Dance Line ReVisits Goethe, Part Four

[Howard4567@aol.com]

I leave Darlene and Randi with my Gator mug filled with java.  The weather is 
just perfect; cool, crisp morning, but not too cold, with very few clouds in 
the sky.  I'm wearing a light jacket and gloves are not necessary.  I 
probably won't use my riding gloves today, even though they aren't really 
riding gloves.  I buy baseball batting gloves, which work just as well, if 
not better, and are a lot cheaper than the stuff they sell in the horse 
catalogs.  Wal*Mart sells them for under ten bucks a pair, made of leather, 
and they fit like a glove.  Haha.

As I approach my tent I loudly order Jennifer to get her butt out of bed.  
She mumbles something back to me, something that's probably best I don't 
hear,  but I have the feeling she was already awake.  I ask her to get 
dressed and help me tack up the horses.  Roxanne's voice is ringing in my 
head saying, "Get her more involved, Howard.  Make her do everything 
herself."  I'm working on it, Rocky, I'm working on it.

Jennifer and I both have on brand new riding pants.  I had to get a new pair 
for me since all my others have large holes in them and my only pair that 
seemed usable, when held up against the light, showed signs of wearing so 
badly at the rear, you could see right through them.  Not a pretty sight when 
I had them on.

I had made the mistake of buying jodhpurs for Jennifer, since they were on 
sale.  They had these buttons on them, about three inches from the bottom of 
the leg, with straps hanging from the buttons. I had no clue what to do with 
all this.  I had ordered them from a horse catalog, extra long, for my short 
legged kid, since previous pairs of breeches seemed to shrink, faster than 
Jen was growing, and, after a couple months, would ride up to mid-calf  

I could see that the buttons had to go so I just cut them off with my knife 
and we threw away those silly straps that looked like they'd cut off her 
blood circulation if we were crazy enough to wrap them around her leg.  
There, that looks much better. You wear what works and use what lasts for as 
long as it does; those miles take their toll, on everything.  Endurance is 
not a "show sport" and I hope it never becomes one.  The "show thing" is one 
of the problems I have with International Endurance rides, but I'll just shut 
up about that.

I had Jennifer mix the electrolytes with the yogurt and fill the syringes.  
It was still dark outside, which made the work by my trusty Coleman lantern 
difficult (it's the same one I used to set my hay on fire two years ago, here 
at Goethe, on that cold night when I slept in my horse trailer).  I wanted to 
give the horses an extra dose before we hit the trail.  I use the yogurt, 
instead of probiotics, because it's a lot cheaper and seems to work well, 
especially on Dance Line, where gut sounds are critical.  I check his gut, 
myself, during the ride at camp, with a stethoscope, and I will pull him, 
without hesitation, if I don't hear what I should.  I intend to do everything 
in my power to assure this horse never crashes on me again during a ride.  I 
love this sport, but I love my horse many times more.

As I think I mentioned before, my plan was to ride three loops with Dance 
Line and pull.  I want to work my way up to completing a 50 mile ride with 
Dance Line, slowly.  He and I did a 25 last October at Liberty Run, he did 
great, but I wasn't taking any chances.  A 25 is not a 50 and the two are so 
separate from each other you never really understand the difference until you 
do both.  Since they have yet to create a ride in between the two distances, 
I just figured I'd make up my own.  Enter the 50, pull at 35 to 40 miles. 
Howard's version of endurance on a hyper Saddlebred.

So far, I was one for two in my 50 mile attempts, with the one completion 
with Rebel.  Jen was three for three.  Rebel was our endurance king, although 
he did have some faults of his own.  Rebel has a tendency to trip and to not 
pass another horse.  Because of this last fault Rebel has won two turtle 
awards.

We tack up the horses and Dance Line was acting anxious.  "Dad, please don't 
have your crazy horse rear up today.  It upsets Rebel when you do that," says 
Jen.  Yea, well it upsets me too, kid.  Plus, anyone who happens to be near 
us.  So I whisper in Dance's ear, before mounting, "No showing off this 
morning.  It's still dark out, no one can see you anyway."

Jen gets up on Rebel and I find a pit area, from an old campfire, put Dance's 
front legs in and up I go.  Theresa watches me do this, I can hear her 
chuckle from her campsite across the way, and then she yells, "Go Gators," to 
me and Jennifer as we depart.  Jennifer happens to be wearing her U of F 
jacket; I hope it brings us luck today.

We check in with Nancy, time keeper extraordinaire of the South, and pretty 
soon Nancy gives everyone the countdown.  Even though 70 or so riders signed 
up for the 50 miler,  I don't think there's more than 55 here ready for 
takeoff.  Jen and I get in the back, I don't want to be in the crowd of front 
runners.  Three....Two....One..... blast off.  And they do.  Forget the 
canter, the front runners are galloping.  We let twenty or more go by and 
then Jen and I get in line.

