GERA Classic ReVisited: Part 6 (final)

[Howard4567@aol.com]

I spot Pat up ahead and almost yell out in joy.  Rebel picks up the pace and 
we canter up to her.  She actually seems glad to see us; riding alone might 
be therapeutic for your soul, but the rest of you needs company.  

Pat tells me she rode with Rocky a little while but slowed down cause her 
horse didn't seem to want to keep up Roxanne's pace.  I tell her I'm glad she 
did cause Rebel doesn't like traveling alone.  Neither do I. Then she asks me 
about Dance Line, how he's doing after our ordeal at her ride in SC.

Pat almost seemed apologetic about the whole thing; like it was the ride's 
fault that Dance almost died.  I tell her it was me, not the ride, and that 
it could have happened anywhere.  I rode him too fast, missed some key signs 
that he was not feeling well, and am just grateful that it didn't turn out as 
bad as I thought it was going to.  I throw in that I didn't name her ride in 
my story because I would not want anyone thinking that it had anything to do 
with what happened.  

Then she tells me that she remembers listening to my Jennifer talk with the 
vet, Todd, at the awards dinner, asking him if her horse was going to die.  
Pat says she could see the affect the question had on Todd, and, after 
telling Jennifer that the horse would be fine, Todd left the building in a 
hurry, probably to join me and Dance Line.  Evidently, Jen made a few people 
cry that night who overheard the conversation.  Horse people are the best!

We finish the dreaded orange loop, never to be seen again I hope, and pull in 
to the vet area.  All the top runners are in.  I have one more loop to do.  I 
take off Rebel's saddle, sponge him down, let him steal some left over hay 
that no one else will need, and then go to the vet area.  We breeze thru, gut 
check is good, and I go to my camp site to feed Rebel and try and relax a bit.

I'm not feeling well.  The long day has caught up to me and I know I'm 
dehydrated.  I drink two bottles of water, pop another couple aspirin and sit 
in my chair, watching Rebel eat.  Sandra, the young girl who braided Rebel's 
mane, stops by.  She tells me her Mom came in first place.  "You have one 
more loop to do?  My Mom finished hours ago," she says.  Nina had gotten 
pulled, at the third vet check, due to lameness.  Evidently, her horse 
tripped on a rock while she was trotting him out and came up lame.  Vet said, 
"Bummer."  Nina was in first when this happened.

I should be a bookie at these things.  I called first and second, even though 
first got pulled, I'm sure Nina would have won otherwise.  Ten bucks pays two 
hundred if you can hit the quinella.  I'd probably get arrested if I tried 
such a stunt with my luck.

Before Sandra leaves, I ask her if she will get my T-shirt if I'm unable to 
make the awards ceremony.  Somehow, I have a feeling I just won't be able to 
make it.  I'm already looking at my tent, thinking how much a nap is needed 
right now.  This 50 miler is kicking my ass.

Sandra says, "Sure, no problem."  Kids are so cute sometimes.  Sandra leaves 
to join her Mom, the winner, and I just sit and try and stay awake.  As I 
glance around I notice a lot of riders (50 milers) are in.  And I have 
another 13 miles or so to do.  Great!

Our time is up and I check out with Nancy, who tells me I'm in last place.  
By ten minutes or so.  Well, with me being kind of short and thick in the 
middle, I could pass for a turtle, but I don't think Rebel appreciates the 
title.  Off we go, on the blue loop, the last trail for the longest lasting 
ride Rebel has ever done.  Me too!

We're both exhausted.  And no one to follow.  Clomp, clomp, clomp, we walk, 
and it's not even a fast walk.  I look at my watch and realize I'll be lucky 
to meet the 12 hour time limit to get credit for this ride.  That would be 
the kicker, the irony to meet all ironies if we come in past that time limit 
and don't get credit for this ride.  Why does it mean so much to me?

I get off Rebel and walk.  I want him to get some of his strength back.  My 
left calf is killing me, I take a look at it and notice my ride pants (yea, 
they used to be tights) have dissolved, right at the calf.  The material has 
totally disintegrated.  I've been riding like that for sometime, I guess, 
cause my calf is beet red, bleeding a little.  I've just discovered the true 
meaning of the word endurance.  So has Rebel.

Going up the hills I get Rebel to trot for me.  He just wants to get home 
poor guy.  So do I.  Since I'm not in the greatest of shape, after a mile or 
so, I get back on him.  He trots for me a bit, but a canter is out of the 
question.  If I've hurt this horse I will never ride one of these things 
again.  Once burned, twice shy.  How do all these riders do so well?  And why 
is this sport so hard for me?  What the heck am I doing wrong?

We get close to the river and I see a guy walking, with two young boys, all 
carrying rifles.  The man asks me why my horse is so wet.  I try and explain 
that I just sponged him off, at the creek a way's back, but somehow the words 
don't come out right.  It sounds defensive, and then turns into something 
that sounds offensive, and I realize I need to work on my social skills more. 
 I just pissed the guy off, the one with the biggest rifle, and I really 
didn't mean to.  Great!  Shoot me now Lord, it doesn't get any better than 
this!

After we pass the hunters I kick the heck out of Rebel to get away.  I'm 
dizzy, I think I have heat stroke, and my horse isn't doing much better.  I 
get off again, and walk.  I'm thinking of taking off the saddle and putting 
it on my back.  I want to go back to just doing the 25's, this is all too 
much for my old, weary, overweight body.

We get to the river, and I see her.  A Goddess, she is, in a black bikini 
with a body men (heterosexual men) dream of.  I splash water on my face 
hoping it will erase this hallucination I seem to be having.  But then, I 
really don't want it to go away.  I think the Weather Goddess has just come 
down from the heavens to pay me a visit.  Probably to tell me I'm damned and 
going to Hell for sure.

