Sunday, December 31, 2006
DAY 4: DIFFERING OPINIONS
WHAT WAS THAT ALL ABOUT?? (By Spice)
My water bucket had ice in it again this morning. The girls saddled us up again, Mer for me and Gretchen for Raffiq. We met Jazzbo (with Nancy) and his buddy Quinn (with Aly, the little girl that rode with us on her cool horse Gus two days ago), and we took off down the road from Indian Ranch. A lot of horses had already left, and there were still plenty behind us in camp. Nobody’s in such a big hurry to leave on time by the fourth day, and let me tell you, ride camp is a quiet place at night when everybody is so tired! We walked a long way down the road to warm up, then we started trotting. Boy I felt even better today, my third day in a row, even after doing 100 miles already. After a while, Raffiq stepped wrong behind and pulled something again, just like he did the second day. Only the second day he worked out of it, but today he didn’t, so he and Gretchen turned around and went back to camp before we’d gone 2 miles.
I didn’t miss him today, because I felt so good. When he turned around, I wanted to keep going with my other buddies. Besides, I had figured out what we were doing today. We were going back to that cool little ghost town of Ballarat 7 miles away, where we were going to get to eat lots and lots and then get a limo ride back to camp. Me and Jazzbo and Quinn were having fun pulling our girls along real hard and trying to go faster to see who could get to Ballarat first to start eating, when we were joined by this wacko horse Spitfire. He was a Spitfire alright, wigging out, spinning, trotting sideways, throwing his head, half rearing, making his rider Debrah nervous. What a retard! I would never act like that. Well, okay, I did on our first day of riding, so bad that Mer got off me and handwalked me till I calmed down. But I wasn’t like that now that I’d been a hundred miles, and I saw how ridiculous that Spitfire was. He calmed down after about 5 miles and then he went off on his own.
We pulled and raced along the road till we got to Ballarat. I didn’t take a drink along the way or here at Ballarat because I was waiting for my rider to get off so I could start eating then get in the trailer and go home.
But for some reason at Ballarat we turned up this road and went up this canyon, and when I say we went up this canyon, I mean we went UP THIS CANYON. One of the girls said it was Pleasant Canyon, but I think I would add Un in front of the Pleasant.
It was a long rocky road that just never stopped going up. We walked uphill for 2 ½ hours and I was pooped by the time we got to this water trough. I’ve never walked that far that long uphill ever. I was too tired to even drink, and didn’t need to, since there were horses heading back downhill, and I knew I’d be going back down to Ballarat where there was water and lots of food and a limo ride waiting for me there.
Well. Do you think we turned around and went back to Ballarat with those other horses (who were going mighty fast downhill I might add)? No! We turned left and went UPHILL!
And we were just now getting to the hard part! This was a steep hill, and Jazzbo and Quinn and I were just huffing and puffing away. Sure I can do hills, but I discovered I don’t do hills like this. I just had no gas. I staggered behind the boys till we reached this gray mare that we’d walked with a while. Her rider Sarah tailed her halfway up to here! Wished Mer would get off me and do that, but she gasps like a fish out of water (like me!) when she has to lead me up hills. The gray mare was eating everything in sight, which in this high and dry desert canyon was nothing, and since the boys and I were too tired to keep climbing, I started snacking too.
That dry stuff tasted like straw, which was pretty good because I was really hungry, and I ate enough of it to put a little fuel in my tank. When we all started up the hill again, it just kept going and going. Every time we’d look up and think we were getting there (wherever There was), we’d see horses way up above us. We clambered up another half mile before we came to this REALLY steep very rocky hill, where there were a bunch of horses being led down, and we 4 stopped and stared. Our riders wanted us to go up THAT?! We were already too pooped. Quinn and I were panting like dogs, and Jazzbo’s leg was shaking. Our riders were swinging their ropes and kicking their legs and smooching, but we all stood there in a bunch. I said to Jazzbo, “I’m not going, you go.” Jazzbo said “I’m not going! You go.” Quinn said “I’m not going, you go!” The mare said “I’m not going, you go!” And none of us would move a foot up that hill.
So, our riders got off, and led us up that hill. That was a doozy of a hill. I thought I’d died and gone to hell today. All 8 of us staggered and panted and slipped and tripped and stopped for breaths, while more horses kept coming down the hill, slipping and sliding over the rocks because it was so steep. I couldn’t figure out why we were still going up when everybody was coming down.
Finally our walking riders started whooping, which usually meant something good was coming up, and sure enough, we reached the top of that monster mountain! I couldn’t believe I made it up that – guess I’m pretty tough after all, even if we were the last 4 horses in the whole ride going up there.
And do you think we’d turn around then and go back? No! We kept going! At least this part was a nice flat walk another mile or so, over snow, winding around high up on this mountain, with another nice view of a different steep and deep valley below us. The girls started whooping again, and we came to a stop where this nice man named Louie came out from a cabin and greeted us.
