Endurance.Net Ridecamp Archives

Into the last vet check, four miles from camp, in pitch darkness.   This was a busy, congested check, with lots of crew vehicles in a small place.  We found our bucket, sponged but not too much (there was a definite drop in temperatures in the air, and we didn't want to risk getting the horses chilled) then off to vet through.  Didn't have to strip tack here, thank goodness, or I might have tacked up with my saddle backwards because it was so dark, and it was a quick 15-minute hold.  I got a laugh out of the deep footing in the lit outdoor arena.  Ned bounced right off it, but I floundered in the deep stuff, so the trot back was less than pretty with me trying to keep up.

Four miles back to camp and it was just Carla and me, our glowsticks, the trail and our ponies.  We rode glowstick to glowstick in the woods, with me in the front on my not-historically-trustworthy Ned, reins at the buckle, trying to sit incredibly still in the middle of the saddle so he would simply follow the trail.  I couldn't see a thing except the next glowstick and I found myself laughing more than once at the silliness of it all.  More than once, I'd lift a finger, or find myself unconsciously steering with my legs to the next little glowing green light, and then we'd inevitably hear crash, crunch, and the sound of breaking twigs as Ned obediently steered right off trail.  Sometimes it was easier to just close my eyes and stay in the middle of the saddle.

At one point we tried some trotting, with me in two point, hands holding mane, reins still on the buckle, having no idea of the terrain until I felt Ned negotiate the dips and twists.  I got out of balance more than once, and he'd come to a walk to "catch" me.  Good boy.  We walked nearly all of that four miles, laughing and giggling, and knowing everything was going to be just fine.

The last section of trail was marked by glowing jugs on both sides of the trail, a lovely evening corridor to the finish line, where we were greeted by thunderous applause, although we certainly didn't Top Ten, or even close.   Vetted through with Nina Barnett laughing and saying we looked too good to have ridden 100 miles (no truer fact was ever spoken, we'd only gone 50).  Both horses looked great, trotted sound, then lead us through the darkness back up the hill to camp.  Final ride time 7:40, 29th and 30th I think (there had been 55 starters).  It was approaching midnight.

Fussed over the horses, drank water, ate a sandwich offered by Georgia.  Paul had finished 23rd, with his Morgan wanting to go faster the whole way.  That must have been some fun four miles in the dark woods!

Awoke to feed the horses, begin packing, and head off to GMHA to see my friend Suzy's winning third level dressage test ride.  It was positively lovely.  

But watching so many tight lips, and black coats, and the incredibly precise riding, I couldn't help but be proud of my slightly stiff knees and my weary glute muscles and the fact that I'd ridden all around and above and below that facility while those horses were tucked quietly in their stalls and those riders were sipping Chardonnay out of crystal.  <tongue in cheek>

There was a huge brunch of BBQ back at Smoke Rise Farm at 10:30 a.m. and it was great waiting in line and visiting with the runners, including one who had just finished at 7 a.m. and the one who had won the run.  Incredibly inspiring.  One woman, stiff legged, who had finished at about 4 a.m. said she'd decided she would perhaps NOT mow the lawn tomorrow.  Ate with one of the ride vets, and we spoke of many things, including the runners, and the impressive cavalry endurance riders, and of the on-the-edge things our wonderful horses are willing to do for us.

My Ned arrived home last night about midnight after a nearly 11-hour haul, screamed for his buddies, galloped once around the paddock with two clean flying lead changes, then passaged along the fenceline until he seemed to suddenly remember that there was indeed an open gate to the large pasture where his friends called back to him.  Then he galloped down hill in perfect balance, perfectly sound, fit as a fiddle to join his friends.  

Ah, heaven.

This morning his legs are cold and tight, and other than that big ol' red 37 on his behind, he looks like a mighty fine dressage horse!

Thank you so much to everyone who made the Vermont rides possible.

--Patti Stedman (NY)

[End of Part Five -- thank goodness, eh!?]