I came to the Yellowhammer Pioneer ride with several goals in mind:
To complete all three days (which is what it means to “pioneer” a ride); to add 125 miles to my record;
and to ride with self-discipline and develop strategy.
I accomplished none of these things.
Instead, I learned of lot of really valuable lessons that I hope I will have enough self-control to use in my next
endurance endeavor, and I did manage to have an awfully good time and meet some great new folks in the Southeast Region.
Keep in mind that just getting myself and my mare to the ride was a feat in itself, so every ride I’m
able to make is like a gift. With two kids and a Flight-for-Life pilot husband, I am at the whim of my
family’s schedule: football, cheerleading, doctor and dentist appointments, school functions, homework,
and 12 hour/7day shifts for my husband, our cherished breadwinner. Not to mention working my online tack
business. So getting away for five days to do an endurance ride made for an “iffy” priority,
one only made possible by the arrival of my parents from Hawaii for an extended visit. While I ecstatically
abandoned everyone for a chance to gallop around in the woods, my mom steadfastly held it all together until my return (thanks,
Mom!).
I left on a Tuesday at seven in the morning with a riding buddy, two horses, and a camper
full of tack for my mobile store. It was already about 85 degrees when we left, and sticky.
We wound our way north from Folsom, LA into and through Mississippi, and over into Alabama. It got
progressively cooler as we drove north, and I became chilled in shorts and a tank top. About eight hours
later we pulled into camp. We were promptly invited to a tasty dinner at Jim and Holly Gage’s campsite,
located next door, sharing a wonderful meal with our hosts and a number of other early arrivals.
The
next morning we awoke to an empty horse corral. Because of the tight quarters in camp, we’d had to
set up our electric corral on the other side of the entry road from our camper. Our horses were visible,
but not audible, and so neither of us heard them breaking out. I jammed my feet into running shoes that
I didn’t bother to lace, and stumbled out the door in my pajamas into a chill and foggy morning, with Carol right behind
me. We’d just crossed over to the empty corral, which we noted had been shoved over, when a small
car drove up. A window hissed its way down, and a very awake and well-dressed woman asked us quite pleasantly
whether we were missing any horses. Then her equally well-dressed and awake husband offered to drive us
2 miles down the road to gather up the escapees. Sure enough, there they were, looking smart in their blankets
and walking briskly down the middle of the paved road, with slightly worried looks on their faces. They
seemed relieved to be caught, and appeared to have suffered no ill effects. We came to the conclusion that
(a) the fence needed new batteries, which we took care of, and (b) Paladyn, Carol’s gelding, was oblivious to electrical
shock in a blanket and therefore would not be allowed to wear one without supervision for the remainder of our stay.
After some coffee and clothing, I surprised myself and managed to construct a new tent I’d bought
on clearance for $25 for my tack store. Several nearby men cast uneasy glances my way, bracing themselves for what I’m
sure they expected next: my pathetic pleas for their manly help. Didn’t happen!
As I set up my maze of pieces, I honestly didn’t even think all the parts would be there, but they were, and
I actually got the thing put up, despite having to use about 100 pieces of PVC fittings to attach all the metal supports.
The only help I asked for and got was from Jim, when one of the metal thingies were bent and needed to be hammered
straight (quite honestly I could have done that myself, but Jim looked like he needed something to do).
As
the day unfolded, the camp filled up, with a constant stream of trucks and trailers, some of them quite spiffy.
Carol took her horse down to see Guy Buck, the highly-acclaimed camp farrier from Tennessee, for new shoes.
We had been forewarned that the trail was very rocky and that hoof protection was an absolute must. My
plan was to use the new Easyboot Gloves and test them out. I kept my mare barefoot, which in Louisiana
is not a problem since footing there is exclusively sand or dirt, no rocks whatsoever. (LESSON
#1: What I learned and already knew but must have forgotten in a moment of amnesia was, NEVER
TRY SOMETHING NEW AT A RIDE. More about that later…..)