And Dance is being Dance.  He's on fire.  I'm pulling back on his reins, 
because I don't want to gallop and I don't want to get too far ahead of Rebel 
and Jennifer.  I'm starting to regret not wearing my gloves, it just seemed 
too warm outside for such a thing, but this horse is fighting me at the bit 
bigtime.  Dance Line just can't stand seeing other horses in front of him and 
this first loop is not going as I had planned.  I wanted to trot Dance the 
first loop, to save his strength for the remaining two.  My horse, obviously, 
has other ideas this morning.

As we fly down the trail I constantly look behind me, making sure Jen is OK.  
She is and has a big smile on her face that let's me know just how OK she is. 
 Jen has no fear, which is why she continues to mount up the miles on a horse 
that I, personally, hate to ride.  Rebel trips with me on his back and has a 
canter with no rhythm to it at all.  If I ever get Jen to ride a really good 
horse she'll be amazed at what she's been missing.

We get to the only obstacle on the trail, a downward slope, with a tiny 
ditch, and Dance Line leaps right over it (too cool), not stopping or 
breaking stride at all, remaining in his canter, bordering on a gallop.  And 
then I hear Jen yell out, "Dad, Dad, stop!"  And I do.  I spin Dance Line 
around only to see Rebel come cantering right for us, without his rider. Damn.

I block Rebel with Dance's body, even though I don't think Rebel would have 
passed us, jump down, holding on to Dance's reins (Dance would probably take 
off on me & his buddy would follow) and grab Rebel's.  Dismounting a giraffe 
like this can be hazardous to your health, but the soft sand keeps me from 
breaking or twisting an ankle.  I look down the trail and watch Jen pick 
herself up out of the ditch.  She's not hurt, isn't crying, but she sure 
looks dirty.  I know riders are coming up from behind us quickly, and I yell 
at her to hurry.

Evidently, Rebel tripped in the ditch, went down to his knees and Jen went 
flying off.  This angers me and I have a few words with Rebel while Jennifer 
jogs towards us.  Jennifer hears my angry words and gets upset with me 
yelling at Rebel, so I stop.  But I start having visions of painting a big 
red 4SALE sign on Rebel's rear end when I get home.  I don't have the love 
for Rebel that I have for Dance Line, and sometimes it shows, especially when 
his faults come close to hurting my kid.  My goal is to get another horse, 
one that is safer, for her by the end of this ride season.

We mount up and get back on the trail.  This first loop, the purple one, is 
only ten miles and I wish it were 15.  I don't think it's going to be long 
enough to settle Dance Line down, where I want him to be.  At the pace we're 
going now I know we'll be back at camp in 45 minutes or so and that's not the 
pace I wanted to set.  I slow down his canter and get him into a trot, but 
not for long.  As soon as another horse passes us or he spots one up ahead he 
takes off on me.  I let him go, not all the way like he wants but more than 
I'd like, knowing that fighting him and making him trot is just going to add 
to his stress level.  After two years, I still cannot calm him down during 
the first loop.

One lady, as she canters alongside me and Dance,  asks me if my horse is a 
show horse.  That's how out of place Dance Line looks here at these endurance 
runs.  Very few horses here look like my Saddlebred, and I get that show 
question often from people who don't know me and are seeing my horse for the 
first time.  I'm about to answer her when a loud scream resonates through the 
forest.  A rider has just let out a resounding "YESSSSSSSS," (Marv Albert 
rides again) and my guess is it's out of sheer joy.  He just had to let it 
out because the moment was too wonderful not to let the world know what a 
great time he was having.  Perfect moment, perfect weather, perfect ride.

I, for one, was enjoying myself, but not all was perfect.  I did not have 
total control of Dance Line like I would have liked.  Quite often I'd have to 
veer him off the trail, head him right towards a tree to get him to stop, 
just to give myself a break with him fighting my hands constantly.  Next loop 
I'll have on gloves, although I'm hoping he'll be calmed down by then.  
Rebel, who reminds me of some kind of cartoon character, puts on his brakes, 
making sure not to pass Dance Line, everytime I pull Dance off the trail.  I 
try and signal left or right, depending on where the biggest tree is, to warn 
Jen of what I'm about to do.  My verbal cue to my daughter is, usually, "Damn 
it, Dance Line."

Even when I'd stop Dance's forward motion, his legs never stopped moving.  
He'd trot in place (it must be a gaited thing), as if he were an athlete not 
wanting to cool down, even when a tree was right in his face.  My horse 
really needs a chill pill and I know this is one of the reasons why I have so 
much trouble getting him to complete a 50.  Calm is not part of his 
vocabulary and he has taken the word "hyper" to a completely new level.  
Behavior, such as this, has me considering pulling him after the second loop 
instead of the third one.

Jennifer tells me, "Come on Dad, let's keep going."  Part of me knows that 
Jen can't wait to get in the required miles so that she doesn't have to have 
a sponsor anymore.  She thinks I hold her back (wait till she sees what my 
plan is at the vet checks).  I don't think she realizes that Rebel is such a 
follower, she will always need to be tagging along with someone.  Until she 
rides a different horse.