He brought jugs of water – but only for the girls! No water for us horses after all this way, and now I was really thirsty! Louie said he would’ve had water but he only knew a day ahead we were coming to visit. Louie lives up here and works in Sparrow’s mine in the winter. So I sipped water from Mer’s water bottle, she gave me a few slices of apple (like that was going to fill me up) and that was it, we turned around. All the way up here and no food? No water?
And then we started back, back the same way – down, down, down, 3 ½ hours back down to Ballarat. I did take one big huge long drink at that water tub that I wished I’d tried on the way up. Mer walked a lot of the way and I snacked on stuff I hadn’t even noticed on the way up.
Then Mer pulled out a Luna Bar and started to eat it while we were walking down, and I was so hungry I reached over and pulled it out of her mouth and hands with my lips. I liked it so much she gave me half of it, then half another one.
Finally we got back to Ballarat, and I got to eat and eat and eat, which we could’ve done this morning, if you ask me, instead of spending 8 hours going up and down that canyon mountain first.
And then I trotted out for the vet and I was limping a little bit in front because my leg was sore from all those dang rocks I was tripping over and that long long hard hill I went up and down, and then I went back to my hay pile and I ate and ate, and when my pals Jazzbo and Quinn rode off with their riders, I got my limo ride back, right to my trailer, where Raffiq was waiting and screaming for me, and I got my saddle off and got to roll and roll in the sand, and then I ate all night!
PLEASANT DAY, PLEASANT CANYON (by The Equestrian Vagabond)
Yes, it was another cold, beautiful desert morning!
Gretchen and I saddled up and met Nancy on Jazzbo and Ali on Nancy’s spare horse Quinn. We’d picked up the junior Ali out of the lunch stop on Day 2, when her sponsor’s horse went lame, and she finished with us that day. Her horse went lame at yesterday’s last vet check, so she was horseless for today until Nancy offered her spare horse to ride.
We took off down the road to Ballarat and Pleasant Canyon. Raffiq got a little hitch in his gitalong after a few miles, and where he warmed out of it on our 2nd day, he didn’t look like he’d warm out of this one, so Gretchen turned around and headed back to camp.
Spice was pulling my arms out on the road to Ballarat; she felt awesome today. I sure wished she’d drink before we headed up Pleasant Canyon, because it would be a while before we came to the spring water trough, but she turned up her nose at it.
And so we began our long walk up Pleasant Canyon. The speedy horses trotted up most of it (and trotted down), but we ride slower horses, so we were just planning on a long day’s trail ride.
Up the steep-walled canyon we rode, past old mines and shacks and rusted cars, past barrel cactus on the steep rocks that looked like heads watching us. There was lots of wild burro poop everywhere (in the Panamint Valley also) that we’d not seen before. It stayed chilly in the canyon and we soaked up the sunshine in the few spots that the winter sun could reach. We met a couple camped at the remains of a small mining town halfway up the canyon, and several jeeps passed us going up the road. Everybody was friendly, out enjoying the brilliant winter desert day.
When we got to the spring and bathtub, Spice still didn’t want any water – only rinsed her mouth – which didn’t thrill me, because, as the fast riders that passed us there on their way home said, “It’s 3 more steep miles.”
We were getting a special treat on this day this year; instead of climbing the pass into Death Valley National Park and doing a loop in the valley below, we were climbing up to Sparrow’s gold mine. Sparrow is famous for going to Congress to fight to keep his mine from being absorbed by Death Valley National Park. Sparrow won his dispute and kept his gold mine, which now stands just outside the Nat’l Park boundary.
It was a treat to do this, but boy, what a trail to get there. It wouldn’t have been so hard if we hadn’t climbed for 3 ½ hours already. The horses struggled to get up there, (we were joined by Sarah and her gray mare) and we 4 girls finally got off and led them up the last mile or so. The horses being led down the hill were slipping and sliding, and our horses looked longingly after them.
It was a great triumph for the 8 of us when we hit the top of the ridge, at 7500 feet – we’d climbed an amazing 6350 feet from the valley floor. From there it was another mile on a snowy road to Sparrow’s gold mine where Louie welcomed us with fresh spring water (every bit of it hauled up that road from the bathtub – could NOT imagine driving a jeep up that, riding horses was bad enough). And the view – stunning. You could see down the next deep canyon to the north of Pleasant Canyon, back down into the Panamint Valley, over the Argus range, the White Mountains, to the Owens Valley topped by the snow-covered Sierra Nevadas. 120 miles of clear sight, said Louie. A special place to visit, though I don’t know if I’d like to live up there by myself in the winter like Louie does!
We turned around, and headed back down, down, never-ending down, that rocky road back to the Panamint Valley. Thank goodness Spice took a big drink at that bathtub on the way down, and she snatched at anything she could eat (including my Luna bars!). She felt great and full of energy (and accomplishment) as we walked down that long road. We had the treat of seeing a mother and baby burro at the old mining camp halfway down the canyon.