About
five minutes after Carol brought her gelding back into the electric pen that both horses were sharing, Paladyn turned around
and kicked the bejeezus out of my mare (and she returned the favor, but with bare feet). I guess he wanted
to make sure she admired his new shoes, which did a little number on her right haunch and hock area. We
quickly set up another electric corral, and I rubbed some liniment (thanks, Jim) on the bloody half-moon marks above her hock
and on her rump. Now I was worried that we’d be out of the race before we even started, but she seemed
to be okay by the time I vetted her in (and I made sure to point it out). After visiting
with some customers, we took the horses out on trail for a bit, attended the ride meeting for the next day’s ride, and
then returned to cheese and crackers at the camper. As usual, I was pumped for the ride and had a difficult
time falling asleep, and worried I’d wake up late.
My alarm went off at 4:15 am and a short
while later Jim came banging on the camper door, like I’d asked him to do. He and Terry Price, his
sister in law, were doing the 75 together, and the 55 milers were starting out at the same time, on the same trail.
It would be a controlled start, led by 2009 Tevis winner and assistant ride manager, Sarah Engsberg (she rode the late
Michael Bailey’s horse, 15-year old K-Zar Emmanuel). We would be starting the ride at 6 am, in the
dark, which was a first for me. My plan had been to ride very conservatively, and start about five minutes
after everyone had left because my mare, like many horses, gets very competitive in a crowd of other horses and wants to be
near the front. However, with the controlled start in the dark, I wouldn’t be able to do that, and
even if I tried, I was worried that I wouldn’t see the trail markings in the dark and would go off trail.
(In all honesty, I guess I was also experiencing the “herd instinct” and apprehension of being left behind.
Had I been more confident in my own abilities to navigate the trail, I would have stuck to my guns and started out
five minutes later, regardless.)
As we headed toward the start area, groups of other riders were
already nervously mulling around. Nadrah could feel the excitement, and began to prance, so I let her walk
in circles around one of the camping areas, and Jim and Terry fell in step near me. I am always excited
at the start of a ride, with butterflies in my stomach and so forth, but I felt especially nervous for this ride.
Much of it had to do with the inky darkness all around us—starting in the dark was just a totally new experience
for both me and my horse. The other was that I hadn’t ridden in a ride since last May, when I did
Terry Price’s Blazing Saddles ride in Mississippi, so I felt a little rusty. I asked Terry if it
would be okay if I rode alongside them for a while, until the trail split for the 55 milers, and she warmly took me under
her wing and made me feel welcome (thanks, Terry, that helped a lot!).
Finally we were off, and
with the discipline of a military cavalry, twenty-four riders headed out of camp and onto the trail. Toward the end of the
controlled start, we came to the top of a ridge, and as if on cue, the rising sun broke over the far mountain tops, like a
benediction. The work and cost to be there at that moment were a small price to pay for the view and the
feeling of briefly, but undeniably, touching something sacred and beautiful: the morning sun like fire against a ridge of
blue mountains, the barely controlled energy of a fresh horse, the music of iron shoes striking flinty rock.
We
followed Sarah for about two miles before she called open trail, and the ranks broke free into a whirlpool of energy, and
we were zigzagging and climbing faster than I wanted to go, sucked into the tide of charging horses. It
was exhilarating and Nadrah felt amazingly strong and nimble, but eventually I pulled her back a bit, and let the front runners
go on. She grabbed the bit out of my hands numerous times, and I was glad for the running martingale.
I began to pull away from Jim and Terry without meaning to, but my horse’s trot was faster than theirs and I
was having a heck of a time getting her to slow up. We were in thick woods of pine and hardwood, following
a narrow, loopy trail interspersed with rock and bogs from the rainy days prior to the ride. We made our
way up a long incline at a fast, extended trot, then cut sharply to the left around a needlepoint turn.
Right at that point was a muddy area, and in a split second Nadrah was down on her knees and I felt myself hurtling
over her right shoulder, and then without breaking stride she lurched back up, and it was as if a giant hand slammed me back
into the saddle. She kept going as if nothing had happened, and I went along for a few moments with my
heart in my throat, seeing my life flash before my eyes several more times before I regained my composure.
That’s
when I met Diane Connolly on her 20-year old Morgan mare, Harmony. As we came up behind them, I knew that
the rump I was looking at was way too wide to be an Arabian butt. And the way the horse was moving looked
almost gaited. I wonder how long she’ll last, I thought to myself, not unkindly.*
It’s well known that most thickly muscled, non-Arabian horses just don’t do as well as their Arabian counterparts.
