driving past at intervals contained cameramen. We got to the 5km point more slightly slowly than our usual rides but whereas normally at 5 km he would not have broken sweat he was now lathered up to the point that he looked like a wedding cake with a mane. He took water before taking offence at the bucket and then more alarmingly at all the other horses around him, even horses he knew. We left the rest point with his pulse rate considerably higher than when we entered it and continued our ride/performance. My last recollection was of a vet kindly offering the advise that I should get him clipped. Or was it snipped?
For most people the second leg of the race was just that, the second leg. For Sam it was Act II in a four act drama for which he was the only main character. The other 50 were bit parts, mares to be seduced, stallions to be challenged, cars to be put in their place. We tried riding with `friends` but for Sam they play must go on. We tried riding alone but Sam was not one for soliloquies. For once he had an audience and boy was he going to milk it. And so we advanced towards the half way point. We paused briefly to proposition a railway signal and do a little play within a play for a group of rather bewildered railway workers and then continued on to the 10km point. I`m new to endurance riding and was willing to take advise from anyone who knew more than me - which was everyone. But I should not have listened to the person who advised that I pour water over Sam`s head. He took offence - deep offence - and having just done 10 horizontal kilometres we added an extra vertical one. Another lesson. Sam does not like water poured on his head even with the kindest intentions. Rather optimistically I was passed a bottle of water for myself and took advantage of a brief lull in Sam`s libido as he sized up a particularly attractive pile of jerry cans to grab a few drops for myself. We then did the trot test which Sam passed and subsequently rewarded his vetinarian adjudicator with a friendly buck. The poor man had one of those clipboards again. I asked how long we had to stay at the checkpoint to be told that we could go when I felt the horse was ready. Sam was ready the moment he arrived and every second we stayed there with other horses coming in right left and centre his pulse was going up and up. You see, for him, hard work though he made it, the 5km stretches between water stops were the rests. Come the stops he could get in some serious stallioning (my own verb) in with an audience that was, if not appreciative at least close and paying attention to him and not to whoever was on top of them or on where they were going.
As we left the halfway point I informed Sam that he should at least try to look a little tired and perhaps, as a bonus for me, pretend to feel a little tired. But no way. Acts III and IV were played with all the enthusiasm of a young thespian on the first night of his first major role. We briefly renewed our aquaintance with the railway signal and gave another feisty performance for the railway guards. A helicopter passed over, its throbbing rotors deafened by Sam`s neigh. At the 15 km stop there were more buckets to kick and I refused the advise to pour water over Sam`s head at this stage on the grounds that I was sane. The steward insisted it was a wonderful idea. I insisted that as ideas go it sucked while Sam leapt up and down as other horses joined us, substituting horizontal momentum for vertical momentum. By this time I had lost (I hoped temporarily) all my friends from Saqarra. They say that in the States one of the best ways to meet new people is to go out walking a dog. I think that probably depends on your dog and how it behaves. I can assure anyone looking for a companion in life that riding Sam in an Endurance Prance is a short cut to social pariah. Wind in our faces, hormones rushing round his body at a speed and concentration one can only wonder at, Sam and I danced our way along the last part of the course. Maryanne, Molly and Zena in a fit of insanity or bravery or for a bet, joined us. Babsi drove past in a jeep yelling "Go Sam! Go!". It was a deeply attractive four-wheel drive. I cannot remember if horses can see colour but I have always admired the dark blue. Sam now admired it and Babsi`s encouragements were misconstrued as he took the vehicle to be a large mare. Walk your horse in had been a piece of advise. Keeping Sam to a walk on that final stretch, or Scene to continue the theatre analogy, probably raised his heart beat to double that that it would have been if I had let him gallop. Still advise is advise and we reached the finish.
Prior to the ride I had assumed that he would have been a little tired and anxious for a rest and a graze. Not so. For Sam if this was the end this was going to be a dramatic exit, Prospero`s farewell to the stage as the curtain falls on The Tempest. He finished much as he had started, as though the 20 km had been an annoying little interlude. I dismounted and Khamis was there to help with Mr. Stallion as he pranced and neighed and danced his way amongst the assembled throngs. We finished at 12.57 so the time limit for the vet check was by 1.27. I went to see Maryanne while Sam asserted his manhood to a pile of saddles and asked for advise. "Well normally you try to get the vet check done as soon as you feel the horse is ready." Pause. "But having seen Sam over the past few kilometres I recommend 1.27. Finding a quiet corner for Sam to `calm down` was impossible. By 1.17 he had fallen in love, or rather lust, with the same horse box twice and was now proclaimed his sexual rights to the steward`s table. I could almost see his pulse going up the longer we waited so I decided to go for the vet check. As fate would have it just as he was about to have his heart monitored a particularly attractive purebred mare appeared, in his eyes no doubt like manna from heaven, in the vet booth right next door. He felt it necessary to go ballistic, a feeling compounded, I am convinced, by the fact he now had a sizeable crowd of `admirers` keeping a healthy distance and probably wondering why the horse was being checked as he clearly could not have been on the ride. "He`s excited" I explained rather unnecessarily repeating my entry for the Understatement of the Year competition. The vet took me to one side. `Look` he said ` You`ve still got ten minutes, take him round the back.`
If there is one thing that Sam appreciates more than an audience it is food. Khamis had conjured up a pile of berseem from I know not where but while his stomach for a few precious minutes took precedence over his libido his heart rate came down. By the time of the vet check it was a miraculous 58 and his gait A. We passed. I was proud.
Thursday, February 17, 2000
Far OUTTTT Forest With the Kid: Part III & IV - Howard
We continued on our ride, keeping a slow pace, but every now and then I`d take off on Dance Line, cantering and checking his responses, especially in the deep sand. I had almost decided, or Dance had decided for me, that the canter would be the gait of choice on this ride, if Dance`s heart, respiration rate and, especially, his legs can handle that pace. I felt that it would be safer, with Dance`s old tendon injury, in a canter than in a trot with the softness of the ground here. I wasn`t too worried about Rebel and Jennifer being able to keep up.
I didn`t get to talk much with Saint Sandy, since her Arab mare didn`t want to be near my guy at all. And once, during the ride, Sandy`s horse got too close to Rebel and he kicked her right in the breast collar. Rebel`s never kicked another horse before on the trail, so Jen and I were very surprised and apologetic. St. Sandy (this kinda stuff helps confirm her Sainthood) said not to worry about the kick; it was her mare`s fault and she hopes her horse learned something.
We returned to ridecamp a different way then we left, so I didn`t get to see if my naked sunbather was still catching some rays. I considered taking a solo ride back that way, but decided a beer was more important. Jen and I say good-bye to Sandy and Samantha, untacked our horses and put them back in their portable corral. I throw some hay at them and tell Jen I`m taking a nap.
I give her instructions as to where she can go (Samantha`s rig or the Pavilion or Roxanne`s rig). Roxanne is a close friend who is kinda my mentor when it comes to endurance riding. I met her at this ride last year and have spent time with her at almost every ride I`ve attended (I think I`m up to 8) and have learned to respect her advice. She also does 100`s and is a possible sponsor for my daughter if Jen ever gets to that level. Rox adores Jennifer and I plan on using this as my selling point for sponsorship. The truth is I sure as hell won`t and probably can`t do a hundred. I didn`t even want to do a 35 let alone a 50; but Jen has me sold on the idea of a 50 at our next ride if we do well here tomorrow. Last year I used to say I`d never do a 50 cause it would interfere with my naptime. haha.
I take my nap and dream. I dream of Angie. It`s not a sexual dream, in fact quite the opposite. I haven`t told you about her, but mentioned her earlier and you may be wondering just who I was talking about. So, I`ll tell you. Angie`s a southern endurance rider, who has done quite well in the 50`s. As far as I know she and her horse aren`t 100 mile material, but Angie has acquired quite a few miles and won the GERA 50 when I attended. I did a measly 25. I met Angie, prior to the GERA ride, on the computer (online) by way of a website that caters to endurance riders and endurance wannabes, like myself.
Besides being an endurance rider, Angie`s also a writer (sound like anybody you know?). And she has an attitude with a "male ego" attached. She is a witty and humorous writer and I made the mistake of "taking her on" with my thoughts on this particular website, that`s really like a delayed chat room. Anyhow, we became adversaries at the start and it hasn`t gotten much better with time. Basically, I`m a Florida Gator, and she`s from any other Southern State that happens to beat the Gators during that particular year (and she says she doesn`t even like football). This year she`s from Alabama, since the Gators beat Tennessee and Georgia, but lost to Alabama twice. But, I digress....back to my dream.
I dream of riding the GERA 2000 classic, which I know will be the first ride I will do after my summer break (summer breaks are required if you live in Florida). I`m in the 50 and I don`t take Jennifer. Don`t want any baggage with me this time, cause I`m hunting for bear. And my quarry is Angie. AS GOD IS MY WITNESS (sorry) I`m gonna beat her one time before I die. (Now, remember this is all a dream, I don`t really think like this.) I don`t have to win the GERA, even though Angie won it last year. All I have to do is beat this wild woman, who rides like a jockey with a tongue that whips like a riding crop. In my dream, as I yell at the rude drivers in Atlanta on my way to ridecamp, instead of using curse words when someone cuts me off, I yell "Angie." As in "Angie you asshole." Actually, that should be "Angie you Angie," but "Angie, you asshole" sounds funnier to me, for some reason. Hey, it`s a dream and kind of fuzzy.
Anyhow I get to ridecamp, set up and at the preride briefing Angie and her buddies make fun of me. Tell me how they`re gonna kick my butt and how men really shouldn`t wear tights, even on a horse. One of them decides to call me Robin Hood, the Merriest of Men. I take it all in stride, smile, don`t start anything (remember, this is a dream), and just smolder inside. They don`t realize it but they have all just fed the machine a lot of fuel. I know I will beat her tomorrow, or I will die trying.
I`ll digress here a bit from the dream and tell y`all that endurance riding has become my life. It`s what I live for (you might want to skip the next two paragraphs if you don`t like sentimental crap). It permeates my dreams and influences my life. It`s all I think about, I`ve become obsessed. The camaraderie at ridecamp, the feeling that most riders really care about the sport and their horses and, like I`ve said before, the intensity of the event. And riding with my 11 year old daughter, watching her compete against full grown adults, and do well; it`s all a bit too much for me sometimes.
I`ve yet to see a poor rider at any of the endurance rides I`ve attended and to win is something to be very proud of. I`m consumed by it all; I`ve even learned camping, though I still am not crazy about that aspect of endurance riding, especially when it gets down to 20 degrees. But to me, the main ingredient is the love of your horse. It`s indescribable how I feel about Dance Line, and I know more than anyone how special he is. Sure he has a few bad habits, he nips at me when he`s nervous and he might rear up if I force him to go where he doesn`t want to. I could probably beat these bad habits out of him, but I choose not to. Instead, he and I both make modifications to accommodate the other. Anyway, I`ll just close this paragraph by saying there are a few riders I really do respect and want to beat on my 17 H non Arab horse, and Angie`s on top of the list.
Back to the dream. We start off early the next day with Angie and her friends still making fun of me in my tights and my tall legged horse, who doesn`t have one drop of Arab blood in him. I smile, but maneuver to the front of the line in this controlled start. We take off slow, but as soon as the leader releases us we are all off in a gallop. I stay right behind Angie and follow her the entire way. After the third loop, at the vet check, Angie realizes I`m in for the long haul and says to me, "Shorty, I`m gonna kick it up a notch, so don`t get in my way." More fuel has just been added to my fire and she doesn`t even know.
She and I leave the vet check at the same time and she keeps her word. Forgetting the canter, she gallops into the forest, with lots of knee breaking trees that can rip off your legs, with sharp twists and turns, the trail becomes a real challenge, especially on my horse, who has the longest back in the world. She gets a long lead on me and Dance and, soon, is out of site. This infuriates me but I stick to the plan of mostly canter, occasional trot, all the way. Towards the end I spot her. Her horse seems to be tired and she`s walking. I gain on her, pass her, raise up my butt high in the air so she can get a good look, turn my head around at her and say, "Take a peak at my best asset BAMA." And I win the race, ten minutes ahead of Angie, who comes in second place.
OK, it`s a dream, but I wake up invigorated. I almost wish Angie was here, but for some reason she chooses to skip the Florida rides. It`s almost dark outside and I start worrying about The Far Out Forest Pervert and go look for my Jennifer. I find her at Samantha`s rig, both playing this Gameboy handheld computer toy and I hang out with the kids for a few minutes. I tell Jen we have to go feed the horses, we do this, and then wander to Roxanne`s rig. Roxanne has these two adorable miniature dogs (haven`t a clue as to the breed) that we take with us to the dinner and subsequent pre-ride briefing at the Pavilion.
For some reason I end up with both dogs, each on a leash, inside the Pavilion (it`s a French thing) while everyone stands in line for their spaghetti dinner. I get lots of strange looks from people in line because of the tiny dogs. They probably think I`m either gay or French since I look kinda out of place with these two tiny dogs, whose combined weight is less than my cat back home. Roxanne and Jennifer return and I get in line for my food.