We were just reaching Ballarat as the golden sun was slipping behind the Argus range to the west, and it cooled right down. Spice never once lifted her head from the hay and grain; she was in hog heaven.
When it came time to trot her out for the vet – uh oh! She was off in her left front. I hadn’t felt it at all at the walk, and maybe she’d just stiffened up while standing there and eating (I’d thrown a blanket over her), and maybe she’d have been sound if I’d kept her walking around, but, there was no point in seeing if she’d walk out of it and be able to trot the last 7 miles home. So we pulled, which was a big bummer, but not such a huge deal, because whether or not we got a completion, and no matter if we were 3 or more hours behind the winners, Spice conquered that mountain!
In all, about 50 riders started and only a handful pulled. Steve McCorkle won the ride.
A great dinner was served by the owners of Indian Ranch, and a great party was had to the sounds of a local band. Some of us wimped out early and had a few drinks with friends in a trailer, and were snoring before midnight hit.
Another fun installment of the Death Valley Encounter – see you there next year!
Saturday, December 30, 2006
DAY 3: THE PERFECT DAY AGAIN
Another cold 4-layer morning, another absolutely beautiful day in the desert!
Our horses were much calmer today; yesterday Spice was bucking and wigging out so bad I got off and walked her a half mile before she calmed down. 50 miles of riding settled her down for this morning. Nance’s horse Jazzbo was a goof yesterday and he was much more composed today.
The first loop of the 50 was a 12-mile loop taking us up-close and personal along the outskirts of Trona, where we went by the Trona stables. Many of the mules and horses in their pens were running and bucking as 49 horses rode by.
After a half-hour vet check in camp, we headed out over the Slate Range to the Panamint Valley. After trotting to the foot of the range, we slowed to a walk. We walked the whole trail to the top – it was getting warm going up the canyon, (not complaining though!), taking our time because there was no rush on this long climb on this multi-day ride.
I got off Spice near the top of the range to lead her down. Still had some little hills to climb, though, so I put in a little work out. Spice even jogged me up the hill, maybe 50 yards, and I was out of breath when we topped the hill. I’m no runner (unless it’s downhill), so Spice was just giving me a little reminder of all the hard work our horses do for us.
This trail over the Slates is one of the most beautiful part of the Death Valley ride. The Searles Valley is behind you, and the brown and tan and golden striped Panamint Range rises in front of you, and the Panamint Valley spreads out below, way down below, must be at least a thousand feet below us.
Down and down we wound, a very rocky road, ravens soaring above us and – what was this? Two dogs down below us. Two dogs (later dubbed Jack and Jill) apparently followed riders all the way over the Slates from Valley Wells. Jack is reputed to have done the whole first loop, too. (Riders took Jack and Jill in; somebody will be returning them to Valley Wells in a day or two.)
At the bottom of the road, we entered Fish Canyon, the escape route Rogers and Manley took escaping out of Death Valley and returning the same way with supplies for the stranded Bennett-Arcane party back in the 1850’s. We stayed on foot for another couple of miles over a rocky rocky ‘road’, till we hit a very welcome water trough, waited on by Sparrow, whose mine we will be visiting on tomorrow’s trail.
We turned north and followed a dry lake bed (I could swear there was water out there, but it kept disappearing), trotting an almost non-stop 7 or so miles to the Ballarat Road. Where Spice seemed to run out of gas at about 35 miles yesterday, she felt strong all day today. Of course, part of that was probably that I walked on foot for at least 5 miles. We hopped off our horses on the paved Ballarat road and walked our horses another mile or two in to the vet check.
A couple of RV’ers passed us, giving us the thumbs up because we’d all obviously had ridden a long way across the desert to get where we were.
Our horses all looked good with 7 miles left to the finish, and it was a bit difficult getting our horses’ noses out of the grain and hay to cover that. Finally we had to carry little piles of hay along to bribe the horses out and back on the road.
We cruised the last stretch, and I think Spice was finally getting the hang of it: when she saw a big group of trailers ahead and off to our right, I am sure she actually realized that was our finish.
We all finished strong and are expecting yet another perfect day tomorrow!
Melissa Ribley won the today’s ride and, Les Carr’s horse Tulip today became the highest mileage horse in endurance history! 18,265 miles (or thereabouts). And that was after dumping Les on Day 1. Congratulations Les and Tulip!
Friday, December 29, 2006
DAY 2: THE PERFECT DAY
Something woke me in the middle of the night: the wind quit!
It was cold in the morning, but still, and the stars were beaming. You can usually judge the temperature by what Dave Rabe is wearing. Yesterday he wore a jacket over his long-sleeved Tshirt and tank top (with shorts, of course), so it was pretty darn cold with that awful wind. That translated to about 5 layers on me. This morning, Dave wore a long-sleeved Tshirt and tank top, so I had 4 layers on.
