Dance Line ReVisits Goethe: Part Three

[Howard4567@aol.com]

Theresa, my GATOR neighbor,  told me that a woman named Cathy had stopped by 
asking for me.  This must have been when Jennifer and I were chit chatting 
with some friends, after the pre ride briefing.  Theresa said, "That woman 
had a Seminole sweatshirt on.  I almost didn't talk to her. What are you 
doing hanging out with those people?"

I told Theresa that the woman, in question, was stalking me.  Evidently, in 
Cathy's mind, she and I had made a bet over the Gator-Seminole game last 
month and I had lost.  The payment she expected me to make was my hair.  
Cathy thinks she's going to scalp me here and paint my bald head garnet (it's 
a stupid maroon color) and gold.  Haha, only a silly Seminole would want the 
hair off of someone's head instead of cash.

Well, at my age, nobody gets my hair because it might not grow back.  So, 
now, I had a reason to hide from this woman, who thinks something I said to 
her, as a joke, is for real and she wants my head (literally).  If you 
noticed, during our Presidential fiasco down here in Florida, everything kind 
of came to a complete standstill when the Gators hit Tallahassee that weekend 
in mid November.  Floridians take the game so seriously that, deciding who is 
going to be President would just have to take a back seat and wait till after 
a victor had been declared on the football field.

Even that Witch, Katherine Harris, Florida's Secretary of State, was at the 
game, and she's an evil Seminole fan (big surprise there).  My Gators haven't 
beaten the Seminoles on their home turf since the Civil War, but the 
Seminoles cheat big time, especially at home where they can get away with it, 
 and they don't have one player on their team who isn't a convicted felon.  
It's just a matter of time before they feel that Gator chomp.  Unfortunately, 
it wasn't this year.

Jennifer went to bed early that night and I walked over to Roxanne's trailer. 
 I was curious to see what time Rocky was going to bed since she was one of 
those crazy hundred milers and was leaving (not getting up, but hitting the 
trail) at 5:00 AM.  I found her sitting outside with a bunch of friends.  In 
the group were Theresa, Darlene and Randi, all die hard endurance riders 
except, maybe, for Theresa, who was riding in the 25.  And there wasn't a 
Seminole in the bunch, Theresa and I made sure of that.  

We started talking about riding (what else is there?) and how often we go out 
when we train back home.  I told them that if I don't hit the trail every 
other day (I'm semiretired so I have the time) my thighs start throbbing, 
begging me to get up there in the saddle.  The women all laughed at this one, 
especially when I mentioned that in my younger days another part of my body 
used to do that, but now it's just my thighs.  

We drank a little, but those women will tell you Howard did take it easy.  I 
didn't want any problems out there on the trail, especially since I had my 
kid with me.  Roxanne broke the group up early, since her Tylenol had just 
kicked in (she takes it the night before a ride); she says it helps her body 
get through a tough ride day.  After leaving Rocky's place I went over to 
James & Ginny's.

I didn't stay there for long, but I did get to hear James tell a few of his 
"Little Johnny" jokes.  He just cracks me up, that James.  Ginny fell asleep 
and I actually got to hear her snore.  She's gonna love me for telling y'all 
that one.  haha.

I left their trailer, without consuming one beer (a world record for me), and 
went to my tent.  And, of course, I couldn't sleep.  It's one of the few 
excuses I have for drinking, the beer makes me sleepy, especially at a ride 
where I'm too keyed up to do so.  Of course, after the ride is over I hit the 
bed like a ton of bricks.  Endurance rides make me feel like such a kid; I 
don't really know why.  You'd think after two years I wouldn't get this 
excited, but I still do 

I look over at Jennifer, sound asleep.  I wonder what she's dreaming about?  
I think I might have an idea.  If I were asleep I'd be dreaming about it to.  
Dreaming about tomorrow, which is actually today since it's now 1AM.  Sleep, 
Howard, try and get a couple in.  It's so quiet tonight, not one horse is 
neighing loudly, a noise that, sometimes, wakes me up when I am sleeping.  So 
peaceful here, so restful, perfect weather in a perfect place.  I might have 
discovered, finally, what it is that people love  about camping, especially 
with over a hundred horses for neighbors.  And not one generator is running 
(all through the house); hey, it is almost Christmas.  I look over, again, at 
my Jen, and think, "God bless you Tiny Tim. And keep you safe during our 
endurance ride today."  Yea, I know, I'm a little weird.

I guess I did fall asleep until I heard them go by.  Clip, clomp, clip, 
clomp.  How do the horses make that sound on the Florida sand?  The hundred 
milers, there were 12 of them entered, went right by my tent, since I was 
close to the first trail, the purple loop.  Time for me to feed my two nags.  
I let Jennifer sleep (Roxanne is always telling me to quit doing everything 
for Jen, get her more involved with the workload, and one day I'll follow 
that advice.  But not this morning, I want her well rested).

I let the beet pulp soak for a bit, add some grain and take the buckets in 
the portable corral.  Damn, I forgot to unhook the zapper and it got me.  My 
movement scares the horses, who were focused watching the hundred milers move 
out on the trail.  It knocks me down and my butt lands in our huge water 
bucket; man, that water is cold and now my riding pants are soaking wet.  I 
throw the horses some hay, grab my Gator mug and go over to the check in 
area, praying they have some coffee, and maybe, a fire so I can dry my rear 
end.

They do have coffee, but no fire, and Darlene and Randi are there.  Darlene 
asks me why my pants are so wet and then she says, "Howard, what exactly is 
that in your hair?"  I run my hand through it and come up with this white 
junk and realize it's some of the vanilla yogurt I was syringing into Dance 
Line's mouth earlier, in the dark.  Looks like my buddy wanted to share some 
with me.  Darlene asks if I ever saw the movie, "There's Something About 
Mary?"  Haha, yea, I watched it and it seems as though I just relived a 
scene, the part where Mary's hair stands straight up.  I try and share some 
of the yogurt with Darlene but she quickly moves away from me.  She doesn't 
know it's yogurt and I have no idea what Darlene is thinking about me right 
now.

Another note from the Author:  OK, I've been getting some nasty email about 
my writings concerning UAE.  One, in particular, disturbed me so I must 
respond.  I am not some kind of Arab racist and I'd like to make that 
perfectly clear.  Just because I make a few disparaging remarks concerning a 
couple of Sheiks does not mean I feel that way about all Arab people and I 
hope most of you realize that.  I'm not even talking about the cultural 
differences between their country and ours.  I'm talking about money, pure 
and simple, and how a few, who may have too much of it, might be exploiting 
those who don't have enough.  

I guess one way to shut someone up, who might be saying stuff you don't want 
to hear, is to call him a racist. Maybe, I shouldn't try and bring this stuff 
out into the open.  Maybe, those involved want it kept in the dark, secret, 
we don't want to talk about it.  Or, maybe, I am making a big deal out of 
something that isn't.  But, let's discuss it openly, that's all I'm asking.  
Part of me isn't even sure if I want to see our sport in the Olympics, if 
questionable money and power is what it takes to get there.  That old cliche 
keeps ringing in my head:  Money creates power and absolute power corrupts 
absolutely.  I won't bring this subject up again in one of my endurance 
stories.  I apologize for doing that, I just wanted to get it out of my head.

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!  I'LL TRY AND FINISH THIS BY NEW YEARS!