After eating, the manager starts his thing and all I really want to know is the start time for the 35. Somewhere during his talk he says the 35 milers will start at 6:30, along with the 100 milers, and the 50 milers will start at 7:00 AM. Whoooooaaaaa there Mr. Ridemanager, whatever happened to the LD`s starting late and sleeping in? I almost get up to object to this scenario, but decide otherwise. Man, it doesn`t even get light until 7:00 AM. I`ll have to tack up in the dark, something I avoid whenever possible. This is the first ride I`ve attended where the LD`s are not the last group to leave. I hope this isn`t a trend.
After dinner breaks up Jen decides she`s going to bed. I let her walk on up alone to our tent (making sure she has her flashlight), inspite of The Far Out Forest Pervert, and go have a few beers with Roxanne, who has a campfire going. We talk about the deep sand, about other riders (I do love gossip) and a couple other friends join us around the campfire. Allison, one of Rox`s friends, is there and she tells me she has actually read and enjoyed my endurance stories. Since I don`t have too many fans, when I find one, I treat them like gold. I offer Allison beer, wine, a back rub, anything to keep her reading and liking my stuff. She laughs, but declines on all offers. After a while I say good-bye to all and head off to my tent. The night is crisp, but not freezing, and we`re only hours away from lift off.
Sleeping in a cold tent is not an easy thing to do. I ignite a gas heater inside, the one that says "Don`t use indoors," and put it close to my face. I`ll probably wake up with a sunburn tomorrow. It`s not freezing out, but one of those nights that`s just a bit too cold to sleep outside, tent or no tent. I eventually get a few hours sleep, but it`s not a deep one and I don`t dream (lucky for Angie). I wake up at 5:00 and decide it`s time to get up, feed the horse and light up my flame throwing burner for coffee.
Normally, I can count on a couple of GA buddies for coffee, but they didn`t make this ride, so I`m on my own. I feed the horses, rub Dance`s head between his eyes and tell him, again, if he gets me and Jen and Rebel through this today there is nothing I won`t do for him. Nothing. I put my burner on top of my cooler (I regret this action later), pump up the alcohol, turn the crank, and light up Flame Thrower. And it does. Six feet atleast. And I put the darn thing under a tree again, what the heck was I thinking?
I go grab a blanket, for possible use, but the flame does eventually die down. The burner did ignite a few leaves on the tree overhead, but no one will ever notice. I put on the tea kettle and get this really cool thing out of a Wal-Mart box that`s made especially for toasting bread on a gas outdoor burner. I love new shit. And it just so happens I have some bagels, also from Wal-Mart, and I light the other burner, put on my new toaster gadget and add a bagel. Too cool, and I didn`t lose a tree.
So there I am, drinking coffee, toasting bagels, just having a really great time. I wake up Jen, let her go get some hot chocolate at the Pavilion. As I enjoy my food I start to think that, maybe, I actually have this camping thing down. Jen comes back and asks me for the time. I look at my watch, with my flashlight (it`s still dark outside), and scream, "Oh shit, it`s 6:30." Damn. How`d that happen?
Part IV
We rush tacking up the horses in the dark, I put out all fires, and I`m pissed. Just can`t believe the time got away from me like that. We finally get the horses tacked, Jen mounts Rebel by herself (you should see this) and I find a stump that aids me with getting on top of my giraffe. I look at my watch and it`s 6:53, 7 minutes till the 50 starts. We trot pass Roxanne, who is warming up her horse for the 50. She yells, "Man, are you two late!". We yell out our numbers to the clipboard lady, and canter off down the trail.
I tell Jen we will still stick with our plan of a slow canter, even though we missed our starting time (way to go Dad). All because of that new cooking gadget from Wal-Mart, hot coffee and a couple of toasted bagels. I want to stay ahead of the 50 milers, as much as possible, even if we only have a 7 minute jump on them. And the only way to do this is to canter. Dance is in the lead, as usual, and Jen and I have the trail completely to ourselves. There is daylight, but it`s predawn daylight, so not very bright out. The sand is deep, but in some places the trail is in good shape, if you keep your horse on the side where it hasn`t been torn up by the 4 wheelers.
Lot`s of low branches here, so I try not to look behind me at Jen, cause I know as soon as I do one of them will get me. And on my tall horse I have to duck more than most riders. We clip along at a good pace, with motivation being not letting the front runners in the 50 catch us. I know our lead from them won`t last forever, I`m just trying to delay them passing us right away. Both Dance and Rebel are into this run and know they have buddies somewhere up ahead. If I die and reincarnate I want to come back as an endurance horse with a young, pretty female owner who gives me lots of beer.
The trails are deep sand, where the 4 wheelers have tore deep into the ground (I`m not a fan of this motorized sport), but most of it isn`t too bad. I spot a lot of hidden roots and try to avoid them by riding the high end of any holes. Rebel follows us perfectly. It is a beautiful morning, a nice chill is in the air, and it just might be perfect weather for my horse. He is overly excited, which is normal for him in an endurance run. I try and control his pace, to keep Dance from breaking out into a racehorse sweat. The brisk weather is helping.
The mist rises above the lakes here giving it an eerie quality. The fog, created by the lakes, would make great cover for The Far Out Forest Pervert this morning. Thanks Jean, for letting me know about some of the whacko people who live in these woods. I push out the bad thoughts and think of my sunbather, with that smile on her face. Much better.
As Jen and I continue, I get that feeling of "this is the greatest sport in the world" and I wish I had started it earlier in my lifetime. I`ll just have to let Jen make up for my lost riding time. I know she`s into it as much as I am; I hope it continues. I plan on distracting her from the one thing that may hinder this goal, boys, till she`s 35. She`s still at an age where they`re almost a nonentity, but I know it`s coming, sooner than I would like.
For once Jen isn`t talking a lot. I look back at her, when it`s safe to do so, to make sure she`s OK. I can hear Rebel constantly, he has this type of breathing where he exhales loudly every time his front hooves hit the ground while cantering. Sounds kinda cool. Reminds me of a professional tennis player, how they grunt when they whack at the ball. "Ummmmmmmpppppphhhhhhhh" says Rebel. This, also, lets me know how close he is. I do love Rebel, almost as much as Dance Line, cause he has this habit of never passing me on the trail, no matter how much Jen pushes him to do so. I consider this a safety feature that keeps my kid from losing control of her horse in, what a lot of people consider, an extreme sport.
I duck to miss a branch, but not enough and my helmet cracks the limb. Man that would have knocked me out cold if I didn`t have this helmet on. I`m at the point where, if you, as an endurance rider, choose not to wear one, I feel that you`re a complete idiot and not serious about the sport or haven`t done enough rides. If I saw a downed rider who wasn`t wearing one, I`d stop and help but he/she would hear it from me about their stupidity, coma or no coma.
After a while, I eliminate all negative thoughts and just enjoy what Jen and I are doing. No one is ahead of us. We go on like this for at least 5 miles. Very little hills (hey, it is central Florida) and the most change in elevation is about 6 feet (Florida Mountain). I do love my state, and wish more riders would come down here to run with us locals. This time of year the bugs are dead and the snakes are buried deep underground, out of site where I like them. Few tornadoes and no hurricanes; what more could you ask for? I did forget the fire danger is high, but nothing`s burning yet.
I notice Dance is sweating a little more than I`d like to see, so I slow down to a trot and then to a walk. Not long after doing this I hear the first group of 50 milers closing in. Jen and I let the group of 4 riders pass. I ask my partner if she wants to try and keep up with the big boys. She yells a resounding YES and off we go. Dance always seems more motivated when he can see a horse or two in front of him. And today is no exception.
I keep the riders in site and sometimes we even get close enough to pass. But I hold back, knowing these riders will canter all the way. And they do. Not once do any of them trot their horses; even after we follow for several miles. The trail is wide enough for a vehicle, but it better be 4 wheel drive. Jen and I stay right behind the leaders for almost 5 miles, then I pull back on Dance and we trot for a while. And then I notice something bad. Damn.
Dance`s head is bobbing every so often, in the trot, even though he doesn`t feel off. I curse to myself, knowing I might have pushed him too hard. I get that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that he`s gonna get pulled at the first vet check, which is only a couple more miles ahead. Even if Dance isn`t lame, if the vet sees his head bob while trotting out I`m gonna be stuck out here in the middle of nowhere.
We walk a bit and I try and figure out if Dance is lame or just tired. I play around with his trot, post on the left diagonal then the right, to see if it`s the left front, where his old tendon bow is. He stops bobbing his head, so I wonder if he`s OK? I feel no sign of lameness and hope we might atleast get thru the first vet check without a hitch.
And up ahead I see a group of people hanging around and realize we just covered 14 miles. I`m ready for a break. Jen and I give our cards to the check in lady, who marks our in time, and hands them back. We dismount and walk over towards the vet area. I bend down and feel Dance`s old bow, no swelling or tenderness that I can see. Good! Rebel and Dance are both pumped up cause of all the other horses and activity. We stop for water at a large trough, and I spot Phil, who crews for his wife. I know he has at least a stethoscope. I ask if he`ll check out Dance`s heart rate, it tends to run high, and Phil pulls out this really cool electronic thing, puts it on the left side in front of the girth, and in less than ten seconds tells me it`s 70. He checks Rebels and it`s in the low 50`s. Damn Arabs rule when it comes to pulse and respiration.
We walk around a little with our horses, Rebel and Dance cannot be separated in this situation, with me looking for my bucket of feed. I don`t see it anywhere. There`s not much of a line at the P&R area so I decide to gamble on Dance`s pulse. I turn Dance so he can look at Rebel while the lady uses her stethoscope and she gives us a passing 64. Rebel is 50. I go up to one of the vets, he does his thing super quick and then tells me to trot out. Dance and I take off and I can tell he`s OK. Back to the vet, check complete, all A`s, and wait for Jen to finish. Too easy, what was I so worried about? Jen finishes with all A`s also and we start our 30 minute hold.
We wander together, looking for my lost bucket loaded with beet pulp, some grain and other goodies. I spot Phil again, and he offers this beet pulp mash that he has left over. Phil`s a classy southern gentleman who I hang out with any chance I can, hoping some of it will rub off on me. This has yet to happen. His wife, who does 50`s, is getting ready to leave the vet area. She has to be in that 4 group that we followed for so long. Dance and Reb dig into the food, both gobbling it up, which makes me and Jen quite happy. They also steal some nearby hay and drink a lot of water. These two are into this run today.
I get concerned about them stealing the hay, Phil comes by and tells me it`s his, help yourself. What a cool dude. I`m still irked that my bucket is not here, because I had two syringes of oral electrolytes I wanted to give the horses. Oh well, crewing for yourself is the pits (pun intended).
Our 30 minute hold flies by and we mount up, tell the clipboard lady we`re leaving and off we go. I spot Roxanne up ahead, with a few other riders, and Jen and I join them. We work our way up to the canter, and off we go. Jen loves talking to Roxanne, so the Mouth of the South (Jen) starts in on her. Poor Rox, I know she`s gonna hear whatever is on Jennifer`s mind for the next 5 miles or so. It always amazes me how Jen can talk and canter her house, simultaneously. When I first started riding endurance I was never able to do this, and I`m still not crazy about it. But I notice a lot of women have this gift, while a lot of men either don`t have it or elect not to use it.
Speaking of men, I forgot to tell y`all, I saw two male riders at camp and both had cuts on their cheeks, a result of running into the low hanging branches. One gentleman was bleeding so heavily I was concerned and mentioned it to him. This kind of struck me as funny, for some morbid reason, especially when I noticed not one female had even a tiny scratch on her face. Must be a macho kind of thing, instead of ducking we`ll just go through those branches.
I ask Rox to point out the tricky turn the 35 milers have to take. Evidently, a large number of riders missed the intersection last year and ended up doing a 50. She says she will and that it`s not much further up ahead. OK, my conversation is over, and Jen takes my place. The mind of an eleven year old girl is constantly evolving, and I do believe if the mouth doesn`t continue to move the whole process stops.
Rox points out the turn to us and we all separate. One rider has joined us and she asks if we mind her company. I advise her she might want to wear ear plugs, Jen gives me a dirty look, and we introduce ourselves. Her name is Maria and she is riding a tiny Arab mare about Rebel`s age (ten). It`s Maria`s first endurance ride and she seems to be enjoying it quite a bit. I tell her we plan on cantering most of the way, and she says, "No problem, I`ll try and keep up." Dance leads the way and the three of us continue on a wide path out in the middle of nowhere. We`re so isolated I feel like a Knight whose job it is to protect these young women on a dangerous trail while traveling between castles. Any pervert shows himself out here and I will lop off his head. haha.
This loop definitely seems more remote than the first. It`s not really a loop, the entire ride is one loop. The only people who do it twice are the hundred milers, and from what I hear there are only a few of them riding today. I still don`t understand why the number of riders is so low. The weather is perfect and the trails are well marked. And we`ve run into just a few 4 wheelers, who have all been courteous to us, pulling over and some of them even turning off their machines. If Dance keeps up the pace I still might have time for my afternoon nap, even though we`re adding an extra ten miles to our normal 25.
WHEW, almost done. Please let me know some of you are reading this.
cya,
Howard
I didn`t get to talk much with Saint Sandy, since her Arab mare didn`t want to be near my guy at all. And once, during the ride, Sandy`s horse got too close to Rebel and he kicked her right in the breast collar. Rebel`s never kicked another horse before on the trail, so Jen and I were very surprised and apologetic. St. Sandy (this kinda stuff helps confirm her Sainthood) said not to worry about the kick; it was her mare`s fault and she hopes her horse learned something.
