Freshly relocated from our home in Colorado to Louisiana, the Blazing Saddles Endurance Ride in Mississippi would be our first sanctioned AERC ride in the Southeast Region.  I usually don’t bother with one-day rides that are more than an hour away, but we were anxious to meet all our new friends and get a handle on how the hot, muggy climate would affect our horses and our riding.  We’d only been in Baton Rouge six weeks, so we still weren’t certain that everybody was “acclimated” yet—but we’d soon find out.

So off we went, me and my daughter, Jackie, and our two horses, headed out to the DeSoto National Forest in Mississippi, near Hattiesburg, roughly four hours away.  My husband and son were busy flying a helicopter to Alabama, and were going to meet us that evening at camp.  The trailer ride out was more or less uneventful, although a little longer than I had expected (I was hoping for three hours, which would have made it just like going to the Shamrock Ride in Wheatland, Wyoming, which was a THREE day ride and well worth the effort and gas money).

We drove several miles down graveled roads before turning into the Longleaf Pine camping grounds, set smack in the middle of what appeared to be the most enormous Lodgepole pine trees I’d ever laid eyes on—reaching straight up about 100 feet.  (I later learned these are not Lodgepoles on steroids, but rather Longleaf pines, hence the campground name).  The campground was packed with horse trailers and electric corrals and campers, a familiar sight that just about brought tears to my eyes.  Finding a spot wasn’t easy because my trailer-parking skills leave a lot to be desired, although we ended up in a perfect spot quite by accident, at the entrance and not too far from the vetting station and meal tent.  I quickly set up the electric corral while Jackie, never a stranger for long, hunted down new friends.

It wasn’t too long after I put up my Trailwise Tack sign and Specialized Saddles banner that I had people stopping by to chat and pick up catalogs and talk shop.  I let the horses relax a bit in their corral and then we took them to the vetting station and got them signed up for the race the next day.  I prefer to stick with 50s, but since my 7 year-old has been riding with me, I had done a lot more 25 milers.  At this point, a “long distance race” (25-30 miles) felt like a cake-walk in comparison to a 50 miler, and I had yet to attempt a 100 miler.  For most people, even the in the equestrian crowd, endurance riding is not a well-known sport.  Nobody at the barn where I now boarded my three horses had ever actually met a real endurance rider, and only had a very vague idea of what it meant.  Most of the them were into jumping, dressage or barrels, and occasionally joined in for a "trail ride" on the levee……five miles was considered lengthy.  So when the topic came up, and folks heard “50 miles,” the next question was, inevitably:  So, how many days does it take to finish?  I would carefully explain that you had 12 hours to complete, although most riders came in between 8-10 hours.  The response was usually amazed looks and raised eyebrows, so I didn’t dare mention the hundred mile competitions, which are standard fare for many experienced, top-level endurance riders.  People already thought I was crazy, or stupid, or both for doing fifties.

And I myself could remember a time before my own initiation into the sport of endurance riding when I would have thought the same thing.  It reminded me of the times I had watched documentaries about Mount Everest, and all the climbers that were trying to get to the top, and more times than not, getting lost and freezing to death before they ever got there.  Like a lot of folks, I would think, Why?  Why do they do this?  It can’t be fun, so WHY?  And I would shake my head and feel a little self-righteous about my good common sense.

Well, now I know why people do stupid, seemingly senseless things like riding 100 miles straight, on the back of a horse, or climbing to the top of the tallest mountain. 

Because.  Because it’s out there to do, and because you might just be able to pull it off.  And wouldn’t that be something?  Who cares that it’s expensive, and hard, and dangerous, and might cause fatal injuries?  Who cares that your husband mutters under his breath and your kids whine about going camping, again, in yet another gorgeous piece of wilderness in North America while all their friends are doing normal activities, like going to Sea World and Disneyland, and paying gobs of money to stand in line all day and have their little bodies flung around on roller coasters? 

And in the middle of your first 50 mile race, I guarantee that you will be bouncing along, wondering what in God’s name you were thinking, why the hell are you doing this stupid thing when you could have your feet up in the air conditioning, drinking a beer……..

