FW: My Tevis Story - 98 (long)

[Steph Teeter <step@fsr.com>]

Another great Tevis story!

-----Original Message-----
From:	Carolyn Stark Schultz [SMTP:carolyn.schultz@stanford.edu]
Sent:	Monday, August 17, 1998 4:26 AM
To:	endurowest@sadandy.hpl.hp.com; step@fsr.com
Subject:	My Tevis Story - 98 (long)

Hi Steph, could you post this to the list if you think it isn't too
long...thanks.  /Carolyn

Here's my Tevis story - 

I have wanted to ride Tevis ever since I saw an exhibit on endurance riding
at the Kentucky Horse Park seven years ago, but it took my experience with
cancer to really put me on the road to Tevis.  Three years ago, I stood at
Squaw Valley at 6am and watched the Tevis riders stream past me in the cold
dawn.  I was three weeks out of surgery for ovarian cancer, and after the
riders had gone by, I realized with a start that I hadn't thought about my
cancer for two whole hours as the sun rose to the east and the riders
headed west up the mountain directly under the full moon.  I will never
forget that moment in my whole life.  

As soon as I got home I called Marilyn Russell, a woman I had met on a
trail near my home.  My great good fortune was to meet Marilyn, for she has
not only been a horsewoman since she was 2 and ridden endurance for many
years (including 6 Tevis completions), but she has become one of the truest
friends I have ever had.  She invited me out to ride with her, and we
agreed to a date.  That day it was 105 degrees, and we rode for two hours.
Near the end of our ride, I was telling her about my dream to ride Tevis,
and I promptly fainted right off the horse, overcome by the heat.  I
revived to see two horse faces and Marilyn looking down at me in concern,
and when she helped me to my feet, she said "You are going to have to get a
lot tougher to ride Tevis."

Through Marilyn, I met some wonderful people who were involved in
endurance, and started my horse-shopping as soon as my chemotherapy was
completed.  Unfortunately, during this period of time, my husband and I
also divorced after fifteen years of marriage.  Finding Ellie and beginning
her conditioning were my escape, my relief from the other difficulties in
my life.  We did several rides, the Mt.Diablo 50 being her first, and also
the Tahoe Rim 50.  She showed incredible potential during these rides, and
so it was heartbreaking when she broke a navicular bone in her front foot
late in the year.  I just couldn't believe this had happened, what else
could happen to me?  

After four months of burying myself in my work, Marilyn invited me out to
ride with her on two of her horses.  She has access to 1000 acres of ranch
land that has beautiful views of the SF Bay Area, and while we were out
there, I realized I had put aside my dream in mourning Ellie's injury, and
that I had to return to it, for horses and riding with friends brought such
great happiness to my life.  So, I embarked again on the horse-shopping
journey for the second time in 18 months.  I went down to Becky Hart and
Judith Ogus' place and looked at several horses they had available.  One of
these was Echo, a horse bred by Robbi Pruitt in Bend Oregon from her great
Gulastra horse, Roh Beta Gulastra.  Echo came home to share a paddock with
Ellie on my birthday, which I found to my great delight was also his!

I wasn't sure we would be able to enter Tevis this year, as my work was
very pressing and Marilyn was unsure of her horse Cresta's condition.  We
prepared this year on a ride-by-ride basis, testing ourselves and our
horses with each ride.  Oakland Hills was my first 50 with Echo, and he
proved to be an all-business horse on the trail.  Next was Ruth
Waltenspiel's Hashknife 50 in Sonoma, and this ride was so tough (rocks,
mountains, and heat) that everyone was claiming it to be an incredible test
of Tevis-worthiness.  Well, Echo  performed terrifically, but I felt I let
him down by not getting off and hiking the downhills because I was so
overcome by the heat.  Even so, we finished, but without Marilyn.  Cresta
tied up at the lunch stop, and she pulled after 25 miles.  We left Sonoma
depressed - Marilyn about Cresta's tying up and me about my own fitness
level.  