We returned to ridecamp a different way then we left, so I didn`t get to see if my naked sunbather was still catching some rays. I considered taking a solo ride back that way, but decided a beer was more important. Jen and I say good-bye to Sandy and Samantha, untacked our horses and put them back in their portable corral. I throw some hay at them and tell Jen I`m taking a nap.
I give her instructions as to where she can go (Samantha`s rig or the Pavilion or Roxanne`s rig). Roxanne is a close friend who is kinda my mentor when it comes to endurance riding. I met her at this ride last year and have spent time with her at almost every ride I`ve attended (I think I`m up to 8) and have learned to respect her advice. She also does 100`s and is a possible sponsor for my daughter if Jen ever gets to that level. Rox adores Jennifer and I plan on using this as my selling point for sponsorship. The truth is I sure as hell won`t and probably can`t do a hundred. I didn`t even want to do a 35 let alone a 50; but Jen has me sold on the idea of a 50 at our next ride if we do well here tomorrow. Last year I used to say I`d never do a 50 cause it would interfere with my naptime. haha.
I take my nap and dream. I dream of Angie. It`s not a sexual dream, in fact quite the opposite. I haven`t told you about her, but mentioned her earlier and you may be wondering just who I was talking about. So, I`ll tell you. Angie`s a southern endurance rider, who has done quite well in the 50`s. As far as I know she and her horse aren`t 100 mile material, but Angie has acquired quite a few miles and won the GERA 50 when I attended. I did a measly 25. I met Angie, prior to the GERA ride, on the computer (online) by way of a website that caters to endurance riders and endurance wannabes, like myself.
Besides being an endurance rider, Angie`s also a writer (sound like anybody you know?). And she has an attitude with a "male ego" attached. She is a witty and humorous writer and I made the mistake of "taking her on" with my thoughts on this particular website, that`s really like a delayed chat room. Anyhow, we became adversaries at the start and it hasn`t gotten much better with time. Basically, I`m a Florida Gator, and she`s from any other Southern State that happens to beat the Gators during that particular year (and she says she doesn`t even like football). This year she`s from Alabama, since the Gators beat Tennessee and Georgia, but lost to Alabama twice. But, I digress....back to my dream.
I dream of riding the GERA 2000 classic, which I know will be the first ride I will do after my summer break (summer breaks are required if you live in Florida). I`m in the 50 and I don`t take Jennifer. Don`t want any baggage with me this time, cause I`m hunting for bear. And my quarry is Angie. AS GOD IS MY WITNESS (sorry) I`m gonna beat her one time before I die. (Now, remember this is all a dream, I don`t really think like this.) I don`t have to win the GERA, even though Angie won it last year. All I have to do is beat this wild woman, who rides like a jockey with a tongue that whips like a riding crop. In my dream, as I yell at the rude drivers in Atlanta on my way to ridecamp, instead of using curse words when someone cuts me off, I yell "Angie." As in "Angie you asshole." Actually, that should be "Angie you Angie," but "Angie, you asshole" sounds funnier to me, for some reason. Hey, it`s a dream and kind of fuzzy.
Anyhow I get to ridecamp, set up and at the preride briefing Angie and her buddies make fun of me. Tell me how they`re gonna kick my butt and how men really shouldn`t wear tights, even on a horse. One of them decides to call me Robin Hood, the Merriest of Men. I take it all in stride, smile, don`t start anything (remember, this is a dream), and just smolder inside. They don`t realize it but they have all just fed the machine a lot of fuel. I know I will beat her tomorrow, or I will die trying.
I`ll digress here a bit from the dream and tell y`all that endurance riding has become my life. It`s what I live for (you might want to skip the next two paragraphs if you don`t like sentimental crap). It permeates my dreams and influences my life. It`s all I think about, I`ve become obsessed. The camaraderie at ridecamp, the feeling that most riders really care about the sport and their horses and, like I`ve said before, the intensity of the event. And riding with my 11 year old daughter, watching her compete against full grown adults, and do well; it`s all a bit too much for me sometimes.
I`ve yet to see a poor rider at any of the endurance rides I`ve attended and to win is something to be very proud of. I`m consumed by it all; I`ve even learned camping, though I still am not crazy about that aspect of endurance riding, especially when it gets down to 20 degrees. But to me, the main ingredient is the love of your horse. It`s indescribable how I feel about Dance Line, and I know more than anyone how special he is. Sure he has a few bad habits, he nips at me when he`s nervous and he might rear up if I force him to go where he doesn`t want to. I could probably beat these bad habits out of him, but I choose not to. Instead, he and I both make modifications to accommodate the other. Anyway, I`ll just close this paragraph by saying there are a few riders I really do respect and want to beat on my 17 H non Arab horse, and Angie`s on top of the list.
Back to the dream. We start off early the next day with Angie and her friends still making fun of me in my tights and my tall legged horse, who doesn`t have one drop of Arab blood in him. I smile, but maneuver to the front of the line in this controlled start. We take off slow, but as soon as the leader releases us we are all off in a gallop. I stay right behind Angie and follow her the entire way. After the third loop, at the vet check, Angie realizes I`m in for the long haul and says to me, "Shorty, I`m gonna kick it up a notch, so don`t get in my way." More fuel has just been added to my fire and she doesn`t even know.
She and I leave the vet check at the same time and she keeps her word. Forgetting the canter, she gallops into the forest, with lots of knee breaking trees that can rip off your legs, with sharp twists and turns, the trail becomes a real challenge, especially on my horse, who has the longest back in the world. She gets a long lead on me and Dance and, soon, is out of site. This infuriates me but I stick to the plan of mostly canter, occasional trot, all the way. Towards the end I spot her. Her horse seems to be tired and she`s walking. I gain on her, pass her, raise up my butt high in the air so she can get a good look, turn my head around at her and say, "Take a peak at my best asset BAMA." And I win the race, ten minutes ahead of Angie, who comes in second place.
OK, it`s a dream, but I wake up invigorated. I almost wish Angie was here, but for some reason she chooses to skip the Florida rides. It`s almost dark outside and I start worrying about The Far Out Forest Pervert and go look for my Jennifer. I find her at Samantha`s rig, both playing this Gameboy handheld computer toy and I hang out with the kids for a few minutes. I tell Jen we have to go feed the horses, we do this, and then wander to Roxanne`s rig. Roxanne has these two adorable miniature dogs (haven`t a clue as to the breed) that we take with us to the dinner and subsequent pre-ride briefing at the Pavilion.
For some reason I end up with both dogs, each on a leash, inside the Pavilion (it`s a French thing) while everyone stands in line for their spaghetti dinner. I get lots of strange looks from people in line because of the tiny dogs. They probably think I`m either gay or French since I look kinda out of place with these two tiny dogs, whose combined weight is less than my cat back home. Roxanne and Jennifer return and I get in line for my food.
After eating, the manager starts his thing and all I really want to know is the start time for the 35. Somewhere during his talk he says the 35 milers will start at 6:30, along with the 100 milers, and the 50 milers will start at 7:00 AM. Whoooooaaaaa there Mr. Ridemanager, whatever happened to the LD`s starting late and sleeping in? I almost get up to object to this scenario, but decide otherwise. Man, it doesn`t even get light until 7:00 AM. I`ll have to tack up in the dark, something I avoid whenever possible. This is the first ride I`ve attended where the LD`s are not the last group to leave. I hope this isn`t a trend.
After dinner breaks up Jen decides she`s going to bed. I let her walk on up alone to our tent (making sure she has her flashlight), inspite of The Far Out Forest Pervert, and go have a few beers with Roxanne, who has a campfire going. We talk about the deep sand, about other riders (I do love gossip) and a couple other friends join us around the campfire. Allison, one of Rox`s friends, is there and she tells me she has actually read and enjoyed my endurance stories. Since I don`t have too many fans, when I find one, I treat them like gold. I offer Allison beer, wine, a back rub, anything to keep her reading and liking my stuff. She laughs, but declines on all offers. After a while I say good-bye to all and head off to my tent. The night is crisp, but not freezing, and we`re only hours away from lift off.
Sleeping in a cold tent is not an easy thing to do. I ignite a gas heater inside, the one that says "Don`t use indoors," and put it close to my face. I`ll probably wake up with a sunburn tomorrow. It`s not freezing out, but one of those nights that`s just a bit too cold to sleep outside, tent or no tent. I eventually get a few hours sleep, but it`s not a deep one and I don`t dream (lucky for Angie). I wake up at 5:00 and decide it`s time to get up, feed the horse and light up my flame throwing burner for coffee.
Normally, I can count on a couple of GA buddies for coffee, but they didn`t make this ride, so I`m on my own. I feed the horses, rub Dance`s head between his eyes and tell him, again, if he gets me and Jen and Rebel through this today there is nothing I won`t do for him. Nothing. I put my burner on top of my cooler (I regret this action later), pump up the alcohol, turn the crank, and light up Flame Thrower. And it does. Six feet atleast. And I put the darn thing under a tree again, what the heck was I thinking?
I go grab a blanket, for possible use, but the flame does eventually die down. The burner did ignite a few leaves on the tree overhead, but no one will ever notice. I put on the tea kettle and get this really cool thing out of a Wal-Mart box that`s made especially for toasting bread on a gas outdoor burner. I love new shit. And it just so happens I have some bagels, also from Wal-Mart, and I light the other burner, put on my new toaster gadget and add a bagel. Too cool, and I didn`t lose a tree.
So there I am, drinking coffee, toasting bagels, just having a really great time. I wake up Jen, let her go get some hot chocolate at the Pavilion. As I enjoy my food I start to think that, maybe, I actually have this camping thing down. Jen comes back and asks me for the time. I look at my watch, with my flashlight (it`s still dark outside), and scream, "Oh shit, it`s 6:30." Damn. How`d that happen?
Part IV
We rush tacking up the horses in the dark, I put out all fires, and I`m pissed. Just can`t believe the time got away from me like that. We finally get the horses tacked, Jen mounts Rebel by herself (you should see this) and I find a stump that aids me with getting on top of my giraffe. I look at my watch and it`s 6:53, 7 minutes till the 50 starts. We trot pass Roxanne, who is warming up her horse for the 50. She yells, "Man, are you two late!". We yell out our numbers to the clipboard lady, and canter off down the trail.
I tell Jen we will still stick with our plan of a slow canter, even though we missed our starting time (way to go Dad). All because of that new cooking gadget from Wal-Mart, hot coffee and a couple of toasted bagels. I want to stay ahead of the 50 milers, as much as possible, even if we only have a 7 minute jump on them. And the only way to do this is to canter. Dance is in the lead, as usual, and Jen and I have the trail completely to ourselves. There is daylight, but it`s predawn daylight, so not very bright out. The sand is deep, but in some places the trail is in good shape, if you keep your horse on the side where it hasn`t been torn up by the 4 wheelers.
Lot`s of low branches here, so I try not to look behind me at Jen, cause I know as soon as I do one of them will get me. And on my tall horse I have to duck more than most riders. We clip along at a good pace, with motivation being not letting the front runners in the 50 catch us. I know our lead from them won`t last forever, I`m just trying to delay them passing us right away. Both Dance and Rebel are into this run and know they have buddies somewhere up ahead. If I die and reincarnate I want to come back as an endurance horse with a young, pretty female owner who gives me lots of beer.
The trails are deep sand, where the 4 wheelers have tore deep into the ground (I`m not a fan of this motorized sport), but most of it isn`t too bad. I spot a lot of hidden roots and try to avoid them by riding the high end of any holes. Rebel follows us perfectly. It is a beautiful morning, a nice chill is in the air, and it just might be perfect weather for my horse. He is overly excited, which is normal for him in an endurance run. I try and control his pace, to keep Dance from breaking out into a racehorse sweat. The brisk weather is helping.
The mist rises above the lakes here giving it an eerie quality. The fog, created by the lakes, would make great cover for The Far Out Forest Pervert this morning. Thanks Jean, for letting me know about some of the whacko people who live in these woods. I push out the bad thoughts and think of my sunbather, with that smile on her face. Much better.
As Jen and I continue, I get that feeling of "this is the greatest sport in the world" and I wish I had started it earlier in my lifetime. I`ll just have to let Jen make up for my lost riding time. I know she`s into it as much as I am; I hope it continues. I plan on distracting her from the one thing that may hinder this goal, boys, till she`s 35. She`s still at an age where they`re almost a nonentity, but I know it`s coming, sooner than I would like.
For once Jen isn`t talking a lot. I look back at her, when it`s safe to do so, to make sure she`s OK. I can hear Rebel constantly, he has this type of breathing where he exhales loudly every time his front hooves hit the ground while cantering. Sounds kinda cool. Reminds me of a professional tennis player, how they grunt when they whack at the ball. "Ummmmmmmpppppphhhhhhhh" says Rebel. This, also, lets me know how close he is. I do love Rebel, almost as much as Dance Line, cause he has this habit of never passing me on the trail, no matter how much Jen pushes him to do so. I consider this a safety feature that keeps my kid from losing control of her horse in, what a lot of people consider, an extreme sport.
I duck to miss a branch, but not enough and my helmet cracks the limb. Man that would have knocked me out cold if I didn`t have this helmet on. I`m at the point where, if you, as an endurance rider, choose not to wear one, I feel that you`re a complete idiot and not serious about the sport or haven`t done enough rides. If I saw a downed rider who wasn`t wearing one, I`d stop and help but he/she would hear it from me about their stupidity, coma or no coma.