So here we were at the Blazing Saddles Ride in Mississippi in the Southeast Region in the deepest south you could get to—more than a mere Texas drawl, we were in the land of “y’all” and twangs so thick you’d think it was a foreign language.  Both my kids were already belting out y’alls as if they’d been born to it, and it was fixin’ to get worse……. Okay, so I could work on my kids’ accents later, right now I was especially concerned about how the humidity would affect the horses and the conditions the next day were expected to be upper 80s with lots of humidity.  In comparison, Colorado also gets hot in the summer—it’s not unusual to be in the upper 90s and low 100s through July and part of August—but it’s a dry heat, quite often accompanied by a dry wind which often has the unfortunate effect of a blow-dryer.  The challenge in the Mountain Region in regards to heat was keeping the horses wet—minutes after sponging down, they would be dry again, and even their sweat seemed to be sucked out just as quickly as it was produced.

We got our vet cards and numbers and lined up at the vetting station.  I let my daughter go first, watching with pride as she presented herself to the nice, young vet named DeeDee Huff that was helping her.  Jackie was starting to learn the ropes, and when DeeDee told her to trot out, she confidently took Taz in hand and off they went.  A voice behind me said in a very thick southern accent, “Okay, you can go on too.”

Huh?  I turned around and came face to face with Otis Schmidt, the head vet.   I hadn’t even realized he’d been vetting my mare, he’d been so smooth and quick about it, and more surprising, my mare didn’t seem to notice either!  I’d seen his name a lot in the ride postings, and noticed that he vetted many of the rides in the Southeast region (and, surprisingly, Lyle Sherfey’s ride, Rushcreek Reunion in Nebraska).   I made a mental note:  This is the guy, the head Dude.  With any luck, I’d be seeing a lot more of him…….I clucked at my mare and off we went in the direction of the cone.  I furtively glanced back at her, and was relieved to see that her ears were not pinned back nor was she trying to bite my arm—things she did last season, when I first started her, green and still half wild and no doubt longing for those remembered days of freedom on a huge spread in Snowy Range, Wyoming.

Both horses got all As, and Otis grinned and chuckled and teased me, and I only understood half of what he said but I could have hugged him right then and there, I felt so relieved.  Having a vet like Otis is such a gift.  He comes across as a man of experience and wisdom, and yet he’s so down to earth and laid back.  It’s a great combo, and not one that you always get.  For better or for worse, the vet is God at an endurance ride, and has a profound impact on the feel of the ride.  My hunch was this was going to be a fun ride and I felt reassured that the vets knew what they were doing and would make sound and fair decisions when it came to the welfare of our horses.  This feeling was further reinforced when I’d nervously brought my mare down to have them look at an insect bite that had left a nickel-sized raw spot behind her right shoulder.  For days, I had worried about it, wondering if I’d get all the way to the ride, only to be told I couldn’t compete because the spot was in an area that would come in contact with the saddle.  I’d been treating the bite with Boudreaux’s Butt Balm (a “welcome to Louisiana” gift from Karen Wolfsheimer, ha ha), and even cut a hole in my saddle blanket to keep the area from being rubbed.  The vets had obligingly looked at it, and didn’t bat an eye.  Maybe it helped that they knew I had already been taking care of it and had taken steps to alleviate any problems.  In any event, it was a non-issue, and remained that way throughout the ride.

With our horses successfully vetted in for the ride the next day, I was pleasantly surprised to learn that dinner was being served that night, a real down-home Mississippi catfish fry.  And let’s get one thing straight:  Around these parts, people take eating seriously.  This wasn’t supermarket, reheated fare from the grocery deli; no, the caterers, whom Terry Price, the Ride Manager referred to as the “You Can’t Afford Them Catering Company”, were her sister and brother in-law and they were literally frying catfish right then and there in a super-sized propane-powered FryDaddy contraption they’d brought on site for just this occasion.  (The eating area was next to a small lake or large pond, take your pick, and I wouldn’t have been surprised to see someone yanking the fish out of the water and tossing it to the cooks—that’s how fresh it tasted).   In addition to catfish, there was also Hushpuppies (deep fried cornmeal), fried jalapeno peppers (which I mistook for okra, until too late), homemade coleslaw, sweet iced tea, and a variety of cakes and cookies.  Jackie and I were, admittedly, belly up to the food bar, just like everybody else.  (So much for tofu, salads, and grilled chicken breasts—we were in the land of soul food, and it was too good to worry about! Plus, we were carbo-loading for tomorrow’s big race, right?)  I was really impressed with the family friendly feel of this ride camp--lots of kids playing, fishing, and riding bikes with lots of amused and tolerant smiles from riders.  And let me just say, based on my two-month record of living here, that people in the South are some of the friendliest I've ever met anywhere.