I didn’t make the rule, but there it is. Harmony was setting a nice pace, and her trot was
something to see, with Diana riding much of the time without hands on the reins, and without seeming to post or bounce.
Nadrah paced well with her, although I was still going much faster than I had originally set out to do, averaging about
10-12 mph on steep, rocky terrain when I knew we should have been pacing about 8-10 mph. Still,
we fell in together, and everyone seemed happy, so I thought I’d hang with it for a while and see how it went.
(LESSON #2: Ride your own Ride! I could have done better here if I had
stuck to my plan of riding slowly and conservatively, regardless of how energetic my horse seemed to be at the time and how
eager she was to keep up with Diane’s mare. Who has the bigger brain? Supposedly
me. Who should be in charge of the pace? Me, not my horse.)
Diane
is a retired math and gym teacher, and had great fun exasperating me with her gift for reciting numerical statistics on just
about everything. Most of the time I just let her chatter on, answering politely at intervals.
Diane also has a theory of electrolyting her horse every hour and a half, so at about mile 13 (I’m guessing,
but I’ll bet Diane could tell you exactly what mile it was and also what time) we stopped to electrolyte.
I’m new to this game, and Diane’s been competing on her mare since 2002, so I figured I’d follow
her lead and electrolyte my mare as well. Diane likes to do it from the back of her horse, without getting
off, because she’s a showoff and because she can, but I have to get off my mare to do it.
Both
mares were freshly electrolyted when we came into our first vet check after sixteen miles. About
midway through the first loop, we began to stop at creeks and streams. Diane’s horse drank like a
pro, but my mare, who usually is very good about drinking, merely sipped here and there. And even though we hadn’t stopped
much to eat, we ended up with straight As on our card for hydration and gut sounds, and a big part of that was probably due
to the coolness of the day. During the hold Nadrah ate and drank pretty well, so I felt reassured as we
headed in to the second loop.
The second loop left at the opposite end of camp, and Diane had
stopped by my camper earlier to see if I wanted to ride with her again. My horse had pulsed down right
away, but her Morgan had taken some extra time, which was normal for her breed. So even though she’d
come in earlier than we did, I was slated to go out ahead of her, but I was happy to wait the extra time for Diane and head
out together. Nadrah was holding up well, but I wanted to keep the brakes on. As we
headed out on the second loop, which was 22 miles, Diane stated what I was already thinking: Let’s go slower
on this loop.
The second loop started off with long, gradual twists and turns through the woods,
mostly in shaded areas. Seven miles into the loop we came to a water trough, let the horses eat and drink,
and gave more electrolytes. We had four more miles to point E, at which point we had to turn around and
retrace all eleven miles (usually this loop is a lollypop, with no retracing, but the Forest Service is building a bridge
out there, and we had to turn back this time). I have to say that the four miles to E was the worst part
of any of the three loops that made up the fifty-five miler. It followed an old gravel road with lots of
big mud puddles. The gravel was big and sharp, and I was grateful for the Easyboot Gloves.
So far they’d held up perfectly, through rock and bog, and I was very pleased. On the return
trip, we fell in with Cindy Abernethy and her mare, Lunas. Both seemed quiet and unassuming, and I felt
sure we’d soon leave Cindy in the dust, but they would have none of it. Fortunately, all three horses
paced well together. Towards the end of loop two, we came to another long incline. I
had begun to notice that Nadrah preferred to canter up all the hills instead of trotting. However, I continually
did my best to prevent her from doing this because I had heard (erroneously, as it now turns out**) that trotting was the
most “efficient” gait. Meanwhile, Diane’s mare would drop out noticeably on the hills,
sounding like a freight train. At one point I’d even asked her if she was okay, she was breathing
so hard it scared me, but Diane said that was her “normal” and the way she cooled herself. As
Nadrah began her customary canter up the hill, Lunas was right on her tail, and I suddenly I heard Cindy yelling, “Your
boot, your boot!” and felt Nadrah do a funny twist and hop. As I jumped off, Cindy thundered by and
left me in the dust. Nadrah obligingly held up her hind left leg, with the Easyboot hanging under her foot,
still attached by the gaiter. Upon closer inspection, the screw had come out of the back of the gaiter
where it attached into the boot. I put it back together as best I could, and we made our way back into
camp, which fortunately, was only about a couple miles away at this point. Again, all As at the vet check.