As Nick Warhol said, “This is just about the perfect day in the desert.” It was indeed perfect, a complete reversal of yesterday. Karen Chaton said this may have been the best Death Valley day she’s ever ridden.
Gretchen and Nancy and I had already decided last night that we were riding no matter what, and we saddled our horses with glee in the wind-less morning.
As the golden sun rose, the trail took us up Goler Wash, through rocky, scenic canyons, up and over the El Paso Mountains that provided us so much of those gale force winds yesterday. Down the other side of the El Pasos, we had a little vet check, no hold, then we continued eastward toward the highway, where our lunch vet check would be.
We came to the power line, where, Gretchen read in the instructions, “go under the power line.” We saw a few horse tracks going under the power line, but many more going along the power line, and no ribbons either way. Horses up ahead of us were heading down the power line. Maybe we cross the power line a little further on. Or not? Nance and I were undecided; Ralph LePera caught up with us and pulled out his map. Hard to tell with all those lines – roads, trails, jeep roads, railroads, on the map – exactly where we were, and we saw horses ahead of us, so we continued on. Then we noticed horse tracks going both ways under our feet.
We eventually saw horses to our north, on what was obviously the right track; we backtracked and turned where we should have turned (definitely no ribbons), got back on track, and made our way toward the lunch stop. Turns out just about everybody missed that turn. Somebody must have pulled the ribbons. Thanks, whoever did that! But it wasn’t so terrible – we didn’t go too far out of our way, and if you’re going to be temporarily lost, do so on a perfect day in the desert!
Gene Nance was one of the vets who arrived after some bad directions and a misadventure on jeep and bike trails in his luxury car rental. (Don’t tell the rental company!) He was able to laugh about it by the time we got there. Michele Roush, who won yesterday’s ride, was also vetting today.
It was so balmy, Nancy and I had a terrible time deciding what to wear on the way home (this was a point to point). When Dave Rabe came arrived for the vet check in his shorts and no shirt, that was it, I peeled down to 2 layers.
Our route out of the vet check took us up into the Rademacher Hills that Raffiq and Spice train in, and the hills that Raffiq has ridden now for 4 or 5 winters. Gretchen had a heck of a time slowing Raffiq down because he thought he was headed home. She finally had to tuck him behind us to keep him from running off. When we finally came to a wonderfully welcomed water trough, we turned east, away from home, and the horses slowed down. Spice kind of hit the Tired Wall, and we did a lot of walking all the way in. As did a lot of riders in the mid-back of the pack.
We could see our horse trailers from about 10 miles away… which took a long time to get to.
Everybody’s trailers were there to pick us up – it was too far to ride all the way from Goler Wash to the other side of Trona, which not a single rider complained about, seeing as Trona is not the favorite haunt of most people. You can smell it from miles away with all its gypsum mining.
The horses got picked up in their limos and hauled into our night’s camp at Valley Wells. A beautiful sunset lit up the mountains to our south and north, and the town of Trona.
About 59 horses started today, and Jeremy Reynolds won the ride.
Tomorrow: another point to point, from Valley Wells to Indian Ranch in the Panamint Valley. And another perfect day, for sure!
Thursday, December 28, 2006
DEATH VALLEY ENCOUNTER 2006
DAY 1: WORDS YOU DO NOT SPEAK
There’s the N word Michael Richards inexcusably used recently. A little longer ago, there was the language of Mordor that Gandalf would not speak aloud.
Here in the Mojave Desert, in winter, during the ride season, it is the W word. It is the Thing that rips roofs off sheds; it is the Thing that flips 18-wheelers over on the highway; it is the Thing moves big boards as you are trotting by so that your horse spooks and almost throws you, it is the Thing that drives billions of painful sand particles into your poor eyeballs and sand-papers your face.
Usually, the heavy W season starts in the late winter into spring. On this, the 15th or 16th or so anniversary of the 4-day December 28-31 Death Valley Encounter, it was said a quickly-moving storm was coming, would hit Wednesday when everybody would be arriving, be W…y and R….y (you do not speak the wet R word, either), Wednesday night, and it would be nice Thursday for the first day of the ride.
I did not utter the W word, and in fact, was quite confident we’d have great weather for the ride. Evidently I was concentrating on the wrong word. HURRICANE is another word that should be avoided.
That was the current condition for Day 1 of the 2006 Death Valley Encounter. Wednesday was quite Windy (I might as well say it now), though you could catch glimpses of a growing ride camp through the bouts of dust that swallowed it. It optimistically eased up to just breezy by ride meeting time; Dave the Duck, co-managing the ride this year with Jackie Bumgardner, said the latest weather report said the winds would pick up again at night, sustained winds of 40+ mph with gusts up to 80 mph, and die down to a reasonable 20 mph by 4:30 AM.
Well the time mentioned was right… except the winds picked up at about 4:30 AM – the hurricane winds, and they didn’t stop.
