Far Outtttt Forest, With the Kid: Part Three

[Howard4567@aol.com]

We continued on our ride, keeping a slow pace, but every now and then I'd 
take off on Dance Line, cantering and checking his responses, especially in 
the deep sand.  I had almost decided, or Dance had decided for me, that the 
canter would be the gait of choice on this ride, if Dance's heart, 
respiration rate and, especially, his legs can handle that pace.  I felt that 
it would be safer, with Dance's old tendon injury, in a canter than in a trot 
with the softness of the ground here.  I wasn't too worried about Rebel and 
Jennifer being able to keep up.

I didn't get to talk much with Saint Sandy, since her Arab mare didn't want 
to be near my guy at all.  And once, during the ride, Sandy's horse got too 
close to Rebel and he kicked her right in the breast collar.  Rebel's never 
kicked another horse before on the trail, so Jen and I were very surprised 
and apologetic.  St. Sandy (this kinda stuff helps confirm her Sainthood) 
said not to worry about the kick; it was her mare's fault and she hopes her 
horse learned something.

We returned to ridecamp a different way then we left, so I didn't get to see 
if my naked sunbather was still catching some rays.  I considered taking a 
solo ride back that way, but decided a beer was more important.  Jen and I 
say good-bye to Sandy and Samantha, untacked our horses and put them back in 
their portable corral.  I throw some hay at them and tell Jen I'm taking a 
nap.  

I give her instructions as to where she can go (Samantha's rig or the 
Pavilion or Roxanne's rig).  Roxanne is a close friend who is kinda my mentor 
when it comes to endurance riding.  I met her at this ride last year and have 
spent time with her at almost every ride I've attended (I think I'm up to 8) 
and have learned to respect her advice.  She also does 100's and is a 
possible sponsor for my daughter if Jen ever gets to that level.  Rox adores 
Jennifer and I plan on using this as my selling point for sponsorship.   The 
truth is I sure as hell won't and probably can't do a hundred.  I didn't even 
want to do a 35 let alone a 50; but Jen has me sold on the idea of a 50 at 
our next ride if we do well here tomorrow.  Last year I used to say I'd never 
do a 50 cause it would interfere with my naptime.  haha.

I take my nap and dream.  I dream of Angie.  It's not a sexual dream, in fact 
quite the opposite.  I haven't told you about her, but mentioned her earlier 
and you may be wondering just who I was talking about.  So, I'll tell you.  
Angie's a southern endurance rider, who has done quite well in the 50's.  As 
far as I know she and her horse aren't 100 mile material, but Angie has 
acquired quite a few miles and won the GERA 50 when I attended.  I did a 
measly 25.  I met Angie, prior to the GERA ride, on the computer (online) by 
way of a website that caters to endurance riders and endurance wannabes, like 
myself.  

Besides being an endurance rider, Angie's also a writer (sound like anybody 
you know?).  And she has an attitude with a "male ego" attached.  She is a 
witty and humorous writer and I made the mistake of "taking her on" with my 
thoughts on this particular website, that's really like a delayed chat room.  
Anyhow, we became adversaries at the start and it hasn't gotten much better 
with time.  Basically, I'm a Florida Gator, and she's from any other Southern 
State that happens to beat the Gators during that particular year (and she 
says she doesn't even like football).  This year she's from Alabama, since 
the Gators beat Tennessee and Georgia, but lost to Alabama twice.  But, I 
digress....back to my dream.

I dream of riding the GERA 2000 classic, which I know will be the first ride 
I will do after my summer break (summer breaks are required if you live in 
Florida).  I'm in the 50 and I don't take Jennifer.  Don't want any baggage 
with me this time, cause I'm hunting for bear.  And my quarry is Angie.  AS 
GOD IS MY WITNESS (sorry) I'm gonna beat her one time before I die.  (Now, 
remember this is all a dream, I don't really think like this.)  I don't have 
to win the GERA, even though Angie won it last year.  All I have to do is 
beat this wild woman, who rides like a jockey with a tongue that whips like a 
riding crop.  In my dream, as I yell at the rude drivers in Atlanta on my way 
to ridecamp, instead of using curse words when someone cuts me off, I yell 
"Angie."  As in "Angie you asshole."  Actually, that should be "Angie you 
Angie," but "Angie, you asshole" sounds funnier to me, for some reason.   
Hey, it's a dream and kind of fuzzy.