I rubbed desitin on Nadrah’s heel bulbs during the hold, slipping it in without taking the boots off.
She was eating and drinking like a starved animal, which was a good sign, and in fifty minutes we were back out again
for the final 17 mile loop.
Now we really were going much slower, averaging 7-8 mph when we had
been doing 10-12. In fact, during the first three or four miles of this final loop, both mares seemed tired,
and needed some urging on here and there—not much, but enough to make me take note of it. Throughout
the first two loops, Diane had continually told me what place we were in. Finally I told her, “I’m
just riding to do the best ride my horse and I can do on this day, and I don’t care what place I’m in.
In fact, I’d rather not know.” So she’d quit telling me. But
about ten miles into the final loop, I caught a flash of orange through the trees, winding its way up the opposite hillside.
And then as we descended into a small valley, I saw Cindy and her mare step away from the creek and head off onto the
trail. This would have been no big deal, except Nadrah saw it too, and now the chase was on.
She upped her pace and took the lead without my urging, her ears continually perked forward while I continued to scan
the woods for glimpses of Cindy’s orange shirt. It became a game and kept us from noticing how tired
we both were. We came to a road crossing, and I saw Cindy again, just as she was turning her horse back
into the woods from the trail. “Cindy’s right ahead of us”, I said to Diane.
“She is, where?” And now the chase was really on, and
both our horses were hell bent for leather to catch up with Cindy and her mare, Lunas.
The gig
was up. The “competitive beast” side of my personality that I had thought safely locked away
was breaking through the chains and making a big re-entry into my psyche.
“Where
are we in placement Diane?” I asked.
Wrong question.
She grinned and told me we were somewhere in the top ten, probably 6th and 7th. (Not
that amazing considering there were only thirteen riders in the fifty-five miler that day). Still feeling
the dust in my face after Cindy blew by me on the last loop, I suddenly wanted more than ever to catch up to her, but she
wasn’t making it easy. Even once we acknowledged that we were going to make a play to catch up, she
knew what we were up to, and it became a game, a game that got us to the finish line with great exuberance, but one that ultimately
ended up costing me the next two days of riding.
Up until this point, I’d
made one unintentional mistake, and one that I probably could have recovered from: I’d ridden a little
faster than I’d planned to. This was supposed to have been a slow, conservative first day 55 miler,
and instead I was in the top ten and going about 3 mph faster than I meant to on very difficult terrain. A
big part of this was finding myself in step with Diane, who was a much more experienced rider riding a much more seasoned
horse (in fact one that had recently come from the Big South Fork Ride in Tennessee several weeks before—lots of hill
conditioning on that one, similar to this one, and enough time to rest and recover from it.)
What
should I have done? Not ridden out with her on the second loop, even though it felt somehow “impolite”
not to. Ride your own ride. How many times have we heard that?
More importantly, how many times have we actually done that?
But where I really went wrong
was when I decided to catch up with Cindy. Here’s where I lost sight of the Big Picture to Pioneer,
and traded it in for the Cheap Trinket of One Day of Glory. I am not proud to say that not only did I catch
up with Cindy, but I also raced her to the finish line at a gallop. I passed Cindy, and we were
whooping and hollering and the person at the finish line with the clock was laughing, and Diane came through, whooping and
hollering, and everything felt awesome at that moment. Nadrah had come in 4th place,
and I was so proud of her! We would stand for BC, no doubt about it. (LESSON
#3: Do not race a tired horse to the finish line. Statistically, this is where most
injuries occur, right at the end, and can cost you your ride completion or worse.)
Exhilarated
and glad to be done, we headed into the vet check for our completion. Nadrah had pulsed down right away,
as usual, and everything was checking out great until we got to the trot out. She was sore, and seemed
just a touch off on her right front. The vet picked up her foot to palpate her tendon, which appeared fine,
and I offered to take off her boot. She nodded yes. I began to peel away the gaiter
and my jaw dropped in shock at what was revealed: raw sores all around the front of her pasterns where
the gaiters had rubbed. I took the rest of the boots off, with the same horrifying results. And to add
insult to injury, a small rock was embedded within the boot in her frog on her right front. My tough, strong
mare had just finished 55 miles with sores on her ankles and a rock in her hoof, and I hadn’t noticed. (At
the second hold I had rubbed desitin on her heel bulbs, where I’d heard rubs could sometimes take place, but for some
reason I hadn’t thought to inspect under the gaiters during the holds. In hindsight, it seems so
obvious and I feel so stupid. In my defense, I’d never experienced this problem with the Easyboot
Epics, which was what I typically used, maybe because the fit was looser --and probably also why they tended to come off more).