Lights came on inside and outside trailers in camp at about 5:30 AM, but they soon went back off. People started peeking out of their trailers at 6:30 AM, but nobody was saddling up yet. The Duck said we’d have the ride anyway, but the start would be delayed at least a half-hour till 7:30, to see if the winds would ease up with the rising of the sun.
I’d already decided I wasn’t going. I can do rain all day; I can do wind; I just don’t do hurricanes. Besides, today is the anniversary of my big accident. Tomorrow just sounded like a better day to ride. Gretchen was undecided. Nance Worman, from Idaho, who parked next to us, was undecided. It’s hard to not ride – after all, this is the sport of Endurance, not the sport of Pansies – especially when you’ve come from so far away.
Well, it really couldn’t get much worse, and it could really only get better (right?), so people started saddling up in the gale force winds. Gretchen took Raffiq’s blanket off to brush him, but she didn’t get very far before she put the blanket back on and decided to ride another day. Nance chose to pass up today also.
Down near the starting line, where people and horses were warming up, clouds of dust so thick ripped through camp, obliterating everything. If you were walking into it, you had to stop because you couldn’t keep your eyes open.
Then Ann Nicholson announced on her megaphone, “You can start!”
A tough, die-hard, non-wimpy group of 60 or so riders headed out on the trail, (about 15 sat it out), headed out across the Fremont Valley (where the north hurricane winds should be gaining some speed) toward the old mining towns of Johannesburg and Randsburg, hopefully following ribbons that have not blown into Utah by now. (I heard last night Highway 395 was closed in both directions due to wind.)
Instead, we pseudo-endurance riders went back and had hot coffee and a good warm breakfast in our warm trailers rocked by the gales, and traded stories of previous stormy rides, while our fellow riders braved the hurricane winds on the trail.
At lunch, all riders streaming in weren’t complaining about the wind (endurance riders usually don’t complain, once they’re out there), and in fact said the wind was worst in camp. Certainly, the dust was worst here.
The wind howled all day; it seems like our mountain range had the worst forecast of all, sustained winds of 40 mph, gusts up to 60. (Only 60!) Michelle Rousch finished first in the 50, and I believe all but 3 or 5 riders completed the ride.
Winds are supposed to calm down for tomorrow, really!
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
I show up a day late bearing gifts.
Stormy is excited because he’s opened Christmas presents before, and he knows one of those boxes is for him. His buddy Woody gets a box too, but Woody hasn’t opened presents before, so when I toss his white box on the ground he wheels away in a start, and he bucks – Woody bucks! Woody has bad ringbone and he’s still lame (much improved over last year with special shoeing) and not so mobile, but he bucks and snorts and tosses his head and wheels back around and bucks again!
Stormy is already nosing his box to get it open, pushing it around, opening the flaps, shoving his nose inside for his Christmas Carrots and Christmas Stocking full of Horse Cookies!
Woody knows Stormy’s got some real goodies, so he decides to check out his scary box. He leans back but stretches his nose far forward to it, and once he smells his Christmas goodies inside, he is no longer afraid of a scary white box! He noses the box around, gets the flaps open, and digs in! Christmas treats!
They are like little kids, tearing open the present and they can’t stop stuffing their faces. Stormy finishes all his goodies first and he goes to check out Woody’s box. Though Woody is the boss of Stormy, he allows his friend to check out and share his box.
Goodies all finished, Woody turns over the box to make sure nothing is left.
It’s all gone and they run around and buck and kick while I haul the empty boxes away.
The boys have begun the countdown till the next Stormy Christmas: 364 days!
Monday, December 25, 2006
Oh dear, Mike went tree-crazy on the property here; he’s planted a lot of pine trees. A LOT of pine trees. I told him they’ll be able to see this property from space, with all the green trees in the desert (and by the way, the trees came totally spray-painted an unearthly green, not sure why, maybe to fool buyers in this naturally tree-less desert that they are ultra healthy, desert-resistant trees?) They’re all 3-4 feet tall.
He planted a good number of them in the horse pen, and guess who started chewing the needles and bark off them? That Spice, she gets into everything, so I bet it was her. (Hmm, did the horses get fooled by that bright green spray paint which I hope was food coloring? Surely the pine needles and pine bark don’t taste that great.) Mike had to go put up an electric fence along most of the trees, to protect them.
The fence, however, wouldn’t reach around 2 of the trees. If you can still call them trees. Last evening as I went to throw hay to the horses, I saw the one tree is completely needle-less, and pretty much bark-less, and the other one has not only been stripped, but completely uprooted! Pulled out of the ground and laid down in the sand!
Gee, wonder who did that?
Sunday, December 24, 2006
ORANGES N’ GRAMMYS
So, speaking of horse accidents, the other night I sliced up an orange into 1/8s to eat, and discovered that, apparently, I haven’t sliced an orange to eat in 7 years, because I end up taking an orange bath, with most of it ending up on my fingers and hands and arms and face, and the counter, instead of down my throat.