When we got back to the camper, I sat outside while Jackie visited next door with Cydney, another little girl who was attending the ride.  The air was velvety soft and fireflies flickered in the deepening dusk high up in the pines.  Like something magical and half-remembered from childhood, fireflies are the Tinkerbells of the woods, and I was mesmerized.  The frogs sang their native chant with one collective breath, and you could feel the vibration of their tempo in the air.  Where were all the bugs and mosquitoes I’d heard so much about?  I wondered.  Since arriving almost 2 months ago, I had yet to be attacked by swarms of mosquitoes, which was a relief. 

At around midnight, right when I’d finally dropped off into a sound sleep, I was awakened by a knocking at the camper door.  At long last, Michael and Cole had finally shown up.  I was impressed that he managed to find our camp site through miles of dirt roads in the dark.  We all got re-settled, and it seemed I’d only just closed my eyes when it was time to get up again.  I made my coffee and fed the horses their hay.  I had preloaded their electrolytes two days before the trailer ride out, and this morning I gave them each another dose of electrolytes in a small amount of feed and wet beet pulp.  There was a fine mist rising from the ground, and I could see other riders moving about in the fog, each quietly attending to his or her own pre-ride rituals.  The 25 miler didn’t start until 7:30—“bankers hours” compared to what I was accustomed to, but I was grateful for the extra time.  Jackie eventually made her way out and we got to tacking up the horses.  The weather called for scattered showers, so I made sure to tie a couple of rain jackets to the back of my saddle.  I’d consulted with the ride manager about the trail footing, and we agreed that Easyboots wouldn’t be necessary (I have barefoot horses), and in fact would probably get sucked off by mud, so that helped to streamline our preparations.

I’m used to the ride manager very casually announcing “trail open” at the start of a ride, and then most of the riders more or less dashing off.  For this ride, “Sam,” the ride manager’s most visible helper, very carefully counted down the seconds before she called “trail open!”  as all thirty-three  of the 25-mile competitors waited at the starting line, bunched up with fretting horses.  The front runners exploded onto the narrow, single-track trail at a full gallop, and I quickly turned my horse in the opposite direction, telling Jackie to do the same.  She indignantly reminded me she wanted to gallop off with them, but my safety instinct said otherwise, and I had noticed that parts of the trail were laced with bulging, leg-breaker tree roots.  I remembered reading that the majority of injuries that occur in an endurance ride happen at the very beginning, when your horse is crazy-fresh, and/or at the end, when he’s tired and likely to stumble. 

I am delighted that my daughter loves to ride and better yet, do the endurance thing with me.  But I also worry about it—riding horses is a way of life and a great passion, but it’s also one of the more dangerous types of fun one can pursue.  My goal with my daughter is to keep her safe and having fun, period.  There are so many wonderful values that are learned from riding endurance—patience, perseverance, what it really means to “win”,  follow-through, toughness,  hard work, taking care of another living being, experiencing nature, etc.  The benefits far outweigh the risk of participation, in my mind, as long as you proceed without being reckless.  And even then, accidents can happen, but you could also die crossing the street, so what the heck.

The first part of loop one was a 5-mile jog that led back into camp and then whisked you back out again for ten more miles until the first hold.  And it was a good thing, because the “big girl” stirrups I’d attached to Jackie’s saddle were not working.  The fenders were stiff and not broken in, and kept popping her left foot out of the stirrup.  Too late, I remembered another hard-learned lesson:  Don’t do anything new on your ride.  Try out all your “new” stuff when you condition, so you can work out the kinks there, not during your actual competition.

