Liberty Run with the kid: Part 3

[Howard4567@aol.com]

So, let's see, I was tied up, right?  They untied me, and yes there was a 
really cool knot that would not release my legs and arms, no matter how much 
I struggled.  Anyhow, we sat there drinking coffee and whatever and watched 
the rigs come in.  And then I saw it.  I swear it was just a lovely site for 
me  and I was surprised that I was the only one in awe of this magnificent 
spectacle that had appeared right before my eyes.  No one else in ridecamp 
seemed to notice it at all.  Am I the only one here????  

Valerie Kanavy's horse rig went right by us, her name and her horse's name 
(High Plains Jedi) and their champion year (1998) written right there on the 
side of the horse trailer.  I tried to get a good peek at who was driving but 
couldn't see into the cab as it all went whooosssshhhhhh, right by us.  (My 
favorite Valerie picture is the one where she's receiving the first place 
award for winning at Dubai and that tall Italian guy, the one who came in 
second place, is looking down on her like he wants to kill her.  I remember 
he told some reporter that when he and Val were racing to the finish he kept 
thinking that the only way he could pass her was to shoot her.  The look on 
his face in the picture, looking down on this short statured American woman, 
expressed to me that he was still considering doing so, even though the race 
was over.  I love how our sport puts macho men, myself included,  in their 
place sometimes.)

Bernie and Randy said, "Who the hell was that, and why are they driving so 
crazy???"  Well, I had to inform the two calf roping cowboys that it was the 
leader of the pack and she has a special permit to speed in ridecamp.  Some 
lady actually got out in the middle of the street and yelled at her for 
driving so fast, but the poor gal driving said she really had to go to the 
bathroom bad and ran right in.  It wasn't Valerie (good thing, cause I might 
have followed her into the ladies room just to speak with her alone).  
Evidently when OLE Val hits camp she comes with three or four rigs.  Man, how 
am I gonna get close to someone that famous?

OK, I know you all think I'm just trying to make fun of the rich and famous, 
but until someone convinces me otherwise, I'm just gonna worship the short 
blonde girl, and I don't care how fast she drives her rig thru ridecamp.  
Just don't hit my kid, Val, please.  And next time you're on the Today Show, 
get Katie to interview you: The Equestrian of the Year 1998, not that 
National Geographic clown who keeps falling off his horse while pretending to 
do endurance.

By this time I had just thought of the question I was going to ask Val, if I 
ever get the opportunity.  Are you ready?  Do you think it will be a serious 
question about metabolics, and carbs and fats and all that stuff pertaining 
to endurance riding?  Does she feed beet pulp, does she use a lot of corn 
oil, does she train the horse every other day?? Well, no, my question is, "So 
Val, is Katie Couric taller than you or did you win that contest too?"  
She'll love me, don't you think?

Haha.  Enough of the Valerie worshiping.  Back to the story.   So the girl 
driving Val's rig (notice how I'm still on my Val kick?) finishes her 
business and exits the area, much slower this time probably cause all eyes 
are upon her.  More and more rigs pull in and by this time I kinda realize 
this is gonna be one helluva horse party here.  If the Army (this ride is 
held on an Army post) misses with any of those practice bombs they're 
dropping this weekend and hit's ridecamp here they'll wipe out more horses, 
dogs, and people than Jack Kavorkian ever did (I hear he euthanized dogs & 
horses as a young boy before he graduated to people).

I'm glad I got here early cause pretty soon there won't be any spots left, 
and this camp area is the largest I've ever seen.  My daughter finally shows 
up with her friend and they inform me that they want to go riding and see the 
trails.  My daughter's new friend's name is Samantha and her mom has invited 
us all to go out horseback riding together.  They want to see how I get on 
and ride my giraffe.  

I agree to the arrangements, so we get changed (yes, I wear those silly tight 
riding pants, and a helmet) and start saddling up our two beasts.  Rebel's 
behaving pretty well, so I easily get him ready, with Jen's help of course.  
Dance is trotting up and down along the electric wire fence, his version of 
warming up.  Most people don't want to ride my horse when  they see this type 
of behavior.  I just love him to death for being so damn lively.  

I lift up Jen to help her on her horse (Jen is short for her age, it's a 
complete mystery to me how this happened) and then I put Dance alongside a 
tree stump, hop on the stump and now I'm airborne and on "top of the world, 
Ma."  I hear some chuckles from neighboring campers, but I try my best to 
ignore them.  I'd like to see any of them get on my horse.