I love to eat oranges when somebody peels them for me (I don’t like peeling them, and I usually have no fingernails), and I remember I liked eating them (apparently 7+ years ago) when they are sliced. Only thing is, I forget I can’t bite into anything with my fake front teeth.
So, I had to think a minute before I took a bite of the first slice. Wait – how am I going to do this? Try the front teeth? No, that won’t work. Scrape them off with my good bottom teeth? No, that is WAY too messy, and I can't get everything off that way anyway. Back teeth? OK – but, how do I get the slice stuffed way back in my mouth so I can bite the pulp off with my back teeth? Well, I do so by squirting orange all over my fingers and face, and when I try to bite the pulp off with my back teeth, well apparently my back teeth no longer come together in a good enough bite to rip the pulp off an orange slice.
So now I have orange all over my face and hands. Normally, one might say, forget this, pick up a knife and get it all juicy while trying to slice the pulp off, but my oh my, these were amazing oranges (fresh picked off the tree in the back yard) and I couldn’t pause to go find a knife (and dirty the other silverware in the drawer trying to get a knife out, and drip all over the counter); I just attacked the other orange slices, albeit sloppily, slushily, clumsily.
Orange dripped all over the counter, my shirt, smeared all over my face, ran down my arms, and I still couldn’t get all that pulp ripped off the peels, but man was that a good orange and a very good laugh.
Next time I think I will just wait till somebody peels me an orange!
Anyway, the orange was a late-night snack after visiting my Grammy-winning friends. Yes, I have friends who win Grammy awards! It’s like knowing Bono or something.
My friends The Blind Boys of Alabama performed their Christmas show, Go Tell it on the Mountain. These are the same Blind Boys that perform in my sporadic-every-2-or-5 year show The Gospel at Colonus. They’ve won Grammys for their black gospel albums 4 years in a row, 2002-2005. I knew that all along, but to hear Jimmy on stage humorously promoting their Grammy-winning CDs, it hit me. These are my friends, and they’ve won 4 Grammys! Is that a hoot or what!
Friday, December 22, 2006
Alright! Work is over with, slipped in a quick trip with family, Christmas is done. (For me it is – we had it 3 weekends ago – I highly recommend doing it early.)
On the downside, my little white trash trailer is on its last legs, and I am pretty sure it’s trying to poison me, which puts a little kink in my living and sleeping arrangements, (I have, with great satisfaction, started to slowly burn it, piece by piece); and my truck is on its last legs (family and friends now call to make sure I’ve made it wherever I’m going)…
But who cares about those crises, I’m back in Ridgecrest to ride!
My friend Tracy is in town – she’s a bit of a wanderer herself, having lived in Egypt for a while – and she’s been itching to get back on a horse.
We lucked out with the weather – the weatherman was predicting “breezy” conditions, which in the desert here usually is his benevolent way of saying “hurricane” conditions – it’s a beautiful time of the year in the desert, cool, clear, just about perfect when it’s not windy.
I went out for a fast ride with Ann yesterday; Raffiq had to canter quite a bit to keep up with her big trotting horse. I think he had a ball, because Raffiq and Spice usually poke along like slugs, bored with each other, and rarely do we hit a canter. He had a solid work, keeping up with this new fun horse as we gained a bit of altitude going out, and I had a hard grip on his reins heading back in. He didn’t want to stop cantering!
Today Tracy and I went out with Ann and Debra, and we motored up Holly’s trail, giving the horses all a good workout. Raffiq and Spice were both inspired to keeping up with Ann’s fast-stepping mare, and Buddy, ridden by Debra, tagged along uncomplainingly behind like he always does. And, we saw a burrowing owl! He was just hanging out under a creosote bush. Unfortunately, he’s hanging out where a housing development is supposed to be built, which, also unfortunately, is right across our straight access to the desert hills. I hope for us and for the owls (there is a burrowing owl nest in this same plot, which was occupied last spring) the houses are never built. (Wait a minute – wasn’t there just a movie about this? “Hoot” or something? Some kids stopped some development that threatened to destroy some burrowing owl nests?? Hey kids – come on down to Ridgecrest!) We need more burrowing owls, not houses, on this planet. Just my opinion.
The 4-day Death Valley Encounter endurance ride (50 miles a day) starts December 28, which, incidentally, marks the 7th anniversary of my big horse accident, which I remember every day I look in a mirror, (which is not every day) and every single day that I eat (which is at least 2 times a day). December 28 is an especially good day to be on a horse, and to appreciate that you are able to be out on a horse.
Gretchen and I will be riding Raffiq and Spice. Gretchen’s done about 500 miles on Raffiq in previous Death Valley rides. 500 more miles and they get a blanket. This year’s DVE Encounter will have some different trails; due to change in ownership, our usual last 2 nights of camping in Panamint Springs are unaffordable. So we’re starting in a completely different area, riding through some old mining towns, and ending up in the Panamint Valley, which is next door to Death Valley.