I let Dance Line hit the trail again and off he goes.  As soon as I release 
the reins he does this Lippazhan leap and we're airborne, totally off the 
ground for a second, and then, instantly,  in the canter.  "That was cool, 
Dad, " Jen says, not realizing that I had very little to do with it.  This 
trail is so close to what we're used to back home I feel like I almost have 
an advantage over those who are riding from out of state.  Soft sand, but the 
trails are not tore up by 4 Wheelers; they're not allowed here at Goethe.  
With my nutso Saddlebred, I'll take any advantage I can find.

And we're back at camp, way sooner than I wanted to be.  We stop at the end 
of the purple loop, where a nice volunteer (sitting in a Gator chair, I 
swear.  No wonder why I love it here so much) records our intime on a sheet 
of paper and puts that time on our vet card.  "Cool chair," my kid says to 
the volunteer.  Instead of getting in line at the vet check area, I walk the 
horses over to our campsite.  "What the heck are you doing, Dad?"  Jennifer 
asks.  "Jen, it's part of my plan, I want the horse's to rest a bit, I'm 
going to sponge off Dance Line and let them cool off and eat," I tell my 
frustrated daughter.

And this is exactly what I do.  I take off Dance's tack, leave Rebel's on, 
remove both bits, and let them eat. The two horses nuzzle each other, Rebel 
gives his English saddle a big shake, and then they both start gobbling the 
feed in their respective buckets.  Beet pulp, grain, and hay.  I'm in no 
hurry today and a double rest at the vet stops is part of my plan.  

I sponge off Dance, tell Jen to get a granola bar for herself and something 
to drink.  She's grumbling at me incoherently, knowing that my actions are 
not the norm for a true endurance rider.  I'd let her take Rebel in line but 
I know that if the horses are separated, Dance will just freak out and that 
would spoil what I'm trying to accomplish here.  I want him to calm down, 
relax, be the horse that he is at home when we train.  I want to reduce all 
the stress on him that I possibly can.  If I can't learn how to calm him down 
he'll never finish a 50 mile ride.    

After fifteen minutes or so Jen and I go to the vet check area.  If there is 
a long line I'm not going to have enough time today to practice my theory, 
we'll run out of daylight and I have no intention of riding in the dark.  
There isn't one and we breeze right through the checks.  Dance gets all A's 
including the gut sounds. That vanilla yogurt is working and he'll get some 
more right before we leave for the next loop. I think this one vet, a pretty, 
young woman wearing a U of F cap (I've died and gone to Gator heaven here) 
has fallen in love with my Saddlebred. 

We take them back to the portable corral and I let them eat.  Eat, eat, eat.  
Jennifer is just about to go crazy on me.  She thinks I've completely lost my 
mind.  Wait till she finds out I'm not leaving right at our release time (30 
minute hold), that I plan on giving the horses an extra fifteen minutes or 
so, especially if they're still eating. Relax, Dance Line, relax.  Take it 
easy.

I try and keep Jennifer busy so she's not bugging me about us leaving.  
Luckily, the vet told Jen to massage Rebel, that he seemed tight in his back, 
right behind the saddle area.  So, Jen attempts this.  I try not to laugh 
outloud as I watch my "short for her age" daughter, on her tiptoes, trying to 
reach Rebel's back with her hand.  I need to move so I'm not watching this, 
it's just getting funnier by the moment, and Jen would get really angry if 
she hears me laughing.  She is so into this ride and if a vet told her to 
stand up and jump up and down on the saddle to loosen up Rebel's back I think 
she would.  Meanwhile, Dance Line eats and calms down.  If this works I'm 
just gonna have to tell someone.

I tack up my horse and we head out.  This time it's the orange loop, which is 
supposed to be 15 miles long, providing I don't add any to it by getting 
lost.  I don't think I will, the rides are so well marked here you don't need 
to bring your map.  I know I'm a bit sentimental about Goethe, but I swear, 
it's the best one in Florida, and I'm so glad I made it here this year.  If 
I've figured out the calendar correctly, my wedding anniversary should not 
fall on the Saturday they hold this ride for at least the next 5 years.  

After checking out with Nancy, and yes, we were about 20 minutes past our out 
time, Dance starts strutting out for me, in some kind of extended trot 
Racking movement that I've never experienced on any other horse. Dance's 
ancestors are telling him it's SHOWTIME.   We pass one of the Rangers, 
sitting in his truck and he gets out and says to me, "I've never seen a horse 
do that before.  That's beautiful."  I smile and thank him, acting like I've 
trained this horse to move like this.  It's hard to be humble on this 
magnificent creature sometimes, but I do try.  haha.  I have a very good 
feeling that this is going to be the best loop of the day and I feel a 
resounding "YESSSSSSSS" coming.