I notice she's smoking a cigarette (hey, she's a Goddess, not like she's 
going to die from smoking), so I try to bum one.  We smokers are a small 
minority and need to stick together.  She tells me the pack is over there, on 
the other side of the river, so she says, "Here, take mine."  And she gives 
it to me, not wondering if I'd mind taking the one that has touched her lips. 
 I don't mind.

I enjoy the smoke.  She sits next to me.  Her name is Susan, she's around 25 
(I'm guessing) and from the great state of Florida (just had to tell you 
that, sorry).  She's camping out here with her parents who live outside 
Atlanta.  I can't believe she's sitting next to me; she's the prettiest thing 
I've seen all weekend.  I feel dizzy and think I'm gonna pass out.  And I do.

I awake, Susan is soaking my head with the sponge I use on Rebel.  Rebel's 
just standing in the river; he's not going anywhere without me.  Susan tells 
me I just passed out for a few minutes, she was going to go and call someone, 
but realized that it might be better to just stay with me since she doesn't 
have a cell phone.  This girl has a kind heart and I tell her I'm fine, just 
kind of tired.  Too tired to flirt, but I give it a shot anyhow (hey, I'm not 
dead).

I tell her I need to sponge off my horse.  Susan says, "I'll do it for you if 
you tell me how."  She gets up and I notice that her bikini bottoms are like 
a thong kind of thing.  Oh, man, don't look at it, don't look!  OK, Lord, 
last time, with the hunters,  I was joking, but now you can take me, cause it 
really doesn't get better than this.  Geezz, this can't be real, I must be 
hallucinating again.  I have to stop watching Ally McBeal.

I tell her to sponge the front, his chest, his neck, his belly and I watch 
her every move.  Randy and Bernie are not going to believe me when I tell 
them about Susan.  I won't even try and tell any women about her, they won't 
understand anyway.  I don't even believe it, especially the thong that I hope 
Susan doesn't catch me staring at like a hypnotist's watch, "You're getting 
sleepy, very sleepy, you're married, very married, spouse, kids, dog, plus 
she's not thinking what you're thinking, plus you're not even sure if this is 
real, plus......"

Susan's not a horse person; she tells me this, but she loves the way they 
look.  I'm thinking that there's one thing better looking than a horse and 
I'm looking at it right now, but I don't say it outloud.  I look at my watch 
and see it's 5:15, my 12 hour deadline is at 7PM and I still have a lot of 
ground to travel.  But how can I leave now?  Is completing a 50 mile 
endurance ride more important to me than this?

Believe it or not, it is.  I thank Susan, mount up and, right before I leave, 
I consider inviting her over to ridecamp, then I reconsider, knowing I'll be 
passed out and not be any company to her whatsoever.  And I hate rejection 
anyway, so, we say Good-bye, I do thank her and off Rebel and I go.  Her 
final words to me are, "Try and stay awake, think of something exciting."  If 
she only knew. Maybe, she does.

We walk, occasionally trot, walk again, I get off, walk some more, and I 
can't believe I wanted to do this so much.  I must be quite insane.  
Actually, I'm quite certain that I am, but I avoid shrinks cause I don't want 
a second opinion.  Only a moron would put themself though this kind of 
ordeal.  I take another drink of water, emptying the bottle.  I feel like Ali 
Babba trying to cross the great Sahara, with his Arabian horse, no water, no 
hope, Death being the only destination.

I'm just about to give up, to forget the whole thing, go back to the river 
and watch Susan sponge off my horse again, when I see them.  Randy, Bernie, 
Jackie and a few others.  They see me and clap.  I can't believe they were 
waiting for me.  Jackie knows how much it means to me and she yells out, 
"Yes, Howie, you go."  I think I've fallen in love with Jackie here this 
weekend.

Well, that's about it.  I got the completion.  Last place, and I got in at 
just a few minutes before 6pm, 11 hours after the start. Jackie helped me 
trot out Rebel for the completion cause I knew I'd need help.  When the vet, 
Ken, said congratulations, signed, and handed me my vet card I tried to say, 
"You have no idea what this means to me."  Jackie said, "Yes he does Howard, 
he knows."  Tears rolled down my face.  What a crybaby I've become in my 
middle age lately.  

OK.  So, the beer thing. I asked you to bear with me and if you made it with 
me this far, here it is.  Next time I do a 50, no drinking, before the race.  
I swear.  I'm done with that.  This sport is too intense.  25, sure, I 
probably will, but not a 50, and a 100 might as well be a foreign country 
like Iraq or something, cause I'll never go there.

I didn't make the awards banquet.  I made an attempt.  I sat down, they 
started auctioning off some tack, and I realized it was going to be a long 
night.  I felt like I was going to pass out again, so I just wandered off 
quietly to my tent.  It must have been around 7pm or so. I'm pretty sure I 
had heat stroke, or heat stress, another irony considering I live in Florida, 
one of the hottest places in the country to spend a summer.  

I got up around 4 in the morning to total silence.  I felt great.  Just 
great.  No headache, Rebel looked good and he yelled at me to feed him again, 
which I did.  As I got out of my tent I saw a brand new T-shirt and a red 
carry all, also brand new, sitting on my chair.  The carry all was my Turtle 
award, for coming in last place. Sandra must have gotten them for me at the 
awards last night and put everything on my chair.  What a nice kid.  I will 
make sure I thank her profusely next time I see her.  I bet everyone laughed 
when she told them I was sleeping.  Haha.