Every minute or so of riding was interrupted by a “Mom, wait…..” and then we’d stop, and she’d find her stirrup, and we’d start up again, only to have it happen ever and over.  Meanwhile, riders were rushing past us, and it was a challenge to keep our horses controlled.  At first she was close to tears and feeling upset.  I told her we’d change out her stirrups once we got back to camp, and that she’d just have to deal with it—what else can you do in the middle of nowhere?  But as we continued on, she quit complaining about it, and surprised by her silence, I quickly looked back and saw that she was bouncing along resolutely, with that one foot out of the stirrup and a cheerful grin set firmly on her face.  I felt so proud of her, and admired her grit.  It’s really awful not to be able to keep your stirrup, so I knew the sacrifice she was making.  Her horse, Taz, had a similar look on his face—determined, resolute, and ultimately tolerant of the little beast riding him.  I’m sure it didn’t feel good for him, either.  Meanwhile, Nadrah was being a complete handful, and wanted to catch up with every horse that passed us by.  She’s an incredibly dominant mare, and also quite competitive.  At one point she even kicked out at Taz, which was no fun at a canter, and I chastised her soundly.  (I hate horses with bad manners!)

Finally we made it back to our trailer, and while all the other riders kept going, we pulled over and swapped out stirrups.  It took about 10 minutes, but was well worth it.  We rode off to finish the first loop, and Jackie’s grin was now a genuine smile with stirrups that worked.  Although I was not thrilled about all the lost time, I didn’t get too upset about it.  For me, this ride was really more about seeing how our horses did in the new climate, and I wanted to make sure we took it easy.  I can get pretty competitive in a ride, and it’s something I have to monitor, constantly balancing my desire to “do my best” with the needs of my horse and the demands of the trail.  The results can be disastrous if you cross that line, and sometimes it can be a very hard line to see until it’s too late and your horse is in serious trouble.  Especially when you’re riding a horse that’s also competitive, or one like Taz, who will give you his all and do anything you ask without question. This was only the third year of the Blazing Saddles ride, and they'd not had any metabolic issues before--I didn't want to be the first.

I felt good about our pace, which was between 9-10 mph, with periods of walking, and stopping at all water holes, which were numerous.  In the first 10 miles, our horses didn’t do much drinking, mostly because they had started out hydrated and were fresh and excited.  But soon they began to drink, and I thought about what a blessing it is to have a horse that knows how to drink.  What horse doesn’t know how to drink?, you might ask.  Plenty.  It is just one more very critical component of having a good endurance horse, and something you train your horse to do on conditioning rides.  Getting your horse to drink during a ride will make or break your ride and for many horses, it’s not something that comes “naturally” in the midst of an endurance ride, when they are more excited than usual.

We eventually fell in with a wonderful woman named Marybelle Cooper, 67 years young.  She was mentoring someone new to endurance, Lucy, and her young rookie mare, so we all paced together pretty well and had some fun conversations to go along with the ride.  (Marybelle's goal is to do an endurance ride in every state, so here she was in Mississippi, all the way from Kansas.)  At about mile 11 or 12, there was a small downpour of rain.  It was nearing 90 degrees and getting very sticky and the rain was warm and sultry -- so different from Colorado!  When it rains there, it’s COLD.  I couldn’t imagine putting on a rain jacket in this climate, you’d die of heat, and I had to laugh at myself for taking them.  I’d know better next time!  The rain had a cooling effect on all of us, and I was surprised by the effect of the humidity--I was actually sponging less here.  My horse stayed wet all the time—from sweat or rain—and as long as you maintained a trot and created your own breeze, it was quite pleasant and cooling.  It was only when you came down to a walk and the air became still that you could feel the full effect of the heat and humidity, pressing down against you like a blanket.  This was such a huge contrast to rides in the dry West, where it’s almost impossible to keep your horse wet, and where his sweat is literally sucked out of him by the dry winds.  I was beginning to realize that both conditions were equally challenging, and I am hopeful that the dreaded humidity that everyone talks about won’t be as bad as I had originally  thought…….(I’ll keep you posted).