After a couple of good training rides that got our confidence back and some
personal work for me at the gym, we entered the Tahoe Rim 50, a beautiful
ride out of Truckee through the Sierra that uses Wendell Robie Equestrian
Park as its base camp.  It was exciting to be in the same camp used at
Tevis, and I know we both were thinking Tevis that weekend.  Cresta just
got stronger and stronger during the ride, and Marilyn had her best ride on
Cresta in the ten years since she was born into Marilyn's arms.  I pulled
Echo at lunch after the vet thought he looked off in front - I didn't want
to risk pushing him if we indeed were heading towards Tevis, which was in
only three weeks.  I came home and had him ultrasounded on both front legs
to make sure I knew what was going on.  He has a huge splint in front, and
all the vet could tell me was that I would have to be aggressive in keeping
inflamation down in that leg after rides.  My guess is he was a little too
newly shod (new shoes five days before Tahoe Rim) and therefore tender.  I
was determined to work with my farrier and come up with a Tevis shoe plan
that didn't involve any trimming in the next few weeks.

The night before we were to leave for Tevis, I stood up on the hill in my
horses paddock looking at the moon and feeding them carrots.  I thought
about the adventure we were about to embark on, and as Ellie pushed Echo
out of the way to get the carrot in my hand, I smiled and gave her a big
hug.  The vet had also x-rayed her the day he did Echo's ultrasound, and my
normally taciturn vet had excitedly called me late that night to report her
"amazing progress" and even suggested she might come back to do endurance
some day.  I affectionately said to her "Ellie, you will always be my
100-mile horse." Then I turned to Echo and said "But you are my Tevis horse."

It wasn't until we were vetted in that I realized "Oh my God, this is
'it'!"  We were in, we had numbers painted on the horses, we had ride
cards!  I had imagined and dreamed of this ride for so many years - my
heart would pound when I imagined what it would be like to start in the
darkness with 250 horses and my eyes would fill with tears when I pictured
crossing the finish line in Auburn. I had thought my Cougar Rock picture
would be on a grey mare, but now it would be on my strong chestnut gelding.

The camp was impressively quiet the night before the ride, and even the
Brazilians who were parked near us went to bed early.  It was so hard to
sleep with that brilliant moon lighting the night sky like a promise.
Heroically, Karen and Bill Froming arrived early Saturday morning to drive
the truck and trailer out of Robie after catching only a few hours of sleep
and then fighting their way against traffic on the single lane forest road
into the camp.  Karen had suffered a serious asthma attack the day before,
so ours was not the only Tevis-effort that weekend.  They gave us a hug and
a leg-up, and we moved down the road towards the start, passing the long
line of trucks with only their parking lights on so as not to blind the
horses.

Our plan was to start at the back of the pack and try to let the frenzied
starters get away from us.  But ride management insisted on getting
everyone into the holding area before 5am, so we did our best to keep our
horses calm. With yells and shouts, the leaders left when the start was
announced, but Marilyn and I traveled only at a brisk walk out of camp
after the pack, and when the trail headed down towards Hwy89, we finally
picked up a trot.  As the sun came up, we were heading up the ski resort
road into Squaw Valley, and Marilyn turned to me and smiled, knowing this
was where my Tevis dream had first started becoming real to me.  We stopped
briefly for water and an equipment check from my friend Joe DiGregorio who
was part of our crew, then turned to head up the mountain.  What a thrill
to ride at a trot up the trail I had traveled down so many times on my
skis.  Only the first of the many metaphors for my life I would encounter
throughout this ride day.

We reached the top of Emigrant, and my heart pounded with joy to look down
at Lake Tahoe and then around at the snow-capped peaks of the Sierra in the
early morning sunrise.  We turned down the trail going down the backside of
Emigrant and headed into the dreaded Granite Chief Wilderness.  This was
the part of the trail that takes its toll on horses, and why most of the
pulls at the Robinson Flat vet check are due to lameness.  My earlier joy
quickly turned to fear and I flinched with every rock Echo stumbled over.
It seemed he was hitting every one I looked at, so I decided I just
couldn't look at the trail, but that was too difficult.  Marilyn's athletic
Cresta was cat-like on the trail, and moving as easily as any horse could
have over those rocks.  It seemed like it took forever, but we made it, and
I started breathing again when we passed the sign signaling our departure
from Granite Chief.  Echo wanted to run, for he too had been nervous and
upset going over that treacherous trail, and we let the horses run a little
steam off.  I turned to Marilyn, and said "After that, there's no way we
are doing Cougar Rock.  I am taking the route around it."  She said "Good,
I was going to talk you out of doing Cougar Rock anyway!"  So, without a
second thought, I lead the way around Cougar Rock and ignored the pleas of
the photographers to go up and over it.