We can have all kinds of weather this time of year in the desert – warm weather, very cold weather, snow, drenching rains (like happened 2 years ago), “breezy” winds (like day 4 last year), or perfect weather.
I predict we are due perfect weather this year!
Wednesday, December 6, 2006
Wednesday December 6 2006
We took the last two Forest Service horses to their winter pasture today. Zak and Red and Brenda were already there; we kept Tom and Paiute around here just in case any more last-minute range riding needed to be done. But we pulled their shoes Monday and hauled them off today; their season is over.
My season is over. Was it my last one here? Shrinking budgets, shorter seasons I can no longer survive on, never a guarantee of work from year to year - was this my last season hiking trails here, seeing the Sawtooths every day, riding my Forest Service horses, packing them into Piute Cabin? And that’s the worst - is it the last time I will see these horses?
I move around so much I don’t ever say goodbye to people or places, because I usually return. But the horses – that’s something different. I’ve known these guys for 9 years, and we’ve been through some good and not so great times together. Like these times:
Margaret and I rode Tom and Red out from Piute cabin after a snowstorm, over 12” of snow, where you could barely see the trail, and sometimes you couldn’t at all, but the horses knew the way.
Once on a pack trip, in the middle of a string, Zak’s load shifted to one side and he freaked out, reared up and broke loose, flipped over backwards, and tumbled back end over end with his load 40 feet down a 50* slope into a creek, miraculously landing in the one spot that didn’t kill him or even break anything (except all the groceries in his ice chests). And getting him out of there was HELL.
I survived my first 8-day solo pack trip with Piute, Zak and Brenda, and they did too!
I chased Paiute for 30 minutes straight one day before I caught him - he was so tired he couldn’t go another step, because after 10 minutes, I kept him running, and he never did that again (that year, anyway). Of course, once he’s cornered, he politely and enthusiastically lowers his head into the halter.
Not too many summers ago I did some leg work with people to rescue these horses in case they were suddenly hauled off to auction.
Last summer I had terrible troubles with Brenda the mule’s saddle pad slipping out from under her pack saddle (always with a heavy load, of course), and on every pack trip would have to stop every two hours, tie up the string, take Brenda out of the string and tie her up, and unload and reload her. Brenda was SO tolerant, even the time I had to struggle terribly to lift 4 40-lb cans from out of her panniers (and if you have not tried lifting 1/3 of your body weight from chest-height to over your head, try it once), constantly accidentally kicking her, falling on her, dropping the cans back in the panniers, etc, and she just stood there. And after resaddling her, I had to get the cans back in the panniers. (Then try lifting 1/3 of your body weight from the ground to over your head and trying to fit the cans in panniers that won’t stay open.) Cursing helps in situations like these. Brenda still just stood there patiently.
Turning the horses out at their beloved Piute Meadows after an absence of a year or two years was one of their (and my) best moments ever.
These are my horses - we’re buddies.
At least with this new awesome horse-friendly district ranger I don’t have to worry about my horses not being cared for properly or them being gotten rid of (read: auction, and you know what happens to most horses that go to the auction). But - who knows them best? Who knows the order they prefer to be in a trailer or in a pack string? Who knows the best way to catch Paiute when he doesn’t want to be caught? Who can just give him that look that makes him stop? Who knows the way they will each react in a certain situation? Who knows that Zak’s mane tangles in exactly the same spot every year and you have to remove the knots gently because he doesn’t like you yanking on his mane? Who knows that though Paiute pretends to be aloof, he secretly likes to be hugged as long as nobody else is around to see? Who else knows that when Paiute turns off a trail you are riding, it’s not because he’s being cantankerous, but because he’s turning off where the trail crew camped years ago or where ranger Tim stashed a shovel years ago?
I’ve been stuffing Paiute and Tom with carrots these last few days, telling them I may not be back. I know they’ll probably be fine without me, but what will they think if I don’t show up next year? What if they think I abandoned them?
Sunday, December 3, 2006
Yet another fine ride in the beautiful desert in winter. Five of us hauled to the mountains at Brady’s for our favorite good hard training ride for the horses. We motored right along and despite the very cool day (well, cool for Ridgecrest, not cool for Bridgeport – Gretchen rode in a short-sleeved Tshirt and vest, the rest of us had a few layers on) the horses worked up a good sweat.
Raffiq’s been shaved, what, two or three times since October, and he keeps growing his thick wooly bear coat back. He’s from Wyoming – maybe he’s growing that thick coat just in case he goes back there.
Jan (visiting from Canada)’s horse had such a fast walk that the rest of our plugs had to trot often to keep up. A group of five like that keeps the horses very motivated – they all have little contests between each other along the trail as to who’s going to get up front on this or that stretch of trail.
Next on Raffiq’s and Spice’s itinerary is the 4-day Death Valley ride December 28-31. It sounds as if the trail is going to be changed a good deal. I loved the usual DVE trail, but I also love the new areas we are rumored to be riding in. It’s just hard not to love riding in the desert. (In winter.)