We came into the first vet check all four of us together, and when Nadrah pulsed down right away to 48 bpm as soon as we reached the monitors, I knew we were going to be just fine.  Jackie’s horse was at 52 bpm, his norm, and the trot outs were great, and on into the hold we went for a 40-minute rest, a snack and another dose of electrolytes.  We tacked up both horses again, and headed back out on trail for the second loop, just behind Marybelle and Lucy.  Jackie announced that she wanted to be the leader, and so she did, and we got way out in front of Lucy and Marybelle, who had decided to walk.  Then we passed a few more people, but then got off trail and had to find our way back, by which time we were back with Marybelle and Lucy.  That was the only time we got off trail—once.  A record for us.  The trail was very well marked and very consistent, overall.  (A well-marked trail is a beautiful thing, everyone say “amen!”)

It had begun to rain again, and this time it was a real “toad strangler.”  I mean, drenching, buckets pouring from the sky.  But still warm and not too uncomfortable, other than the fact that you were just wet through and through.  On we went, at one point doing a hand-gallop for about a mile because Marybelle said her horse’s heart rate actually dropped at a canter.  She was monitoring him the whole time with a heart rate monitor, and I thought about that a bit.  I’ve ridden with monitors, and it’s fun and interesting to see what your horse’s heart rate is doing throughout the ride, and then to see those numbers get better as conditioning improves.  But sometimes I wonder if it makes it too easy to get over-dependent on your monitor, and ride the monitor more than the horse.  My guess is that, like most things, it depends on the person.  From what I hear, the FEI rides now require you to use one, along with a GPS unit, so it doesn’t hurt to get familiar with that equipment.  (FYI, Trailwise Tack offers both.)

All in all we had a great day, breaking no records for time (we finished at 1pm), but having fun and checking in with horses that could have easily gone another 25 miles.  I was gratified to see how well they did in the heat, and now feel reassured that we can open up a bit more on our next ride in Georgia (GERA Fundraiser, June 20 and 21).  It’s an “elevator” ride, so I’m hoping Jackie will bump up to a 50 miler, but we’ll have to play it by ear…..regardless, I plan to ride at least one of those days in a 50, and am looking forward to seeing that part of the country -- we've never been to Georgia before, so this will be fun!

Back at the barn, I was reminded again about the uniqueness of endurance riding, especially in terms of what it means to “win.”  Ellen, the barn manager, had seen me off with a hearty, “Hope you win!” farewell.  She’s a veteran Western competitor, having shown in halter, pleasure, barrel racing and gymkhana events, and also worked at several race tracks. As such, the concept of “winning” is very concrete in her line of competition.  I hadn’t had time to explain to her that in endurance riding, “To finish is to win.”  And in fact, now only in my third season of endurance riding, I’ve only just begun to truly understand the meaning of that credo. 

It especially hit home last season when I finished a 50 mile ride in first place and was denied a completion by the vet, who pronounced my horse “not fit to continue” due to a slight hind end lameness (so slight that I never was able to see it, so I had to remind myself that he was the expert, not me).  Ah, the full, bitter understanding hit me full in the face of just what to finish is to win meant.  At that point, I would have gladly traded in my first place ride for just a regular, old “completion.”  There went a whole day of riding our hearts out, paying our $85 entry fee, taking the time to be there, all for nothing.  And on top of it, a “smear” on my horse’s record.  Heck, we didn’t even get a T-shirt to show we’d been there!  Yes, when it comes right down to it, to finish is to win.  Without the finish, as ordained by The Vet (a.k.a., God), you have nothing to show for all the hard work that you and your horse just put in.  Still, it’s a difficult concept to fully understand on a gut level until you’ve experienced it.  So, when I explain to folks that ask me how we “did” or if we “won”, that we came in 16^th and 18^th place, out of 33 total riders, 10 of whom had “pulled”, and so yes, we “won”……..well, it must sound pretty strange.  But what can I say?  That’s endurance riding!

--Michelle Smith, June 3, 2009

We drove several miles down graveled roads before turning into the Longleaf Pine camping grounds, set smack in the middle of what appeared to be the most enormous Lodgepole pine trees I’d ever laid eyes on—reaching straight up about 100 feet.