Anyhow I get to ridecamp, set up and at the preride briefing Angie and her 
buddies make fun of me.  Tell me how they're gonna kick my butt and how men 
really shouldn't wear tights, even on a horse.  One of them decides to call 
me Robin Hood, the Merriest of Men.  I take it all in stride, smile, don't 
start anything (remember, this is a dream), and just smolder inside.  They 
don't realize it but they have all just fed the machine a lot of fuel. I know 
I will beat her tomorrow, or I will die trying.  

I'll digress here a bit from the dream and tell y'all that endurance riding 
has become my life. It's what I live for (you might want to skip the next two 
paragraphs if you don't like sentimental crap).  It permeates my dreams and 
influences my life.  It's all I think about, I've become obsessed.  The 
camaraderie at ridecamp, the feeling that most riders really care about the 
sport and their horses and, like I've said before, the intensity of the 
event.  And riding with my 11 year old daughter, watching her compete against 
full grown adults, and do well; it's all a bit too much for me sometimes.  

I've yet to see a poor rider at any of the endurance rides I've attended and 
to win is something to be very proud of.  I'm consumed by it all; I've even 
learned camping, though I still am not crazy about that aspect of endurance 
riding, especially when it gets down to 20 degrees.  But to me, the main 
ingredient is the love of your horse.  It's indescribable how I feel about 
Dance Line, and I know more than anyone  how special he is.  Sure he has a 
few bad habits, he nips at me when he's nervous and he might rear up if I 
force him to go where he doesn't want to.  I could probably beat these bad 
habits out of him, but I choose not to.  Instead, he and I both make 
modifications to accommodate the other.  Anyway, I'll just close this 
paragraph by saying there are a few riders I really do respect and want to 
beat on my 17 H non Arab horse, and Angie's on top of the list.

Back to the dream.  We start off early the next day with Angie and her 
friends still making fun of me in my tights and my tall legged horse, who 
doesn't have one drop of Arab blood in him.  I smile, but maneuver to the 
front of the line in this controlled start.  We take off slow, but as soon as 
the leader releases us we are all off in a gallop.  I stay right behind Angie 
and follow her the entire way.  After the third loop, at the vet check, Angie 
realizes I'm in for the long haul and says to me, "Shorty, I'm gonna kick it 
up a notch, so don't get in my way."  More fuel has just been added to my 
fire and she doesn't even know.

She and I leave the vet check at the same time and she keeps her word.  
Forgetting the canter, she gallops into the forest, with lots of knee 
breaking trees that can rip off your legs, with sharp twists and turns, the 
trail becomes a real challenge, especially on my horse, who has the longest 
back in the world.  She gets a long lead on me and Dance and, soon, is out of 
site.  This infuriates me but I stick to the plan of mostly canter, 
occasional trot,  all the way.  Towards the end I spot her.  Her horse seems 
to be tired and she's walking.  I gain on her, pass her, raise up my butt 
high in the air so she can get a good look, turn my head around at her and 
say, "Take a peak at my best asset BAMA."  And I win the race, ten minutes 
ahead of Angie, who comes in second place.

OK, it's a dream, but I wake up invigorated.  I almost wish Angie was here, 
but for some reason she chooses to skip the Florida rides.  It's almost dark 
outside and I start worrying about The Far Out Forest Pervert and go look for 
my Jennifer.  I find her at Samantha's rig, both playing this Gameboy 
handheld computer toy and I hang out with the kids for a few minutes.  I tell 
Jen we have to go feed the horses, we do this, and then wander to Roxanne's 
rig.  Roxanne has these two adorable miniature dogs (haven't a clue as to the 
breed) that we take with us to the dinner and subsequent pre-ride briefing at 
the Pavilion.