After a while, I eliminate all negative thoughts and just enjoy what Jen and I are doing. No one is ahead of us. We go on like this for at least 5 miles. Very little hills (hey, it is central Florida) and the most change in elevation is about 6 feet (Florida Mountain). I do love my state, and wish more riders would come down here to run with us locals. This time of year the bugs are dead and the snakes are buried deep underground, out of site where I like them. Few tornadoes and no hurricanes; what more could you ask for? I did forget the fire danger is high, but nothing`s burning yet.
I notice Dance is sweating a little more than I`d like to see, so I slow down to a trot and then to a walk. Not long after doing this I hear the first group of 50 milers closing in. Jen and I let the group of 4 riders pass. I ask my partner if she wants to try and keep up with the big boys. She yells a resounding YES and off we go. Dance always seems more motivated when he can see a horse or two in front of him. And today is no exception.
I keep the riders in site and sometimes we even get close enough to pass. But I hold back, knowing these riders will canter all the way. And they do. Not once do any of them trot their horses; even after we follow for several miles. The trail is wide enough for a vehicle, but it better be 4 wheel drive. Jen and I stay right behind the leaders for almost 5 miles, then I pull back on Dance and we trot for a while. And then I notice something bad. Damn.
Dance`s head is bobbing every so often, in the trot, even though he doesn`t feel off. I curse to myself, knowing I might have pushed him too hard. I get that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that he`s gonna get pulled at the first vet check, which is only a couple more miles ahead. Even if Dance isn`t lame, if the vet sees his head bob while trotting out I`m gonna be stuck out here in the middle of nowhere.
We walk a bit and I try and figure out if Dance is lame or just tired. I play around with his trot, post on the left diagonal then the right, to see if it`s the left front, where his old tendon bow is. He stops bobbing his head, so I wonder if he`s OK? I feel no sign of lameness and hope we might atleast get thru the first vet check without a hitch.
And up ahead I see a group of people hanging around and realize we just covered 14 miles. I`m ready for a break. Jen and I give our cards to the check in lady, who marks our in time, and hands them back. We dismount and walk over towards the vet area. I bend down and feel Dance`s old bow, no swelling or tenderness that I can see. Good! Rebel and Dance are both pumped up cause of all the other horses and activity. We stop for water at a large trough, and I spot Phil, who crews for his wife. I know he has at least a stethoscope. I ask if he`ll check out Dance`s heart rate, it tends to run high, and Phil pulls out this really cool electronic thing, puts it on the left side in front of the girth, and in less than ten seconds tells me it`s 70. He checks Rebels and it`s in the low 50`s. Damn Arabs rule when it comes to pulse and respiration.
We walk around a little with our horses, Rebel and Dance cannot be separated in this situation, with me looking for my bucket of feed. I don`t see it anywhere. There`s not much of a line at the P&R area so I decide to gamble on Dance`s pulse. I turn Dance so he can look at Rebel while the lady uses her stethoscope and she gives us a passing 64. Rebel is 50. I go up to one of the vets, he does his thing super quick and then tells me to trot out. Dance and I take off and I can tell he`s OK. Back to the vet, check complete, all A`s, and wait for Jen to finish. Too easy, what was I so worried about? Jen finishes with all A`s also and we start our 30 minute hold.
We wander together, looking for my lost bucket loaded with beet pulp, some grain and other goodies. I spot Phil again, and he offers this beet pulp mash that he has left over. Phil`s a classy southern gentleman who I hang out with any chance I can, hoping some of it will rub off on me. This has yet to happen. His wife, who does 50`s, is getting ready to leave the vet area. She has to be in that 4 group that we followed for so long. Dance and Reb dig into the food, both gobbling it up, which makes me and Jen quite happy. They also steal some nearby hay and drink a lot of water. These two are into this run today.
I get concerned about them stealing the hay, Phil comes by and tells me it`s his, help yourself. What a cool dude. I`m still irked that my bucket is not here, because I had two syringes of oral electrolytes I wanted to give the horses. Oh well, crewing for yourself is the pits (pun intended).
Our 30 minute hold flies by and we mount up, tell the clipboard lady we`re leaving and off we go. I spot Roxanne up ahead, with a few other riders, and Jen and I join them. We work our way up to the canter, and off we go. Jen loves talking to Roxanne, so the Mouth of the South (Jen) starts in on her. Poor Rox, I know she`s gonna hear whatever is on Jennifer`s mind for the next 5 miles or so. It always amazes me how Jen can talk and canter her house, simultaneously. When I first started riding endurance I was never able to do this, and I`m still not crazy about it. But I notice a lot of women have this gift, while a lot of men either don`t have it or elect not to use it.
Speaking of men, I forgot to tell y`all, I saw two male riders at camp and both had cuts on their cheeks, a result of running into the low hanging branches. One gentleman was bleeding so heavily I was concerned and mentioned it to him. This kind of struck me as funny, for some morbid reason, especially when I noticed not one female had even a tiny scratch on her face. Must be a macho kind of thing, instead of ducking we`ll just go through those branches.
I ask Rox to point out the tricky turn the 35 milers have to take. Evidently, a large number of riders missed the intersection last year and ended up doing a 50. She says she will and that it`s not much further up ahead. OK, my conversation is over, and Jen takes my place. The mind of an eleven year old girl is constantly evolving, and I do believe if the mouth doesn`t continue to move the whole process stops.
Rox points out the turn to us and we all separate. One rider has joined us and she asks if we mind her company. I advise her she might want to wear ear plugs, Jen gives me a dirty look, and we introduce ourselves. Her name is Maria and she is riding a tiny Arab mare about Rebel`s age (ten). It`s Maria`s first endurance ride and she seems to be enjoying it quite a bit. I tell her we plan on cantering most of the way, and she says, "No problem, I`ll try and keep up." Dance leads the way and the three of us continue on a wide path out in the middle of nowhere. We`re so isolated I feel like a Knight whose job it is to protect these young women on a dangerous trail while traveling between castles. Any pervert shows himself out here and I will lop off his head. haha.
This loop definitely seems more remote than the first. It`s not really a loop, the entire ride is one loop. The only people who do it twice are the hundred milers, and from what I hear there are only a few of them riding today. I still don`t understand why the number of riders is so low. The weather is perfect and the trails are well marked. And we`ve run into just a few 4 wheelers, who have all been courteous to us, pulling over and some of them even turning off their machines. If Dance keeps up the pace I still might have time for my afternoon nap, even though we`re adding an extra ten miles to our normal 25.
WHEW, almost done. Please let me know some of you are reading this.
cya,
Howard
Far OUTTTT Forest With the Kid: Part V - Howard
I`m riding alone on the trail, searching for her. For some inexplicable reason I just can`t get this woman out of my mind. Dance and I turn a corner and up ahead and I see her. She`s still sunbathing, still nude, exactly like the last time I saw her. The reflection of the bright sun resonates from her well oiled body. She looks up, smiles and waves to me, first as in Hello, then a hand gesture telling me to come closer. I approach her on horseback, and when I`m about ten feet away, I start feeling dizzy. My mind enters some kind of hypnotic trance as I find myself looking at this beautiful creature. She`s a well proportioned, young brunette, with the most perfect body I have ever seen. And that smile, on her lovely face, melts any inhibitions I might have. I try not to stare, but just can`t resist her power. She says, "Hi, my name is Debbie. Why don`t you get off that big horse and sit down for a chat."
I get off Dance, hook up his reins to the saddle, and walk towards her. "I haven`t been able to stop thinking of you, since yesterday," I say. Deb says, "I know, would you like a beer?" I answer, "Sure," and WHAACKKKKKKKKKKKKKK.............a tree limb has just knocked me off my horse, I do a double somersault backwards, and land in the deep sand. "Dad, are you OK? Didn`t you see that branch?" says Jennifer. Maria is there, also, just wondering what the heck happened here.
I notice that the visor on my helmet is now hanging to the side, I pull on it and off it comes. Man, I must have been in some kind of trance or something. Not a safe thing to do out here. I tell Jen and Maria I`m OK, get back on Dance Line, and off we go, hoping they forget about my faux pas eventually. Maria asks me, "Would you like me to ride in front?" "Sure thing," I tell her, knowing she`s lost confidence in my ability to lead.
This part of the loop definitely seems more remote than the first. This trail is not a series of loops like I`m used to. It`s one long 50 mile loop, with a cut that the 35 milers take. The only people who do it twice are the hundred milers, and from what I hear there are only a few of them riding today. I still don`t understand why the number of riders is so low. The weather is perfect and the trails are well marked. And we`ve run into just a few 4 wheelers, who have all been courteous to us, most of them pulling their vehicles to the side of the trail to get out of our way. Some of the drivers even turned off their engines, making it easier for us to go by. If Dance keeps up this pace, and the nonriders continue to be so polite, I still might have time for my afternoon nap, even though we`re adding an extra ten miles to our normal 25.
Dance is hardly sweating; I`m glad I sponged him thoroughly at the last vet check. Jennifer had won this cool sponge at the Osceola ride for finishing first in juniors. It has a long plastic cord (long enough to hit the ground from atop my giraffe), with metal hooks and a ring attachment, all making it easy to separate and throw into a river, lake, pond, or puddle. She`s letting me carry it today, knowing my horse needs it more than hers. I`m convinced that using a sponge, as often as you can, especially on a tall legged Saddlebred, is one of the keys to this sport. I can`t tell you how many sponges I`ve lost because of a poor knot, to rivers, swamps and hungry gators.
Maria is keeping a good pace, we mostly canter, with her tiny Arab leading the way. Jen keeps talking, telling me I should always be ready and pay attention. "Were you sleeping, Dad?" she asks. I`d like to tell her what happened, but just grunt in the affirmative to her question. I lean down and hug the long neck of my gelded male companion, telling him that I`ll keep my mind alert and block out thinking of my nude sunbather for the rest of our ride.
After a few miles we come up on our last remote vet check. Hardly any riders are here; in fact there are more volunteers and crew members than riders and horses. Jen and I both dismount. I take Dance over to a water trough, he drinks and Jen and I go over to this makeshift vet area that parallels a dirt road. Dance still has alot of energy and he`s a bit hard to control. I kinda yell at him to settle down, but inside I`m amazed at the fire this horse still has in his belly after 26 miles. I love his spirit.
The lady with the stethoscope says he`s 64 and I go up to the female vet. She recognizes me from the Hahira ride, and tells me my horse has really put on some weight since she last saw him. I tell her it`s not the same guy, even though they are cousins and have the same chestnut color and similar markings. As she is doing her checks, Dance moves around constantly. This volunteer, wearing a bright orange cap, comes over and tells me rather sternly, "You need to keep on the side of the horse that the vet is on."
I remember seeing this guy before, at the pre ride briefing. I think he even got up and said a few words on the danger of us losing our trees or, maybe, it was trails. My face flushes with anger, I`m about to lash out at this tree hugger, but I keep it in. I want to offer him the reins, to see how well he thinks he can do with my hyper giraffe, who presently isn`t too keen on being checked for anal tone, but, instead, I keep quiet. I kinda nod my head, knowing that if I speak the words would wound him, and orange cap wanders off, thinking he`s helped me immensely.
I`m grateful to anyone who volunteers at these rides, but instruction is not something I`m looking for, especially from a non rider who is just observing. I have a jumpy horse and I kinda like him that way. Orange cap is lucky Dance didn`t bite him; my horse moonlights as a guard dog, protecting my back yard during the weekdays. You should see him patrol my fence!
The lady vet asks me to trot my horse out and we do so without a hitch. The vet says, "That was lovely, he`s looking good." I think she likes my horse or maybe it`s just my winning smile. Haha. I get out of the way, but hang close by to keep an eye on Jennifer. I want Rebel to know his buddy is still around.
Rebel and Dance seem to need each other at these stops; the bonding that develops between the two horses, during an endurance run, is unbreakable. Because of this I actually walk the road that parallels the trot out area, to make things easier for my 47 inches tall, and still growing, daughter. She gets thru the check fine and we walk away from the vet area. Maria is next in line, with about three other riders behind her.
This last remote vet check seems too empty to me; few riders and not much activity, especially when compared to our last stop. I look for my other bucket, but don`t see it anywhere. I see Allison, taking a break, and Jen and I go sit next to her. Allison, my number one fan, tells me what I did wrong with my bucket placing last night. I definitely did not pay attention at the pre-ride briefing and, evidently, placed my buckets in the wrong location. One of them is at the second vet check, the one the 35 milers never see. Sometimes my stupidity amazes even me.
Allison offers us her hay and some feed for my horses. The two gobble it up and Rebel tries to rub up on Allison to thank her. She gives Jennifer a bottle of Gator Aid, a granola bar, and some other stuff to eat. Allison then says Good-bye, because her hold is over and it`s time to mount her Mustang. If it wasn`t for the kindness of others I don`t think I would make it through a ride. I sure can`t count on my own organizational skills. I know, in a year or two, Jennifer will have this whole thing managed perfectly.
Maria joins us and I tell her Jen and I will start out slow, since we might leave ten minutes or so ahead of her. She nods her head and I notice she looks a bit tired. It`s my guess that Jen`s conversational skill has worn Maira down, but I keep the thought to myself. Maria doesn`t seem to be in the mood for my humor right now.