Anyway, we meet up with Samantha and her Mom, Sandy, and away we go.  Sandy's 
a Georgian and has been at this ride before.  She leads the way and I watch 
Samantha's horse, a Tennessee Walker, do some kind of trot thing that I have 
never ever seen before.  The horse's butt waddles and the whole body contorts 
in such a fashion you wonder, "How does he do that and actually cover 
ground?"  I ask Sandy if something is wrong with her daughter's horse and she 
informs me that's just the way he moves.  She's had him checked out by 
several vets and the consensus is that these rides are good for him and keep 
the horse in shape.  Sandy tells me the only hard thing will be to convince 
the vet's at the vetcheck during the ride that the horse is not cripple.  I 
find out later that this is easier said than done.

Sandy had that special kind of humor that sometimes escapes you the first 
time you hear it, until you replay it in your mind and realize that what she 
said was damn funny.  She had commented earlier on my riding attire, and it 
took me awhile to realize she wasn't impressed with me in my tights.  I think 
she was wearing jeans so I made the mistake of talking about riding sores and 
then she said something about men in tights and it didn't dawn on me until 
later that she thought I looked kinda peculiar and a bit unmanly in them.  
But you see, she didn't come right out and say it, she just threw some kind 
of Southern charm (I think it might have  been Voodoo) into her words and by 
the time they left her mouth I hadn't a clue as to what had just hit me.  The 
funny thing is I just can't remember her exact words, only that it did bother 
me a bit.  I had no idea that by the end of my weekend here I would be 
calling her "Saint Sandra."

We went a lot further than I normally like to go the day before the event, 
but I was just tagging along and enjoying the company.  Dance was not 
himself, he seemed a bit off, not passing the other horses like he normally 
does.  I was starting to worry that our trailer ride here and now riding this 
far was a mistake.  But Dance was so awesome at my ride last month I figured 
he'd be all right by tomorrow at the start.  Plus we were only doing a 25 
mile run (my specialty).

We got back to camp and they had just started the vet checks.  I had picked 
up our vet cards earlier, so we just untacked and got in line with our 
horses.  My daughter was extremely nervous about trotting out Rebel during 
the check.  We had practiced it quite a bit at home, she looked so adorable 
with her small frame and this large animal trotting behind her, and Jen was 
getting good at it.  But now she was nervous, she just didn't want to do it 
in front of all these people.  I told her that she had to, it was required 
and if she had problems someone would help her.  I couldn't do it for her 
cause I had to hold Dance Line; he's the type of horse that you don't want a 
stranger to hold for you.  Bad things can happen, sometimes, when you do 
that.  And with my luck, sometimes usually turns in to most of the time.

The Line was incredibly long; I thought I was at Disney World going thru 
those lines with ropes that parallel each other, making you think you're 
progressing much faster than you actually are.  By the time Jennifer and I 
got up to the front of the line I knew atleast an hour had passed by.  I 
watched Jen take her horse to the vet, everything looked good, the guy seemed 
to smile at my tiny kid, but then I was called so I had miss watching my 
daughter and Rebel perform.  Jen was kind of on her own, even though I had 
asked a few adults to help her if she needed it.  Southerners, and even some 
reformed Yankees, go out of there way to help others at these rides.  

Everything was going fine until I started doing the trot thing with Dance.  I 
got him going and turned around, came back, thinking everything was fine, and 
the lady doing the check tells me he's lame.  I said, "What???"  Cause you 
see, I wasn't looking, so I didn't see it.  And then she told me it's too 
severe to start the run; she was going to have to pull my horse.  She said 
that if I wanted a second opinion, from one of the three vets working the 
race, I could have one.  I told her I definitely did.  I looked down at 
Dance's legs and started checking on an old tendon injury that's over a year 
old.  I pinched it and it felt a bit soft, somewhere in the middle of the 
tendon.  To top it off he seemed sensitive to me touching it.  Damn it, what 
have I done to this magnificent creature?  

Jennifer gets someone to hold Rebel, she's done vetting in and Rebel looked 
good. When she realizes what's going on with me and Dance, she breaks down 
and cries.  She knows that if I don't go, she doesn't go either.  Things are 
not looking good here and I'm just beside myself.  Man, life can really throw 
some dirt into your engine sometimes, just when you think things couldn't get 
any better everything suddenly turns to crap.  Kinda like the golfer who just 
hits a hole in one for the first time in his life and as he's celebrating and 
carrying on, a bolt of lightning comes out of nowhere, strikes his metal club 
that he is holding high in the air, and kills him dead. 


OK, breaktime.  Man, I know I get long winded and just don't know how to tell 
a story any other way.  OH, by the way, I do apologize for my "smelly Arab" 
remark and have deleted that sentence from this story.  I did get carried 
away with that one and it wasn't very funny.  I got more criticism from 
people who thought I was referring to the horse than from people who thought 
I was talking about the Sheiks.  Anyhow, forget I said it, OK?

cya,
Howard




 



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