Shortly after that, Marilyn took the lead and as she passed me, she said
"Be sure in this next part to stay light in your stirrups."  I looked ahead
and saw Elephant's Trunk, a narrow strip of trail across a granite face.
The granite face fell away below us maybe 100 yards, and if I had stretched
my right hand out sideways, I could have brushed the upward face of the
rock.  In the middle of the trail, a rider was off, had slid down 30 feet,
and was scrambling back up to the trail.  His horse had continued up the
trail, anxious to get away from that precipice.  The rider caught up with
him, mounted, and continued at a trot up the trail, seemingly unfazed.  I
was glad it was him and not me.

Coming into vet checks that day was like opening the door to a noisy party,
and Robinson Flat was no exception. The place was jamming.  Amazingly we
had to take all tack off even before P&R, but both horses got through that
and the vet check ok. Marilyn was a little concerned about Cresta feeling
like she might be tying up, but the vet didn't agree, and said to come back
after the hold for a re-check.  Cresta ate and drank, but when we were
leaving after the hold, Marilyn stopped and turned to me and said "You have
to go on without us, she's tying up."  I looked at her, stricken with
concern and started to say "No, I will wait for you" but she used her high
school teacher voice on me and said "Go and go now."  In a dream I saw crew
running to her side to help and Joe led me to the out-timer, alone.  Echo
was going nuts without Cresta, and it was hard to mount him.  I rode off
without Marilyn, and for nearly an hour sorted through my feelings of
concern for her, for Cresta, fear of riding the next 64 miles alone on a
trail I had never ridden before,  and trying not to think about the fact I
had never ridden a 100-mile ride before.  Then I decided I could do this, I
had a good horse, and I had an awesome crew that would do their best for
me.  I wasn't going to quit, no way.  I was going to keep going, just like
the rider at Elephant's Trunk.

I rode alone for a long time, then caught up with some other riders.  My
mistake was staying too long with them for they were not riding fast
enough.  I finally urged Echo past them with some difficulty.  He had lost
one friend this morning, and wasn't going to lose any more.  We came into
Dusty Corners and while Echo was taking a long drink, crew for other riders
filled my water bottles and volunteers offered me watermelon.  It was my
first signal that I was riding too slow, for the volunteers were cleaning
up and packing things away.  I didn't dawdle, but instead moved Echo out.
I had fallen into the trap many first time Tevis riders encounter:  I was
up against the clock, and would have to really move in order to make the
cut-off times.  I pulled out my ride card and memorized again the miles and
the times to each stop that Marilyn and I had worked out, and kept Echo
moving.  

Descending into the canyon that would lead to Devil's Thumb and eventually
Deadwood, I dismounted, for the trail was too treacherous and Echo needed a
break.  He's a good uphill horse, and I told him that if I walked down this
canyon, he could haul me up the other side.  He did, at the trot.  It was
an endless uphill.  I just kept thinking how proud I was of him when we had
gotten to the bottom and some riders were milling about before the swinging
bridge.  We passed them and just walked right across, but we were in the
middle before I realized it really was a swinging bridge.  Because he's a
sensible horse, we just kept going.  The volunteers at the top of Devil's
Thumb cheered us on, but said "Keep moving!" and we did.  I had volunteered
at the Deadwood stop last year with my friend Karen Schwartz, and I knew
she would be there this year with another friend Roberta Dunn.  I certainly
didn't want to disappoint them by coming into Deadwood and missing the
cut-off. As it was, we made it with just twelve minutes to spare.  Here is
where I realized that once you are a volunteer at Tevis, you are part of
the 'family.'  Familiar faces from last year came up to us and gave me
words of encouragement.  Dennis Sills and his wife, who run the volunteers
at this stop, put food in my pack to take down the trail, and after a quick
vet check, I picked up a flake of hay for Echo and walked down the trail
with him following me and nibbling on it.  

Just out of Deadwood, I caught up with Dick Dawson, with whom I would ride
with on and off for the rest of my ride.  We descended the next canyon and
began the climb to Michigan Bluff, Echo again being strong on the uphill.
We caught up with Brian Reeves and then Judy Long, and pushed and pushed
the horses until we made Michigan Bluff with just eight minutes to spare.
This was getting bad.  However, in my mind I had done the worst part of the
ride, for I was most concerned about the dreaded heat of the canyons, and
we were through the worst of them.  