A very nice gentleman (not orange cap) comes over, tells Jen and me we can leave, and does so by using our first names. What a nice guy. I tell Jen we should try and get the horses to drink again, so we walk over to the water trough. Feeling kinda sore, I`m not in any hurry to mount up. Jen and I just watch our two funny companions splash each other in the face, playing with the water more than drinking it. These two horses have just made our day; man, do I love these guys.
During this time Maria leaves the vet area and I don`t think she noticed us next to the water trough. By the time I realize this Maria is out of sight and I tell Jen we need to get going. Jen gets onto her horse by herself (this never ceases to amaze me) and I put Dance in a ditch, using the higher ridge area as my stool. I feel something pull in my back, as I mount up, wondering how that`s going to feel tonight. I hear a few of the crew people chuckle at seeing me climb aboard and wave to them as Jen and I depart the area. It`s rare that Dance and I don`t get a laugh or two from people watching us.
We start out in a trot but soon hit our gait of choice today, the canter. Maria is nowhere to be seen and I have the feeling she`s moving quickly, thinking we are ahead of her. I mention this to Jen and she suggests we go a little faster to try and catch the woman who is trying to catch us. The trail is much like it`s been all day, loose sand, but plenty wide, with not too many turns. I avoid all deep holes just knowing there is a hidden tree root in there.
During our run Jennifer gets her horse to pass me, she sticks her butt up in the air, turns her head around, points to her hip and says, "This is what I`ve had to look at all day." Haha, I only wish mine was that small. Jen and Rebel keep the lead for a few miles, still no sign of Maria.
After a few spooks from Rebel, Jen decides she doesn`t need to be in the lead anymore and lets me pass her. We finally spot Maria, I yell at her but she doesn`t see or hear me. Maria and her tiny Arab mare are booking down the trail. We increase our speed a little, Dance spots Maria`s horse and is more than willing to play catch up.
We get to a marking with an arrow pointing left and notice Maria missed the turn. I yell for her as loud as I can and get her attention. Big lungs in a little body pay off sometimes. I yell again saying, "Wrong way," and motion for her to come in our direction. We wait for her and Maria says, "I thought you guys were ahead of me. I was really getting frustrated not seeing you at all." Looks like I`m not the only daydreamer in the crowd.
We continue on the final section of this huge loop and catch up to Allison, who is in a trot. She stays with us for a while until we get to another intersection, where the sign for the turn seems incorrect since the arrow points straight up. We stop, I pull out my map and think I find our location. As we are talking, discussing which way to go, I spot a group of men sitting around a table next to a small trailer. I don`t see any vehicles next to their trailer. The men see us, get up and walk our way. On the table I notice an empty bottle of Jim Beam, tons of empty beer cans, and what looks to be a water pipe or bong of some kind (don`t ask how I know these terms). Oh great.
One man in the group yells out to me, "Hey mister, you lost? We know which way to go." The man then starts waving his arms wildly in kind of a circular motion. I have no idea what this guy is up to. He then stops the motion, crosses his chest with his arms and points out in two different directions with both of his hands. At the same time he says, "You go this way," perfectly mimicking the Scarecrow from "The Wizard of OZ." His buddies all laugh, slapping themselves silly and acting like this is the funniest thing they have ever seen. Too much! I`m wondering if they were the ones who messed with the directional arrow.
This gives our group the incentive to hit the trail, even if we`re going the wrong way. I`m sure the men were harmless, but I just can`t imagine a lone female, doing a 100 miler, out here late at night after dark, running into this group. The Far Out Forest Pervert could be hiding behind any of these bushes out here. The fact that I didn`t see a car anywhere is what freaked me out. I`m not a gun nut by any means, but if I were that lone female rider I would definitely consider carrying one after witnessing what the four of us just did.
Jennifer starts asking questions about the men. I try and assure her they were just having fun, but Maria and Allison give looks that indicate otherwise. Allison drops off behind us and it`s just the original three, still cantering along. I`m amazed at how well Dance is doing today. His leg, with the bowed tendon, is holding up and he seems to be having a great time out here. After going a few more miles, around a lake, and down a dirt road with no vehicles, I spot our campground. We`ve come full circle and are back to our temporary home.
Jen and I are the first to enter the vet area and no other rider is around. The head vet (this guy is so cool) comes out to meet us and says, "One of you is in tenth place, the other is in eleventh." I look at Jen and it`s a no brainer. "She`s in tenth, I`m behind her," I say. This smile comes over Jennifer`s face that I`ve never seen before; she`s extremely full of herself and I`m quite proud of my daughter. The vet does his checks and then tells Jennifer she needs to come back with her horse, in less than one hour from now, so he can look at Rebel for Best Conditioned horse. Wow!
The vet also tells her to remove all tack and weigh herself in at the Pavilion. After he finishes looking at my horse I help Jen with the tack and she hits the scales, barely able to carry her saddle and pad. And the man records her at a whopping 89 lbs. Too bad they don`t have an award for lightest rider.
We walk back to our campsite and Jen`s excited. She asks me, "What do we do with Rebel?" "How should I know? I`ve never top tenned," I respond, with a smile. "Dadddddddd." I tell her to brush off her horse, we`ll feed them and clean him up as much as we can. I get out the beet pulp, water it down, add some grain, and feed both horses. I throw them some hay and grab a beer and sit down. My body is aching. I know I`ll hardly be able to get out of bed in the morning.
As Jennifer brushes off her horse she continues talking. "I just can`t wait to tell Samantha and Roxanne that I top tenned. And now I`m going up for BC....yada, yada, yada, yada." Actually, I`m quite enjoying this and wish I had the energy to go get out the video camera that`s in the truck. Jen`s normally a very happy kid, but she has just peaked at total satisfaction. I`m so glad I`m here to see, and hear, it all. Watching and listening to her, I know this memory, will stay with me till the day I die.
I help Jennifer clean up Rebel, letting the horse continue to eat while doing so. We then leave our campsite and go back to the vet area. Again, no one is ahead of us and Jennifer does her thing. At the end of the trot out Jen kinda stops a bit too suddenly; Rebel stops right behind following her lead. His legs dig into the deep sand and the horse goes down, all the way to his front knees. The crowd that had gathered around all goes, "OHHHHHHHHHH," thinking Jen might get hurt or the horse has just injured himself. I kinda chuckle to myself, knowing that neither is the case. The vet, Dr. Cool, seems to know the horse is fine. Rebel gets up and the BC check is complete. I feel that Rebel knew his show was over and he was just taking a Bow for the audience.
That`s it. My story`s done, complete, finished. I will tell you it got so cold that night, after the run, Jennifer and I slept in the truck, with the diesel engine running. Since all our neighbors, Roxanne and Stuck Lady, left I knew we weren`t keeping anyone up. Jen didn`t get BC (weight is a factor), but she did get a lot of neat stuff for top tenning. In closing I`d like to ask all my Southern neighbors to please put this ride on your calendar for next year. We`re down to three endurance rides a year in Florida and I`d hate to lose this one, due to lack of participation. If I can finish on my Saddlebred, I know you guys can too. If you show, beer`s on me. Promise.
And, no, I didn`t go looking for HER the next day. But she was on my mind as I pulled out of ridecamp with my rig. haha.
cya,
Howard
I get off Dance, hook up his reins to the saddle, and walk towards her. "I haven`t been able to stop thinking of you, since yesterday," I say. Deb says, "I know, would you like a beer?" I answer, "Sure," and WHAACKKKKKKKKKKKKKK.............a tree limb has just knocked me off my horse, I do a double somersault backwards, and land in the deep sand. "Dad, are you OK? Didn`t you see that branch?" says Jennifer. Maria is there, also, just wondering what the heck happened here.
I notice that the visor on my helmet is now hanging to the side, I pull on it and off it comes. Man, I must have been in some kind of trance or something. Not a safe thing to do out here. I tell Jen and Maria I`m OK, get back on Dance Line, and off we go, hoping they forget about my faux pas eventually. Maria asks me, "Would you like me to ride in front?" "Sure thing," I tell her, knowing she`s lost confidence in my ability to lead.
This part of the loop definitely seems more remote than the first. This trail is not a series of loops like I`m used to. It`s one long 50 mile loop, with a cut that the 35 milers take. The only people who do it twice are the hundred milers, and from what I hear there are only a few of them riding today. I still don`t understand why the number of riders is so low. The weather is perfect and the trails are well marked. And we`ve run into just a few 4 wheelers, who have all been courteous to us, most of them pulling their vehicles to the side of the trail to get out of our way. Some of the drivers even turned off their engines, making it easier for us to go by. If Dance keeps up this pace, and the nonriders continue to be so polite, I still might have time for my afternoon nap, even though we`re adding an extra ten miles to our normal 25.
Dance is hardly sweating; I`m glad I sponged him thoroughly at the last vet check. Jennifer had won this cool sponge at the Osceola ride for finishing first in juniors. It has a long plastic cord (long enough to hit the ground from atop my giraffe), with metal hooks and a ring attachment, all making it easy to separate and throw into a river, lake, pond, or puddle. She`s letting me carry it today, knowing my horse needs it more than hers. I`m convinced that using a sponge, as often as you can, especially on a tall legged Saddlebred, is one of the keys to this sport. I can`t tell you how many sponges I`ve lost because of a poor knot, to rivers, swamps and hungry gators.
Maria is keeping a good pace, we mostly canter, with her tiny Arab leading the way. Jen keeps talking, telling me I should always be ready and pay attention. "Were you sleeping, Dad?" she asks. I`d like to tell her what happened, but just grunt in the affirmative to her question. I lean down and hug the long neck of my gelded male companion, telling him that I`ll keep my mind alert and block out thinking of my nude sunbather for the rest of our ride.
After a few miles we come up on our last remote vet check. Hardly any riders are here; in fact there are more volunteers and crew members than riders and horses. Jen and I both dismount. I take Dance over to a water trough, he drinks and Jen and I go over to this makeshift vet area that parallels a dirt road. Dance still has alot of energy and he`s a bit hard to control. I kinda yell at him to settle down, but inside I`m amazed at the fire this horse still has in his belly after 26 miles. I love his spirit.
The lady with the stethoscope says he`s 64 and I go up to the female vet. She recognizes me from the Hahira ride, and tells me my horse has really put on some weight since she last saw him. I tell her it`s not the same guy, even though they are cousins and have the same chestnut color and similar markings. As she is doing her checks, Dance moves around constantly. This volunteer, wearing a bright orange cap, comes over and tells me rather sternly, "You need to keep on the side of the horse that the vet is on."
I remember seeing this guy before, at the pre ride briefing. I think he even got up and said a few words on the danger of us losing our trees or, maybe, it was trails. My face flushes with anger, I`m about to lash out at this tree hugger, but I keep it in. I want to offer him the reins, to see how well he thinks he can do with my hyper giraffe, who presently isn`t too keen on being checked for anal tone, but, instead, I keep quiet. I kinda nod my head, knowing that if I speak the words would wound him, and orange cap wanders off, thinking he`s helped me immensely.
I`m grateful to anyone who volunteers at these rides, but instruction is not something I`m looking for, especially from a non rider who is just observing. I have a jumpy horse and I kinda like him that way. Orange cap is lucky Dance didn`t bite him; my horse moonlights as a guard dog, protecting my back yard during the weekdays. You should see him patrol my fence!
The lady vet asks me to trot my horse out and we do so without a hitch. The vet says, "That was lovely, he`s looking good." I think she likes my horse or maybe it`s just my winning smile. Haha. I get out of the way, but hang close by to keep an eye on Jennifer. I want Rebel to know his buddy is still around.
Rebel and Dance seem to need each other at these stops; the bonding that develops between the two horses, during an endurance run, is unbreakable. Because of this I actually walk the road that parallels the trot out area, to make things easier for my 47 inches tall, and still growing, daughter. She gets thru the check fine and we walk away from the vet area. Maria is next in line, with about three other riders behind her.
This last remote vet check seems too empty to me; few riders and not much activity, especially when compared to our last stop. I look for my other bucket, but don`t see it anywhere. I see Allison, taking a break, and Jen and I go sit next to her. Allison, my number one fan, tells me what I did wrong with my bucket placing last night. I definitely did not pay attention at the pre-ride briefing and, evidently, placed my buckets in the wrong location. One of them is at the second vet check, the one the 35 milers never see. Sometimes my stupidity amazes even me.
Allison offers us her hay and some feed for my horses. The two gobble it up and Rebel tries to rub up on Allison to thank her. She gives Jennifer a bottle of Gator Aid, a granola bar, and some other stuff to eat. Allison then says Good-bye, because her hold is over and it`s time to mount her Mustang. If it wasn`t for the kindness of others I don`t think I would make it through a ride. I sure can`t count on my own organizational skills. I know, in a year or two, Jennifer will have this whole thing managed perfectly.
Maria joins us and I tell her Jen and I will start out slow, since we might leave ten minutes or so ahead of her. She nods her head and I notice she looks a bit tired. It`s my guess that Jen`s conversational skill has worn Maira down, but I keep the thought to myself. Maria doesn`t seem to be in the mood for my humor right now.
A very nice gentleman (not orange cap) comes over, tells Jen and me we can leave, and does so by using our first names. What a nice guy. I tell Jen we should try and get the horses to drink again, so we walk over to the water trough. Feeling kinda sore, I`m not in any hurry to mount up. Jen and I just watch our two funny companions splash each other in the face, playing with the water more than drinking it. These two horses have just made our day; man, do I love these guys.