Again, the words came back to me: Don’t try something new at a ride.
Obviously
BC was out, and who cares, now I was just hoping we’d be allowed to complete. It was sad to think
we may have gone all those miles with nothing to show for it, and yet I had no one to blame but myself. I
was not proud, and I wished Nadrah knew how sorry I was. She is such a tough, willing mare and I’m
so lucky to have her. I doctored her up as best as I could and after thirty minutes, we went back and did
another trot out, which to my great relief, she passed.
Later I learned a
lot of folks use desitin and vet wrap around the fetlock areas, under the gaiters of the Glove, and then continually check
and reapply throughout a ride. I wish I would have known that before the ride, but I’m glad I can
pass that information on now. I was very happy with how the Gloves performed in terms of not coming off—I
had only one come off during the ride, and it was a very tough, technical, rocky, muddy ride—especially challenging
conditions for booted horses. However, now I was left with a horse that I didn’t dare put boots on
again until she healed, and I’d hoped to do two more days of riding, which was not going to happen in boots.
And there was no way a horse could do this ride barefoot.
Well, I wish I could say that
my stupidity ended there, but it didn’t. I knew there was no way I’d be able to ride her the
next day. Actually, that’s a lie. I knew that only after I had a pivotal chat
with Don Meuten, ride manager for the Virginia Highlands ride. Don was a few doors down from us, and introduced
himself to me on the first day when we met in my store. He was friendly and warm, and gave off an aura
of reassurance…..there are some people like that, that just invite you in. I found out later he
is a vet, but he could just have easily been a minister with the good, quiet feel he gave.
Anyway, he drove by in his truck that evening and politely stopped to ask me how my ride had gone, and I told him,
then began fretting about whether I should ride my mare the next day. He listened, and then looked at me
for a long moment. It really made me stop. Then he smiled very gently and said, “You
don’t want to ride her tomorrow.” And suddenly I realized he was right, there was no way in
hell I could possibly ask her to go out again, and anyway, what about her feet? It was ludicrous to even
think about. (Thanks, Don! Note that Don finished before me in 3rd place and his wife came in 2nd,
and they both rode the next day, too! Wow.)
The next day I took Nadrah down to see Guy Buck
and we debated over gluing the gloves on (after removing the gaiters) or just going with shoes. I would
have had to remove the gaiters off all four Gloves to make them Glue Ons. Then we’d have to apply
a heat gun to each hoof, to dry it out enough to have the Vettec Adhere bond the glove to her hoof. This
would be tough, as conditions were very wet. In addition, all four Glove/Glue Ons would be sacrificed for
one day of riding, since they become essentially unusable after they’ve been glued and then removed. After
carefully weighing all my options, and the time and cost involved, I went for the iron shoes.
Nadrah
continued to show improvement. I took her for a five mile walk in the woods, then trotted her out for Otis
Schmidt, the head vet. She looked good in her new shoes, better that he had expected, so I took the plunge
and signed her up for the next day’s ride, opting for the fifty because I was still trying to squeeze as much mileage
as possible from this ride. (LESSON #4: Be more conservative that you think
you need to be. I should have listened to my inner guide, and ridden in the 25 miler, not the 50.
My ambition and competitive nature were continuing to dominate my better sense.)
As
we did the trot out in front of Otis that morning before getting on the trail, he had me and one other person come back to
do it again. Nadrah was short-striding, but he decided it wasn’t enough to count her out, so off
we went. The first loop was a tough 20-mile loop and when I got into the vet hold, everything checked out
great except her trot out. She was sore. Still, the vet and farrier both agreed that
it was no worse than it had been that morning. Also, her CRI was great—lower pulse than the first
time, which usually indicates a non-response to pain. Otis said it was up to me--I could keep going or rider option out, but
to keep in mind that the second loop was the longest—22 miles. A more disciplined rider would have
removed her horse from the ride at that point (Rider Option). I regret to say that I didn’t.