The volunteers had a bran mash in front of Echo and I asked the vet for his
advice for the next part of the trail.  "Just keep moving."  So, I pulled
my boy's head out of his food, and headed out behind one of the riders from
the morning who I had ultimately left behind because I thought she was
moving too slowly.  How did she get in front of me? Still, Diane Marquard
had finished Tevis 12 times, and I thought I probably had no better rider
to ride with at this point as we headed into dusk.  Judy was still bringing
her appy's pulse down, Brian had pulled, and Dick was nowhere to be seen.
As we trotted along in silence, I realized that even though Marilyn was no
longer riding with me, I had been drawing on her advice and words of
strategy throughout the day.  "Don't stay with riders who aren't riding the
ride you want to ride."  "Eat, breathe, drink."  "Trot whenever you can,
this is not a ride to walk."  I remembered pushing Echo past Brian Reeves
on the narrow trail up to Michigan Bluff because he had stopped to let his
horse catch his breath.  I felt bad at the time, but it was something I had
to do, and if I hadn't I may not have made the cut-off.

The only people out on the road into Foresthill waiting for riders were
three people from my crew - Jean Schreiber, Penny Green, and Joe.  I smiled
and talked with them, but kept Echo moving to the in-timer.  I held Joe's
hand as I grabbed the in-timer card that said I had come in with ten
minutes to spare.  I smiled and held it aloft like I had won the lottery, I
was so happy to have made it to Foresthill in time.  As I dismounted, I was
surrounded by crew, all asking what I wanted.  What I wanted was a blanket
for Echo and to find out how Marilyn and Cresta were doing. They were ok,
but the vets were watching Cresta, who had been on IV fluids at Robinson
Flat.  Karen Schwartz and Roberta found me and Karen took charge.  She led
me to the P&R and someone took Echo's saddle and tack.  I asked Roberta to
keep track of where that was put, as the Foresthill vet check was a circus.
 Where had all these horses been out on the trail?  I was in line behind
fifteen horses and riders I hadn't seen all day.  Karen massaged Echo under
the blanket Joe had found, and talked strategy with me.  Echo was eating
alfalfa and drinking water as we moved through the endless line, and that
made me happy.  He looked great.  We waited 25 minutes to get through the
vet check, and then only had 20 minutes to rest and eat while Marilyn
electrolyted Echo. Then Karen got me up, took Echo from Jean  who had
supervised tacking-up him up with another Deadwood friend Henry, and walked
me out of the noise and confusion into the darkness near the out-timer.  It
was a brilliant idea, for that quiet and calm allowed both Echo and I to
relax as we hadn't been able to in the crew area.  We also were able to let
our eyes adjust to the darkness before heading out into it. Sally Pringle
tied glo sticks to Echo's breast collar, and Joe said goodbye to me before
leaving to be part of the crew caravan to Auburn. Karen told me she wanted
me to go out with the next rider that went out.  Again I got The Advice -
just keep moving.  Thanks to Karen and all the wonderful effort of my crew,
when the timer called my number, I was mounted and moving quickly after
Dick Dawson who had just left.  

Echo lost his confidence in the extreme darkness of Foresthill, and I asked
Dick if we could follow him.  Dick remembered the trail from the last time
he had tried Tevis, but didn't tell me that was twenty years before until
we were buried deep in the darkness of the California Street Loop.  I was
glad Sally had tied glow sticks to Echo's breast collar, because it not
only kept me oriented in the pitch dark, but allowed Dick to see where we
were as well.  Only twice did the horses miss the trail.  Once Dick's horse
missed a turn on a switchback and ran right into a tree, and another time
we missed the glow stick as the trail turned upwards.  The trail was so
narrow that we had to back the horses up, and when Echo jumped up onto the
trail, Dick's horse thought he was being left and tried to jump up onto the
upper trail as well.  He slid down the ravine a bit, but fortunately Dick
stayed on and they both scrambled back up.  I don't know what I would have
done if Dick had fallen off, and let myself only briefly think about that.  