During this time Maria leaves the vet area and I don`t think she noticed us next to the water trough. By the time I realize this Maria is out of sight and I tell Jen we need to get going. Jen gets onto her horse by herself (this never ceases to amaze me) and I put Dance in a ditch, using the higher ridge area as my stool. I feel something pull in my back, as I mount up, wondering how that`s going to feel tonight. I hear a few of the crew people chuckle at seeing me climb aboard and wave to them as Jen and I depart the area. It`s rare that Dance and I don`t get a laugh or two from people watching us.
We start out in a trot but soon hit our gait of choice today, the canter. Maria is nowhere to be seen and I have the feeling she`s moving quickly, thinking we are ahead of her. I mention this to Jen and she suggests we go a little faster to try and catch the woman who is trying to catch us. The trail is much like it`s been all day, loose sand, but plenty wide, with not too many turns. I avoid all deep holes just knowing there is a hidden tree root in there.
During our run Jennifer gets her horse to pass me, she sticks her butt up in the air, turns her head around, points to her hip and says, "This is what I`ve had to look at all day." Haha, I only wish mine was that small. Jen and Rebel keep the lead for a few miles, still no sign of Maria.
After a few spooks from Rebel, Jen decides she doesn`t need to be in the lead anymore and lets me pass her. We finally spot Maria, I yell at her but she doesn`t see or hear me. Maria and her tiny Arab mare are booking down the trail. We increase our speed a little, Dance spots Maria`s horse and is more than willing to play catch up.
We get to a marking with an arrow pointing left and notice Maria missed the turn. I yell for her as loud as I can and get her attention. Big lungs in a little body pay off sometimes. I yell again saying, "Wrong way," and motion for her to come in our direction. We wait for her and Maria says, "I thought you guys were ahead of me. I was really getting frustrated not seeing you at all." Looks like I`m not the only daydreamer in the crowd.
We continue on the final section of this huge loop and catch up to Allison, who is in a trot. She stays with us for a while until we get to another intersection, where the sign for the turn seems incorrect since the arrow points straight up. We stop, I pull out my map and think I find our location. As we are talking, discussing which way to go, I spot a group of men sitting around a table next to a small trailer. I don`t see any vehicles next to their trailer. The men see us, get up and walk our way. On the table I notice an empty bottle of Jim Beam, tons of empty beer cans, and what looks to be a water pipe or bong of some kind (don`t ask how I know these terms). Oh great.
One man in the group yells out to me, "Hey mister, you lost? We know which way to go." The man then starts waving his arms wildly in kind of a circular motion. I have no idea what this guy is up to. He then stops the motion, crosses his chest with his arms and points out in two different directions with both of his hands. At the same time he says, "You go this way," perfectly mimicking the Scarecrow from "The Wizard of OZ." His buddies all laugh, slapping themselves silly and acting like this is the funniest thing they have ever seen. Too much! I`m wondering if they were the ones who messed with the directional arrow.
This gives our group the incentive to hit the trail, even if we`re going the wrong way. I`m sure the men were harmless, but I just can`t imagine a lone female, doing a 100 miler, out here late at night after dark, running into this group. The Far Out Forest Pervert could be hiding behind any of these bushes out here. The fact that I didn`t see a car anywhere is what freaked me out. I`m not a gun nut by any means, but if I were that lone female rider I would definitely consider carrying one after witnessing what the four of us just did.
Jennifer starts asking questions about the men. I try and assure her they were just having fun, but Maria and Allison give looks that indicate otherwise. Allison drops off behind us and it`s just the original three, still cantering along. I`m amazed at how well Dance is doing today. His leg, with the bowed tendon, is holding up and he seems to be having a great time out here. After going a few more miles, around a lake, and down a dirt road with no vehicles, I spot our campground. We`ve come full circle and are back to our temporary home.
Jen and I are the first to enter the vet area and no other rider is around. The head vet (this guy is so cool) comes out to meet us and says, "One of you is in tenth place, the other is in eleventh." I look at Jen and it`s a no brainer. "She`s in tenth, I`m behind her," I say. This smile comes over Jennifer`s face that I`ve never seen before; she`s extremely full of herself and I`m quite proud of my daughter. The vet does his checks and then tells Jennifer she needs to come back with her horse, in less than one hour from now, so he can look at Rebel for Best Conditioned horse. Wow!
The vet also tells her to remove all tack and weigh herself in at the Pavilion. After he finishes looking at my horse I help Jen with the tack and she hits the scales, barely able to carry her saddle and pad. And the man records her at a whopping 89 lbs. Too bad they don`t have an award for lightest rider.
We walk back to our campsite and Jen`s excited. She asks me, "What do we do with Rebel?" "How should I know? I`ve never top tenned," I respond, with a smile. "Dadddddddd." I tell her to brush off her horse, we`ll feed them and clean him up as much as we can. I get out the beet pulp, water it down, add some grain, and feed both horses. I throw them some hay and grab a beer and sit down. My body is aching. I know I`ll hardly be able to get out of bed in the morning.
As Jennifer brushes off her horse she continues talking. "I just can`t wait to tell Samantha and Roxanne that I top tenned. And now I`m going up for BC....yada, yada, yada, yada." Actually, I`m quite enjoying this and wish I had the energy to go get out the video camera that`s in the truck. Jen`s normally a very happy kid, but she has just peaked at total satisfaction. I`m so glad I`m here to see, and hear, it all. Watching and listening to her, I know this memory, will stay with me till the day I die.
I help Jennifer clean up Rebel, letting the horse continue to eat while doing so. We then leave our campsite and go back to the vet area. Again, no one is ahead of us and Jennifer does her thing. At the end of the trot out Jen kinda stops a bit too suddenly; Rebel stops right behind following her lead. His legs dig into the deep sand and the horse goes down, all the way to his front knees. The crowd that had gathered around all goes, "OHHHHHHHHHH," thinking Jen might get hurt or the horse has just injured himself. I kinda chuckle to myself, knowing that neither is the case. The vet, Dr. Cool, seems to know the horse is fine. Rebel gets up and the BC check is complete. I feel that Rebel knew his show was over and he was just taking a Bow for the audience.
That`s it. My story`s done, complete, finished. I will tell you it got so cold that night, after the run, Jennifer and I slept in the truck, with the diesel engine running. Since all our neighbors, Roxanne and Stuck Lady, left I knew we weren`t keeping anyone up. Jen didn`t get BC (weight is a factor), but she did get a lot of neat stuff for top tenning. In closing I`d like to ask all my Southern neighbors to please put this ride on your calendar for next year. We`re down to three endurance rides a year in Florida and I`d hate to lose this one, due to lack of participation. If I can finish on my Saddlebred, I know you guys can too. If you show, beer`s on me. Promise.
And, no, I didn`t go looking for HER the next day. But she was on my mind as I pulled out of ridecamp with my rig. haha.
cya,
Howard
Far OUTTTT Forest With the Kid: Part I & II - Howard
The kid and I were raring to go. Jennifer hasn`t shut up about THE RIDE since ten days to takeoff and I was getting kinda edgy myself. Even though we have never come close to placing in the top ten at any of these endurance rides, we always think we have to potential to do so. Some egos never die, and my kid`s idea of competing kinda keeps feeding mine.
Course I just hope to complete, cause when you ride a 17 H Saddlebred, you don`t always get to finish. I had returned my other Saddlebred (Skeletor), that I was leasing, to his owner cause I was having serious weight problems with the horse and knew he and I were not a match. Even though he was one of the craziest horses I`ve ever ridden (you`d think that would be a match right there) I just could not keep weight on him no matter what I did. For the Far Out Forest, I was putting all my chips on Dance Line, the tallest horse at Ridecamp, no matter where I go, who has had some leg problems in the past. My pull rate at these endurance rides, with Skeletor or Dance Line, is almost 50 percent; Jennifer, riding her Arab, has never been pulled at a ride.
The big day finally comes. I think one of the reason`s Jennifer loves these rides is that I usually pull her out of school a day or two so we can get to camp early. FOF is the closest endurance ride to my house, a 55 mile trip, if you can believe that. If only they were all like that I`d be in endurance heaven.
We get up early, wife is hanging around watching me pack up (actually I started packing two weeks ago), just laughing her butt off at me because of my nutty way of doing things. When I bought out the duck tape to seal the cooler (and, yes, I did put the food in first) she had to hit the bathroom she was laughing so hard. One of these days she`s going with us and I can`t wait till she sees me cook with an alcohol burner that is so old it has a born on date of 1944. I lit it on one trip and 8 foot flames started coming out of this tiny burner filled with alcohol (did I buy the right stuff?), igniting a tree that I had put it under (duh) and melting my tea kettle and the cooler I had been using as a table underneath the burner. If you camp close to me you must carry a fireman`s ax, fireproof blankets, and a water hose.
I finish packing everything I can think of loading and do the last thing that I hate doing. Loading the horses. Now Jen`s horse, Rebel (yea, I know his name is Politically Incorrect), loads real easy. Walks right in. Skeletor was a pain in the butt and Dance Line is not much easier. Dance is sooooooooo tall and his neck is sooooooo long he has to put his head down quite a bit to get in my rather tall trailer. And his body requires two spaces in my three horse slant load. But I have learned a trick or two and I`d tell y`all what I do, but some of you might try it without me, and if I`m not there to show you how to do it, you might injure your horse a bit. So it will be my little secret. I get Dance Line in using my "method," hook him up and notice his back legs are still on the ramp. This guy is so long I have to special order any blanket to get it close to covering his butt.
I figure I`ll just get behind him and push him in, but as I go to exit the trailer, Dance starts freaking out and pulling hard on the trailer tie. I "exit stage left" as quick as my little legs can move, watch Dance pull back so hard the rubber mat slides from his back legs to his front and down goes Dance`s body, all except the head, still attached to the tie. The break away didn`t break; and I`m actually kind of glad. Maybe he learned something there. Dance stands up quivering, I yell at him to get his body completely in (he does), raise the ramp, close the top and know I`m off with a couple of first class nags and an 11 year old who is gonna talk my ear off the next 55 miles.
HEY, Gotta go to work but I`ll finish it (sometime), promise.
cya,
Howard
PART II
The drive was uneventful, except for listening to my daughter talk incessantly, the entire trip, without taking hardly a breath for air. I actually knew the way to this campground; I was there last year. It was the Far Out Forest ride where I pulled my horse, even before I started, during the pre-ride Vet Check. I reluctantly did this after hearing the advice of the head vet (he was supposed to be there this year and is my favorite vet of all times) and from an endurance rider who was a reliable friend. Tendon problems are not good ones and can put your horse out of the game permanently. But I had heard some phenomenal comeback stories, endurance related, and I was planning on Dance being one of them. Actually, I was kinda praying cause I was having insecure feelings (non Jesse Ventura type) about my horse`s legs.
And here I am driving to the same ride with the same horse. Look up the word stubborn in a dictionary and you`ll see a picture of me and my horse. We were returning, this time accompanied by Jennifer and Rebel, to a ride so close to my house I wouldn`t pass it up even if the entire ride was one big sand dune (it isn`t). As I drove to Doe Lake I attempt sending telepathic thoughts to my horse, Dance Line. I tell him I consider him a superior, athletic specimen, whose Achilles` heel is a left front tendon. I mentally transmit, "Dance, OLE buddy, if you get us thru the 35 miles of deep sand at this ride, your status will be elevated highly in my back yard. I will let you pick the gait for most of the ride. As God is my witness (I love "Gone with the Wind," sorry), you will be adored as no horse before you (hey, it is telepathic thought, so I embellish)."
Unfortunately, Dance was too busy worrying about the mat he uprooted from the floor of my trailer (I could feel the back end sway every so often as I drove, especially when I made a turn or stopped) to answer me. But I knew he and I would have plenty of time to discuss it, face to face, before the start of the ride tomorrow morning. I had left the house by 10:30 AM (I got up at 6 to put the finishing touches on my packing, haha) and hit Doe Lake by high noon on a beautiful, but brisk, sunny day with not one cloud in the sky.
As I pulled into the Ridecamp area, I noticed not too many rigs were here. This surprised me because I remembered at the ride last year, this time of day, it was twice as crowded. And Jean`s ride, at Osceola last month, had a lot more riders and rigs. I started wondering if, maybe, the deep sand and the three vetchecks outside ridecamp were the reason for the lack of riders. Oh well, I know just the spot I want, way back in the corner with Lakefront property. And I take it.
I set up the portable corral in record time (for me under 30 minutes), exit the horses, look at Dance making sure he`s OK (he is) and start out with the tent. I had made the mistake of letting Jennifer run off, not realizing I needed her to help me with the poles. So I wander to search for the kid and to see if any riders are registering. I check for my wallet, with my fresh AERC cards in the front pocket (I have it), and wander towards this huge pavilion meeting hall they have here. The building has a fireplace, which I figure will be popular later tonight.
I find Jennifer, say hello to a few folks and go into the hall. Only one person in front of me in line. Yesssssss. Too cool. Then, as I`m standing there I realize I forgot to bring the Coggins papers. Duh. So, I leave the Pavilion, say hello to a few more folks, who have their stuff together, and watch them form a line that was nonexistent a few seconds ago. Damn.