I was gambling at this point—an option that almost always does not pay off, and one which more importantly sheds
some unflattering light on the rider’s judgment. In hindsight, I wished I would have pulled her.
Better yet, I wish I would have ridden her in the 25 miler—we could have at least finished that.
If I was perfect and had impeccable self-control and knew how to bludgeon my ego and ambition into the dark depths
where they belonged, I would have let her also have a second day of rest, and chalked up the whole thing to a learning experience.
(LESSON #5: When a vet gives you a choice to Rider Option out, you should probably do it.)
Exactly three miles before we came into the second vet hold after the second loop of twenty-two miles,
Nadrah developed a head bob. I had gambled, and we had lost. Sure enough, we were pulled,
forty-two miles into the ride and eight miles away from the finish. My mare was off on the left front.
Upon closer inspection with a thermographer, we were able to tell that none of her hooves or tendons appeared to be
the problem. Rather, she was sore in her right hind, which was translating a diagonal lameness to her left
front. The vet taking the thermographer images, Ken Marcella, told me that many of the horses he had observed
throughout this ride were “girthy” and back and butt sore, due to the up and down roller-coaster conditions of
the ride. He said my mare was sore in the same way I’d be sore if I ran out and did a strenuous activity for a long
period of time that I wasn’t used to doing. This made sense. In Colorado we were
hill-trained—in fact it was hard to find flat areas to ride. But in Louisiana, there wasn’t
a hill to be found, and we’d been there for the last six months, conditioning in heat, humidity and sand, but not on
hills. And so metabolically she was doing great, but muscularly, she was stressed, and this was not helped
by the tack galls she’d suffered on the first day. (Lesson #6: When you
set off to do your first Pioneer ride, start with one that has mild terrain conditions. The accumulated
mileage over several days in a row is enough of a challenge to begin with! Throw in lots of hills, rocks, and mud, and
you're likely not to finish all days of the ride, unless you and your horse are very seasoned and have impeccable strategy.)
It’s been a little over two weeks since the ride. My daughter, Jackie, and
I took the horses out two days ago for a fun hack, a few small jumps, and a little arena work at a nearby jumping facility.
Jackie is just starting 4-H and learning to jump. She has already ridden three limited distance rides with me
as her sponsor and mentor, and we’ve successfully completed all three (including one especially challenging ride in
Wyoming in top ten placement). As much as I enjoyed having some time to myself at this ride, I found I
really missed my family being with me. I especially missed the very special bond of riding a ride with
my daughter. It surprised me how many folks at this ride asked where she was, having remembered her from
the Blazing Saddles ride in Mississippi last May (I won’t let her skip school to do endurance rides). The
other part of that equation is that I wanted a chance to really go for it and not have to worry about her, and do a fifty,
which she isn’t quite ready to do. The irony of this, and something I have only just realized, is
that she is just as much my mentor as I am hers—when I ride with her, I am a better rider. My
motherly instincts are fully activated—we go only as fast as a little girl who just turned eight wants to go.
We do everything with safety and good sportsmanship at the forefront. And we stop to admire the
view and smell the flowers, as all 8-year olds are fond of doing. There is no doubt in my mind that
I would have shown better judgment and been a better competitor at this ride if she'd ridden with me. So
I saved the best for last, Lesson #7: Ride the way a child does—to have fun and enjoy the view!
Your horse will benefit, too.
--Michelle Smith
October
22, 2009
All photos by Michelle, unless otherwise noted
*Posture and Performance, A Study in Balance
by Michael C. Beesley, LMT, CNMT, CEST confirms that horses cantering uphill do better statistically when it comes to muscle
fatigue. Here's his insightful article: https://buzzword.acrobat.com/#d=Z7brhigZ50W2DfKo1ZMB6g For more information, contact Mr. Beesley at intouchwithorses@att.net. (Mr. Beesley attended the ride to do more testing and continues to have some interesting results on the
equine athlete that provide good insight to endurance riders and other equine athletes.)
**Diane
Connolly’s mare, Harmony, came in 6th place on day one of this ride in 6:55, and also completed the 50 miler
on day 3 in 16th place in 6:49—a wonderful performance for any horse, not to mention a horse that's 20 years old
and a Morgan to boot! Way to go!