After an hour of pitch dark, we were moving onto a section of trail that
was less densely wooded, and the full moon was able to light our way.  We
caught up with Judy Long - how did she get ahead of us - and another rider
named Penny, and began the long stretch of trail that follows the American
River.  Marilyn and I had pre-rode this part of the trail two weeks before,
and I was praying Echo would remember it, since I couldn't see any of it.
We were in the back of the string of four horses, and it was pretty dusty.
I was hoping my contacts in my eyes wouldn't become a problem because of
this.  I later found out that Judy had a branch hit her in the face and she
finished the ride one-eyed after she lost a contact.  It was during this
stretch that I experienced the night-time camaraderie that I had always
heard about.  We weren't about to let any of us ride this stretch alone in
the dark.  That meant if one horse stopped to drink, we all stopped.  Or if
there was a treacherous part of trail to cross, we all waited for the last
horse to negotiate it.

After hours of trotting on the single track trail, we caught up with a long
string of horses, probably ten, just walking.  Judy and I knew this was a
great trotting trail, and she tried to get them to move out.  When they
didn't respond, she even asked if they understood English.  Still no
response, so I joined her from the back of our line in shouting at them to
get moving.  While Judy was arguing with them, I used my flashlight to
sneak a peak at my watch - it was midnight.  We had left Foresthill at
9:30, and probably only had five miles to go to get to Francisco's.  Echo
had I really made up time riding with Dick and Judy, and also probably
because he remembered the trail and felt comfortable trotting as much of it
as he had.  Finally, the riders moved out and we were able to resume
trotting and sometimes even cantering.  During one fast run, I smashed my
foot into a boulder - I guess that's what you get when you can't see the
trail.

Finally we rounded a bend in the trail and we saw the lights of Francisco's
way up on the hill.  Echo whinnied - he knew there was food there, and we
began trotting even faster.  As we neared Francisco's Echo broke into a
gallop, and I thrilled to know I had as much horse under me at this point
in the ride.  We were going to make it!  Into Francisco's and the
volunteers rushed to help me - water, soda, horse food, sandwiches, what
did I want?  What I wanted was to get through the vet check as fast as
possible, let Echo eat, and then keep moving.  But it was not to be.

The vet thought Echo looked great, and gave him B's on all scores, until I
was asked to trot him out.  I went running out, but I had a boat anchor on
the other end of my lead.  My boy had gone lame on that last gallop up the
hill into Francisco's.  The vet came up to me and put his arm around me and
said it was time for me to call it a night.  I sighed, and looked into his
face, and agreed.  I turned around, and a volunteer was right there to lead
me to the trailer.  She said I was the last horse to fill the trailer, and
the others after me would have to wait over an hour, so try not to lose my
place in line.  I pleaded with her to let Echo eat a bit, and she agreed.
Someone shoved a soda in my hand and asked what kind of sandwich I wanted.
No food for me, please.  Just a blanket for Echo and don't let us miss that
trailer.

As we bounced our way for forty minutes up a steep 4WD road, I had tears in
my eyes thinking of Echo in the trailer behind me, hurt and trying to keep
his balance.  The other two riders wedged on either side of me were asleep.
 I looked out the window, and saw far below me the lights of the river
crossing.  It gleamed in the distance and I couldn't take my eyes off of
it.  There it was, what was supposed to be the next stop on my ride. I
thought of the riders who must be negotiating it even as I looked down on
them from above. Still, I felt terribly happy and proud of what we had
accomplished.  Eighty six miles.  Eighty six miles without my riding
partner and mentor. Eighty six miles on a trail I had ridden very little
of.  Eighty six miles mostly alone.  Eighty six miles was 36 miles further
than either Echo or I had ever gone before.  Eighty six miles, and we had
made up good time in the last two hours, even galloping into Francisco's.
We were going to make it, except for that rock that had our name on it on
that last run into Francisco's.  

Tevis this year gave me what I wanted - a completion to the personal
transformation I had begun with my cancer.  I think everyone who enters
this great event probably has significant personal motivations - they would
have to, because it's just too tough to do it only for fun.  Friends have
asked me during this past week if I would try Tevis next year.  That's
awfully hard to think about since I am still physically recovering, not to
mention cleaning up my garage where I dumped the amazing amount of tack and
equipment I took with me to the ride.   But I have a great horse, and great
friends, so I think I probably will.  Besides, every time I close my eyes I
hear the sound of hooves against the rocks of the Tevis trail, and there's
the lights of that river crossing still burning in my memory...