I force Jen to escort me to our campsite, get her to help me erect my Wal-Mart tent special that sleeps 6, and then let her wander off again. I go back to the Pavilion and get in a line that isn`t too long. Looks like lines will not be a problem at this ride. In front of me is Jean, from Osceola, and I talk with her a bit. During this time Jennifer and her friend join us for a couple minutes. Jean looks at my daughter, then at me and proceeds to tell the tale of The Far Out Forest Pervert who molested and killed a young girl and then killed her family somewhere near here a couple years ago. Not far from this very spot, in the same forest, that is to be our home for the next three days. I look at my daughter and wink, hoping she will think Jean`s story is fiction, which I find myself also wishing. My kid needs her sleep tonight and if Jean`s tale keeps her up or gives her nightmares I`m gonna be pissed in the morning.
Jean finishes her tale, I don`t let her know she`s irritated me a bit, and we finish registering. I grab Jennifer again and tell her we`re gonna beat the vet line today. We hurry and grab our two horses, and I notice my new female neighbor has just gotten herself stuck in the sand next to our campsite. Before I leave our portable corral with our horses I go up to her and ask if I can help. She`s in a foul mood and tells me help is on the way. Good thing cause my 2 WD diesel wouldn`t be able to get out of the hole she`s dug her truck into. I leave with the horses, feeling I`ve been a good neighbor, and Jen and I hit the vet check area, with only one horse and rider in front of us.
The vet doing the check is the best I`ve ever seen at an endurance ride, so I listen to him pass on to the rider in front of me some valuable information concerning horse conformation. He has spotted something with her horse`s front legs. He has her horse do a figure 8 kinda thing and the horse comes up lame in one particular direction, twice. The vet kinda knew this would happen before it did, which amazes me cause the horse looks pretty good, in my opinion. Anyway, he doesn`t disqualify the rider but does give her some advice concerning this ride and I look at Dance and think, "It`s showtime, and I`m not gonna mention last year." We breeze through the check with all A`s and then I get to watch my Jennifer.
I`m not sure if I told you but even though Jen is 11, she could easily pass for 7 because of her height. Since I have a living Grandmother (she`s 85) who is 4"10" my genes have to take the responsibility for this part of Jennifer`s physical appearance. Riders in line watch her trot out her 15 H Arab, and are usually impressed. So is the vet and he talks to her the entire time, hardly looking at the horse (I`m joking). Rebel gets strait A`s also, and we hike back to our camp. I spot Truman in line, he yells out something funny about my horse ("It sure must be colder up there on top of that mountain you ride"), a few other riders in line laugh, and I ask Truman why he`s not wearing shorts, since that`s what he wore at Osceola when it was 35 degrees outside. I can`t retort as well as Angie, off the cuff, but I still give it a shot.
A few of the riders in line next to Truman laughed (out of courtesy I think) and Jen and I go back to our campsite. No one is camped next to me, except for the STUCK LADY we have for a neighbor. I ask Jen if she wants to see if her friend Samantha and Samantha`s Mom (St. Sandy) want to ride with us, after they vet in. Jen takes off to ask them. I`m realizing that Sandy is the only Georgia buddy I got that`s showing up at this ride. Sandy has too much class to bother me while I`m napping, so this might be a good thing, even though I`ll miss the drinking company.
I relax and have a beer. Find some food, eat and realize I`m nap material all ready. Jen comes back and tells me Sam and her Mom are saddling up. Damn, there goes the nap, but it is a beautiful day. By the time Jennifer and I are done tacking up Dance Line and Rebel, St. Sandy and Samantha ride up to us and say Hello. The four of us leave the camp area on horseback and head out around Doe Lake.
We ride a bit, Sandy says something about my tights asking if I`ve lost weight. I tell her I might have, I`m down to only a twelve pack a day right now, a drastic reduction. haha. I canter on ahead, Sam and Sandy want to take it easy cause they`re doing a 50 tomorrow, and end up ahead of the other three so much they`re out of site. Jennifer had decided she wanted to stay behind with Samantha. I come up to some camp area and notice a woman who appears to be sunbathing. She must be a Yankee, cause it`s too cold for most Southerners to be in a bathing suit today.
I ride a little closer to the young lady, just to make sure she`s OK, and notice something quite unique about her. She`s totally naked, trying to get that all over tan. Wow. I wonder if she`ll want to come over and pet my horse? haha. I decide to stop wandering towards her, even though it`s really what I want to do, because the camper next to her might contain a male or guard dog (is there a difference?) and I don`t think either one of them will want to pet my horse.
So I just wait for the gals, admiring the view, the young lady catches me looking, smiles and waves. This gives me the incentive to wander over closer but then I hear the other horses coming my way. I ride towards St. Sandy and the gang, not wanting them to think I`m some kind of pervert or something. I don`t tell anyone about the naked lady and we continue on our ride.
Course I just hope to complete, cause when you ride a 17 H Saddlebred, you don`t always get to finish. I had returned my other Saddlebred (Skeletor), that I was leasing, to his owner cause I was having serious weight problems with the horse and knew he and I were not a match. Even though he was one of the craziest horses I`ve ever ridden (you`d think that would be a match right there) I just could not keep weight on him no matter what I did. For the Far Out Forest, I was putting all my chips on Dance Line, the tallest horse at Ridecamp, no matter where I go, who has had some leg problems in the past. My pull rate at these endurance rides, with Skeletor or Dance Line, is almost 50 percent; Jennifer, riding her Arab, has never been pulled at a ride.
The big day finally comes. I think one of the reason`s Jennifer loves these rides is that I usually pull her out of school a day or two so we can get to camp early. FOF is the closest endurance ride to my house, a 55 mile trip, if you can believe that. If only they were all like that I`d be in endurance heaven.
We get up early, wife is hanging around watching me pack up (actually I started packing two weeks ago), just laughing her butt off at me because of my nutty way of doing things. When I bought out the duck tape to seal the cooler (and, yes, I did put the food in first) she had to hit the bathroom she was laughing so hard. One of these days she`s going with us and I can`t wait till she sees me cook with an alcohol burner that is so old it has a born on date of 1944. I lit it on one trip and 8 foot flames started coming out of this tiny burner filled with alcohol (did I buy the right stuff?), igniting a tree that I had put it under (duh) and melting my tea kettle and the cooler I had been using as a table underneath the burner. If you camp close to me you must carry a fireman`s ax, fireproof blankets, and a water hose.
I finish packing everything I can think of loading and do the last thing that I hate doing. Loading the horses. Now Jen`s horse, Rebel (yea, I know his name is Politically Incorrect), loads real easy. Walks right in. Skeletor was a pain in the butt and Dance Line is not much easier. Dance is sooooooooo tall and his neck is sooooooo long he has to put his head down quite a bit to get in my rather tall trailer. And his body requires two spaces in my three horse slant load. But I have learned a trick or two and I`d tell y`all what I do, but some of you might try it without me, and if I`m not there to show you how to do it, you might injure your horse a bit. So it will be my little secret. I get Dance Line in using my "method," hook him up and notice his back legs are still on the ramp. This guy is so long I have to special order any blanket to get it close to covering his butt.
I figure I`ll just get behind him and push him in, but as I go to exit the trailer, Dance starts freaking out and pulling hard on the trailer tie. I "exit stage left" as quick as my little legs can move, watch Dance pull back so hard the rubber mat slides from his back legs to his front and down goes Dance`s body, all except the head, still attached to the tie. The break away didn`t break; and I`m actually kind of glad. Maybe he learned something there. Dance stands up quivering, I yell at him to get his body completely in (he does), raise the ramp, close the top and know I`m off with a couple of first class nags and an 11 year old who is gonna talk my ear off the next 55 miles.
HEY, Gotta go to work but I`ll finish it (sometime), promise.
cya,
Howard
PART II
The drive was uneventful, except for listening to my daughter talk incessantly, the entire trip, without taking hardly a breath for air. I actually knew the way to this campground; I was there last year. It was the Far Out Forest ride where I pulled my horse, even before I started, during the pre-ride Vet Check. I reluctantly did this after hearing the advice of the head vet (he was supposed to be there this year and is my favorite vet of all times) and from an endurance rider who was a reliable friend. Tendon problems are not good ones and can put your horse out of the game permanently. But I had heard some phenomenal comeback stories, endurance related, and I was planning on Dance being one of them. Actually, I was kinda praying cause I was having insecure feelings (non Jesse Ventura type) about my horse`s legs.
And here I am driving to the same ride with the same horse. Look up the word stubborn in a dictionary and you`ll see a picture of me and my horse. We were returning, this time accompanied by Jennifer and Rebel, to a ride so close to my house I wouldn`t pass it up even if the entire ride was one big sand dune (it isn`t). As I drove to Doe Lake I attempt sending telepathic thoughts to my horse, Dance Line. I tell him I consider him a superior, athletic specimen, whose Achilles` heel is a left front tendon. I mentally transmit, "Dance, OLE buddy, if you get us thru the 35 miles of deep sand at this ride, your status will be elevated highly in my back yard. I will let you pick the gait for most of the ride. As God is my witness (I love "Gone with the Wind," sorry), you will be adored as no horse before you (hey, it is telepathic thought, so I embellish)."
Unfortunately, Dance was too busy worrying about the mat he uprooted from the floor of my trailer (I could feel the back end sway every so often as I drove, especially when I made a turn or stopped) to answer me. But I knew he and I would have plenty of time to discuss it, face to face, before the start of the ride tomorrow morning. I had left the house by 10:30 AM (I got up at 6 to put the finishing touches on my packing, haha) and hit Doe Lake by high noon on a beautiful, but brisk, sunny day with not one cloud in the sky.
As I pulled into the Ridecamp area, I noticed not too many rigs were here. This surprised me because I remembered at the ride last year, this time of day, it was twice as crowded. And Jean`s ride, at Osceola last month, had a lot more riders and rigs. I started wondering if, maybe, the deep sand and the three vetchecks outside ridecamp were the reason for the lack of riders. Oh well, I know just the spot I want, way back in the corner with Lakefront property. And I take it.
I set up the portable corral in record time (for me under 30 minutes), exit the horses, look at Dance making sure he`s OK (he is) and start out with the tent. I had made the mistake of letting Jennifer run off, not realizing I needed her to help me with the poles. So I wander to search for the kid and to see if any riders are registering. I check for my wallet, with my fresh AERC cards in the front pocket (I have it), and wander towards this huge pavilion meeting hall they have here. The building has a fireplace, which I figure will be popular later tonight.
I find Jennifer, say hello to a few folks and go into the hall. Only one person in front of me in line. Yesssssss. Too cool. Then, as I`m standing there I realize I forgot to bring the Coggins papers. Duh. So, I leave the Pavilion, say hello to a few more folks, who have their stuff together, and watch them form a line that was nonexistent a few seconds ago. Damn.
I force Jen to escort me to our campsite, get her to help me erect my Wal-Mart tent special that sleeps 6, and then let her wander off again. I go back to the Pavilion and get in a line that isn`t too long. Looks like lines will not be a problem at this ride. In front of me is Jean, from Osceola, and I talk with her a bit. During this time Jennifer and her friend join us for a couple minutes. Jean looks at my daughter, then at me and proceeds to tell the tale of The Far Out Forest Pervert who molested and killed a young girl and then killed her family somewhere near here a couple years ago. Not far from this very spot, in the same forest, that is to be our home for the next three days. I look at my daughter and wink, hoping she will think Jean`s story is fiction, which I find myself also wishing. My kid needs her sleep tonight and if Jean`s tale keeps her up or gives her nightmares I`m gonna be pissed in the morning.
Jean finishes her tale, I don`t let her know she`s irritated me a bit, and we finish registering. I grab Jennifer again and tell her we`re gonna beat the vet line today. We hurry and grab our two horses, and I notice my new female neighbor has just gotten herself stuck in the sand next to our campsite. Before I leave our portable corral with our horses I go up to her and ask if I can help. She`s in a foul mood and tells me help is on the way. Good thing cause my 2 WD diesel wouldn`t be able to get out of the hole she`s dug her truck into. I leave with the horses, feeling I`ve been a good neighbor, and Jen and I hit the vet check area, with only one horse and rider in front of us.
The vet doing the check is the best I`ve ever seen at an endurance ride, so I listen to him pass on to the rider in front of me some valuable information concerning horse conformation. He has spotted something with her horse`s front legs. He has her horse do a figure 8 kinda thing and the horse comes up lame in one particular direction, twice. The vet kinda knew this would happen before it did, which amazes me cause the horse looks pretty good, in my opinion. Anyway, he doesn`t disqualify the rider but does give her some advice concerning this ride and I look at Dance and think, "It`s showtime, and I`m not gonna mention last year." We breeze through the check with all A`s and then I get to watch my Jennifer.
I`m not sure if I told you but even though Jen is 11, she could easily pass for 7 because of her height. Since I have a living Grandmother (she`s 85) who is 4"10" my genes have to take the responsibility for this part of Jennifer`s physical appearance. Riders in line watch her trot out her 15 H Arab, and are usually impressed. So is the vet and he talks to her the entire time, hardly looking at the horse (I`m joking). Rebel gets strait A`s also, and we hike back to our camp. I spot Truman in line, he yells out something funny about my horse ("It sure must be colder up there on top of that mountain you ride"), a few other riders in line laugh, and I ask Truman why he`s not wearing shorts, since that`s what he wore at Osceola when it was 35 degrees outside. I can`t retort as well as Angie, off the cuff, but I still give it a shot.