For some reason I end up with both dogs, each on a leash,  inside the 
Pavilion (it's a French thing) while everyone stands in line for their 
spaghetti dinner.  I get lots of strange looks from people in line because of 
the tiny dogs.  They probably think I'm either gay or French since I look 
kinda out of place with these two tiny dogs, whose combined weight is less 
than my cat back home.  Roxanne and Jennifer return and I get in line for my 
food.

After eating, the manager starts his thing and all I really want to know is 
the start time for the 35.  Somewhere during his talk he says the 35 milers 
will start at 6:30, along with the 100 milers, and the 50 milers will start 
at 7:00 AM.  Whoooooaaaaa there Mr. Ridemanager, whatever happened to the 
LD's starting late and sleeping in?  I almost get up to object to this 
scenario, but decide otherwise.  Man, it doesn't even get light until 7:00 
AM.  I'll have to tack up in the dark, something I avoid whenever possible.  
This is the first ride I've attended where the LD's are not the last group to 
leave.  I hope this isn't a trend.

After dinner breaks up Jen decides she's going to bed.  I let her walk on up 
alone to our tent (making sure she has her flashlight), inspite of The Far 
Out Forest Pervert, and go have a few beers with Roxanne, who has a campfire 
going.  We talk about the deep sand, about other riders (I do love gossip) 
and a couple other friends join us around the campfire.  Allison, one of 
Rox's friends, is there and she tells me she has actually read and enjoyed my 
endurance stories.  Since I don't have too many fans, when I find one, I 
treat them like gold.  I offer Allison beer, wine, a back rub, anything to 
keep her reading and liking my stuff.  She laughs, but declines on all 
offers.  After a while I say good-bye to all and head off to my tent.  The 
night is crisp, but not freezing, and we're only hours away from lift off.

Sleeping in a cold tent is not an easy thing to do.  I ignite a gas heater 
inside, the one that says "Don't use indoors," and put it close to my face.  
I'll probably wake up with a sunburn tomorrow.  It's not freezing out, but 
one of those nights that's just a bit too cold to sleep outside, tent or no 
tent.  I eventually get a few hours sleep, but it's not a deep one and I 
don't dream (lucky for Angie).  I wake up at 5:00 and decide it's time to get 
up, feed the horse and light up my flame throwing burner for coffee.

Normally, I can count on a couple of GA buddies for coffee, but they didn't 
make this ride, so I'm on my own.  I feed the horses, rub Dance's head 
between his eyes and tell him, again, if he gets me and Jen and Rebel through 
this today there is nothing I won't do for him.  Nothing.  I put my burner on 
top of my cooler (I regret this action later), pump up the alcohol, turn the 
crank, and light up Flame Thrower.  And it does.  Six feet atleast.  And I 
put the darn thing under a tree again, what the heck was I thinking?  

I go grab a blanket, for possible use, but the flame does eventually die 
down.  The burner did ignite a few leaves on the tree overhead, but no one 
will ever notice.   I put on the tea kettle and get this really cool thing 
out of a Wal-Mart box that's made especially for toasting bread on a gas 
outdoor burner.  I love new shit.  And it just so happens I have some bagels, 
also from Wal-Mart, and I light the other burner, put on my new toaster 
gadget and add a bagel.  Too cool, and I didn't lose a tree.  

So there I am, drinking coffee, toasting bagels, just having a really great 
time.  I wake up Jen, let her go get some hot chocolate at the Pavilion.  As 
I enjoy my food I start to think that, maybe, I actually have this camping 
thing down.  Jen comes back and asks me for the time.  I look at my watch, 
with my flashlight (it's still dark outside), and scream, "Oh shit, it's 
6:30."  Damn.  How'd that happen?