A few of the riders in line next to Truman laughed (out of courtesy I think) and Jen and I go back to our campsite. No one is camped next to me, except for the STUCK LADY we have for a neighbor. I ask Jen if she wants to see if her friend Samantha and Samantha`s Mom (St. Sandy) want to ride with us, after they vet in. Jen takes off to ask them. I`m realizing that Sandy is the only Georgia buddy I got that`s showing up at this ride. Sandy has too much class to bother me while I`m napping, so this might be a good thing, even though I`ll miss the drinking company.
I relax and have a beer. Find some food, eat and realize I`m nap material all ready. Jen comes back and tells me Sam and her Mom are saddling up. Damn, there goes the nap, but it is a beautiful day. By the time Jennifer and I are done tacking up Dance Line and Rebel, St. Sandy and Samantha ride up to us and say Hello. The four of us leave the camp area on horseback and head out around Doe Lake.
We ride a bit, Sandy says something about my tights asking if I`ve lost weight. I tell her I might have, I`m down to only a twelve pack a day right now, a drastic reduction. haha. I canter on ahead, Sam and Sandy want to take it easy cause they`re doing a 50 tomorrow, and end up ahead of the other three so much they`re out of site. Jennifer had decided she wanted to stay behind with Samantha. I come up to some camp area and notice a woman who appears to be sunbathing. She must be a Yankee, cause it`s too cold for most Southerners to be in a bathing suit today.
I ride a little closer to the young lady, just to make sure she`s OK, and notice something quite unique about her. She`s totally naked, trying to get that all over tan. Wow. I wonder if she`ll want to come over and pet my horse? haha. I decide to stop wandering towards her, even though it`s really what I want to do, because the camper next to her might contain a male or guard dog (is there a difference?) and I don`t think either one of them will want to pet my horse.
So I just wait for the gals, admiring the view, the young lady catches me looking, smiles and waves. This gives me the incentive to wander over closer but then I hear the other horses coming my way. I ride towards St. Sandy and the gang, not wanting them to think I`m some kind of pervert or something. I don`t tell anyone about the naked lady and we continue on our ride.
Wednesday, February 16, 2000
Sunday, January 30, 2000
Shagya Arabians - Toni Jones
The stallion Sylvia talked about is *Oman, a german import, and is owned by Carolyn Tucker of Amara Farms, in Morgan Hill California. *Oman is a purebred Shagya stallion, bay, 15.3-1/2hh (really), does 4th level dressage (competes), jumps to 5 feet, wins many CTR competitions in his area, has attempted Tevis twice, the last time they got to the check within 13 miles of the finish and the vet said they could go, but Carolyn felt a foot/leg wasn`t quite right and so she pulled him (too valuable to risk and he`s her best friend, he`s fine now), and is licensed and approved with the International Sporthorse Registry/Oldenburg N.A.. There are 2 other bloodlines of Shagyas available in the United States. They came to the U.S. in 1986 and there are less than 150 purebreds registered at this time with NASS. Probably only about that many partbreds also. Separate registry. Purebred breeding stock MUST be inspected and approved (by Germans or other approved judges with International Shagya Society) before used for breeding.
The breed originated in 1789 in Babolna, Hungary. The Austro-Monarchy liked certain things about the purebred arabs, like their stamina, easy keeping abilities, movement. But wanted something a bit bigger, more bone, substance, calmer and with better riding and driving qualities for going to war, pulling artillery, etc.. Back then it was cheaper to fund state studs to produce your own horses for the cavalry than to buy from other countries. Countries went to war or had battles on average of every 7 years. Lots of horses died, they needed lots of replacements and often. So they developed the Shagya. For their foundation stock on the mares they started with performance proven mares of various breeds, including Arabs, TB`s, some of the local draft type mares and crosses of the above. Notice that the mares were performance tested, read, went to war and came back alive and had the qualities they were looking for and wanted to pass on. Sound, good feet, good legs, brains, willingness to please, etc. The Hungarians then went to Syria and thereabouts and looked high and low for quality purebred desert bred arabs to import for their breeding program. From that point on they only used their Shagyas or imported more desert bred Arabs for breeding every 4th generation. Their programs were far more complex than anything we do here, except maybe the TB on the race track.
Each Shagya was performance tested before being allowed into the breeding program. Both mares and stallions. A Shagya was sent to a regiment where careful records were kept on each horse. They did a 480 ride through forest, mountains and desert in 10 days, jumping, 2-mile sprints, long driving trips, etc., and factors of stamina, soundness, attitude, easy keeping abilities were all kept track of. Only about 1 in 30 stallions made the grade for breeding.
Before any purebred Arab stallion could be entered into the main breeding program, he had to breed 30 mares every year for 3 years. These would be Shagya mares and there would be 10 great quality, 10 medium quality and 10 lower quality (note: but still good enough for the breeding program). At the end of the 3 years all 90 offspring would be brought before breeding committee, if they did not meet the standard they and the stallion were eliminated from the breeding program. Read: sold to an agricultural based economy that used horses in everyday life.
The Shagya breed derived its name from the original Desertbred stallion "Shagya" which was imported from Syria in 1836. He was grey and stood about 16 hands according to the Babolna records. The Shagya was also developed, and is used, as an arab bloodstock source to improve other breeds. Shagyas when cross bred will retain size and substance while adding elegant correct movement. You can find them in many warm blood breeds. 2 or 3 Shagyas stood at the German State Hannoverian Stud during the 1960`s and the only outside bloodstock source allowed into the Lipizzans at Piber stud this century was a Shagya around 1980. In Europe Shagyas compete against warmbloods.
The Hungarian stud directors didn`t strive for anything over 16 hands although an occasional individual will get larger than that. They knew that Arabs over that size can have many soundness problems. The breed, since developed for war circumstances, excels at dressage, 3-day, hunter/jumper and endurance. They are prepotent for their traits mentioned before and are genetically predictable due to the Hungarian`s linebreeding program. IMO we`ve lost a lot of valuable knowledge over the years of other countries breeding programs that would help us today in our programs.
The Shagya has an interesting story, both in their country of origin, getting through WWII when most were slaughtered for food, and about how the foundation stallion was discovered here in the U.S. in Montana.
For my own personal part, I and O`Biwon have done three 50 mile endurance rides this year. Most people can`t believe they are riding next to a stallion, if they find out. Most don`t. He eats well, drinks well, is extremely sure footed (none of the silly 4 year old stumble bunnies that my other young arabs all had to go through before getting it figured out), not spooky, calm, takes things in stride, is under criteria at the vet checks when we come in even with all the excitement going on. Resting pulse in the pasture of 28. At the rides he was anywhere from 32 to 56, usually was around 48. He can go all alone or with a group, he doesn`t need another horse for motivation to just go on and on. Has a HUGE trot that we are still developing and a very comfortable cadenced canter. Correct legs, excellent feet that wear evenly, (seems impervious to rocks with or without shoes), tracks straight and is my pal. He`s very pleasant to be around as a companion. He just turned 6 in Sept. Next year we hope to take in a couple of dressage competitions, and go to a few more 50 mile rides just for completing. I can`t guarantee that all Shagyas are just like him, but based on what I`ve seen and heard, most are. They are trusting, sensitive, and would most likely follow you into the house.
Sorry for taking up so much space, but there seemed to be several people interested in the breed and rather than post each one separately, I did it this way in case there were more people interested.
Toni Jones
Shagya stallion O`Biwon (*Oman xAerial AF)
Prineville, Oregon
The breed originated in 1789 in Babolna, Hungary. The Austro-Monarchy liked certain things about the purebred arabs, like their stamina, easy keeping abilities, movement. But wanted something a bit bigger, more bone, substance, calmer and with better riding and driving qualities for going to war, pulling artillery, etc.. Back then it was cheaper to fund state studs to produce your own horses for the cavalry than to buy from other countries. Countries went to war or had battles on average of every 7 years. Lots of horses died, they needed lots of replacements and often. So they developed the Shagya. For their foundation stock on the mares they started with performance proven mares of various breeds, including Arabs, TB`s, some of the local draft type mares and crosses of the above. Notice that the mares were performance tested, read, went to war and came back alive and had the qualities they were looking for and wanted to pass on. Sound, good feet, good legs, brains, willingness to please, etc. The Hungarians then went to Syria and thereabouts and looked high and low for quality purebred desert bred arabs to import for their breeding program. From that point on they only used their Shagyas or imported more desert bred Arabs for breeding every 4th generation. Their programs were far more complex than anything we do here, except maybe the TB on the race track.
Each Shagya was performance tested before being allowed into the breeding program. Both mares and stallions. A Shagya was sent to a regiment where careful records were kept on each horse. They did a 480 ride through forest, mountains and desert in 10 days, jumping, 2-mile sprints, long driving trips, etc., and factors of stamina, soundness, attitude, easy keeping abilities were all kept track of. Only about 1 in 30 stallions made the grade for breeding.
Before any purebred Arab stallion could be entered into the main breeding program, he had to breed 30 mares every year for 3 years. These would be Shagya mares and there would be 10 great quality, 10 medium quality and 10 lower quality (note: but still good enough for the breeding program). At the end of the 3 years all 90 offspring would be brought before breeding committee, if they did not meet the standard they and the stallion were eliminated from the breeding program. Read: sold to an agricultural based economy that used horses in everyday life.
The Shagya breed derived its name from the original Desertbred stallion "Shagya" which was imported from Syria in 1836. He was grey and stood about 16 hands according to the Babolna records. The Shagya was also developed, and is used, as an arab bloodstock source to improve other breeds. Shagyas when cross bred will retain size and substance while adding elegant correct movement. You can find them in many warm blood breeds. 2 or 3 Shagyas stood at the German State Hannoverian Stud during the 1960`s and the only outside bloodstock source allowed into the Lipizzans at Piber stud this century was a Shagya around 1980. In Europe Shagyas compete against warmbloods.
The Hungarian stud directors didn`t strive for anything over 16 hands although an occasional individual will get larger than that. They knew that Arabs over that size can have many soundness problems. The breed, since developed for war circumstances, excels at dressage, 3-day, hunter/jumper and endurance. They are prepotent for their traits mentioned before and are genetically predictable due to the Hungarian`s linebreeding program. IMO we`ve lost a lot of valuable knowledge over the years of other countries breeding programs that would help us today in our programs.
The Shagya has an interesting story, both in their country of origin, getting through WWII when most were slaughtered for food, and about how the foundation stallion was discovered here in the U.S. in Montana.
For my own personal part, I and O`Biwon have done three 50 mile endurance rides this year. Most people can`t believe they are riding next to a stallion, if they find out. Most don`t. He eats well, drinks well, is extremely sure footed (none of the silly 4 year old stumble bunnies that my other young arabs all had to go through before getting it figured out), not spooky, calm, takes things in stride, is under criteria at the vet checks when we come in even with all the excitement going on. Resting pulse in the pasture of 28. At the rides he was anywhere from 32 to 56, usually was around 48. He can go all alone or with a group, he doesn`t need another horse for motivation to just go on and on. Has a HUGE trot that we are still developing and a very comfortable cadenced canter. Correct legs, excellent feet that wear evenly, (seems impervious to rocks with or without shoes), tracks straight and is my pal. He`s very pleasant to be around as a companion. He just turned 6 in Sept. Next year we hope to take in a couple of dressage competitions, and go to a few more 50 mile rides just for completing. I can`t guarantee that all Shagyas are just like him, but based on what I`ve seen and heard, most are. They are trusting, sensitive, and would most likely follow you into the house.
Sorry for taking up so much space, but there seemed to be several people interested in the breed and rather than post each one separately, I did it this way in case there were more people interested.
Toni Jones
Shagya stallion O`Biwon (*Oman xAerial AF)
Prineville, Oregon
Tuesday, December 07, 1999
Poem For Bravo - Bev Gray
I hear you call my name out loud
To my pasture the Cumulus cloud
Do not cry for me my friend
I did not die, it`s not the end.
My reflections` in the crystal spring
I`m with the song the meadowlark sing
I`ll guide you through the rugged ride
Turn a round, I`m at your side.
Look for me on Antelope trail.
Feel me in the Rockies hail.
Breathe me deep the rain on sage.
I`m always there, I do not age.
Hear my nicker to guide you home.
Follow my hooves in the granite stone.
My shelter is the forest tree.
The gate is open, I`m set free.
Ride me bareback though the flow
Of winter wheat in the snow,
Or marble canyon with full moon.
Think of me, I`m endless June.
I`m saddled for you everyday,
To dance Outlaw, I know the way.
Above the glow of Bryce we`ll fly.
Remember me, I did not die.
To my pasture the Cumulus cloud
Do not cry for me my friend
I did not die, it`s not the end.
My reflections` in the crystal spring
I`m with the song the meadowlark sing
I`ll guide you through the rugged ride
Turn a round, I`m at your side.
Look for me on Antelope trail.
Feel me in the Rockies hail.
Breathe me deep the rain on sage.
I`m always there, I do not age.
Hear my nicker to guide you home.
Follow my hooves in the granite stone.
My shelter is the forest tree.
The gate is open, I`m set free.
Ride me bareback though the flow
Of winter wheat in the snow,
Or marble canyon with full moon.
Think of me, I`m endless June.
I`m saddled for you everyday,
To dance Outlaw, I know the way.
Above the glow of Bryce we`ll fly.
Remember me, I did not die.
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