Or, maybe it’s just hard not to love riding.
Two more weeks of drought before I’m back in the saddle…
Saturday, December 2, 2006
I never ever get on a horse anymore without acknowledging the fact that I might not return in one piece, or I might not return because I’m in pieces, or I might not return at all. It’s not a fear; it’s just a fact, because it’s happened before. ‘Course you can apply that to anything in life – driving a car, or walking out your front door everyday, but with horses you have that little extra Horse Factor of Unpredictability lurking.
And every time I return from a ride, not in pieces, I recognize that fact as extra icing on the already delicious desert of getting the opportunity to ride a horse. Even if some days you really don’t feel like it, or the weather’s crappy, the company’s lousy, your horse is being an ass and you’re behaving worse, you can still get something good out of every ride, especially if you come back in one piece. Every healthy ride is a treat and a privilege. (Though grumbling sometimes is allowed.)
And when the you do feel like a ride, and the weather is gorgeous and company and scenery is great and your horse is having a good time, well, is there anything better?
And so, after having not been on a horse in 3 weeks (gasp!), and acknowledging that I might be altered in a few hours and maybe not for the better, I climbed on Raffiq, and with Gretchen on Spice we headed out for an excellent ride in the fantastic weather in the delightful desert of Ridgecrest (delightful in the winter, anyway, when it’s not 30* and blowing a gale).
We’d planned on a ~20-30 mile ride, catching the last loop of the 20 Mule Team 100 loop across the highway, getting there by shortcutting, weaving through the desert hills and canyons. I’ve been riding that desert for 5 winters now, and I’ve got names for usual routes I do and new ones I’ve discovered.
There’s Raffiq’s Canyon where several years ago Raffiq’s cinch broke while Astrid was riding him, and with the saddle hanging and flopping by the crupper and breast collar (pieces breaking away) he bucked and fell and tumbled and crashed and fell off mine tailings to the bottom of this canyon, and they thought they’d find him dead. (They didn’t, though he was banged up; we’re still riding him, and he’s had no problem riding down Raffiq’s Canyon since).
There’s Holly’s trail, a nice climbing training trail named after Jackie’s past mare Holly, and Princess Wash named after a crabby mare (short for: “She Ain’t No Princess”) that I rode. There’s Murr’s Canyon, where the mule Murrtheblurr and I have motored down. There’s Stormy Summit West and East and South named after my thoroughbred Super Stormy (!!!) who was able to bravely go out that far on his own (!!!) and conquer those hill tops.
There’s Car Seat Spring Mine trail where, yes, an old car seat spring was dumped in this collapsed mine shaft. Next canyon over is Carcass Canyon, where the historic mine trash – old rusted barrels, stoves, machine panels – looks like carcasses from a distance. There’s Nail Hill – watch for nails.
There’s Nazi Canyon with swastikas and GWAR proclamations painted on rocks (and GWAR stands for… Great White American Retards?? Because who else would deface rocks like that?), and next to that, perhaps appropriately, is Jesus Loves You Canyon (painted on a rock).
Well, you don’t take any of these to get to the start of the 20 mile loop across the highway, and we couldn’t figure out which of the bazillion other trails to take for shortcuts (“this is it” “well maybe it’s not” “it’s the start of the 20 Mule Team trail we want” “or maybe we want part of the one loop of the Fire Mtn ride” “oh wait, yes this is it, I recognize those mines” “well, maybe I don’t; all the mines look the same” “oh yea, I’ve been in this wash, this is right” “no, wait, this one looks like all the other washes”). But the horses cruised right along anyway despite the confused pilots, so, as we ended up way out of the way from where we were going, our ride turned into a fun spontaneous ramble through undiscovered (by us) hills and washes and boulder fields, with a few ravens keeping an eye on us here and there.
We weren’t sure quite where we were, only knew the direction we wanted to head to get back. You can’t get lost in those hills if you get up high (we reached a very high point) because you can always see Ridgecrest down below to the northwest and the Sierras to the west. We got really lucky and didn’t meet a single motorbike or quad the whole ride, and randomly we found a nice sandy canyon to trot all the way down that looked familiar – “Oh, look! We’re in Jesus Loves You Canyon!”
And maybe somebody does love us, because we got back home after another lovely ride, topped by the icing of returning intact and rejuvenated!
Friday, December 1, 2006
Saturday, November 25, 2006
It was about 12* this morning in Bridgeport and 30’s during the day, and very very dry. In Malaysia where Steph is for the endurance ride, it’s, well, tropical and (I quote) wet and steamy, hot and humid, very very humid, sunny, hot, woke up to pouring rain, already drying up, sunny, raining…
Steph rode out with her friend the King of Malaysia yesterday morning (okay, with a couple of other riders). Riders from all over the world have arrived to participate in the 160 km (about 100 miles), 80 km (about 50 miles), and 40 km (about 25 miles) rides, which will be held today… or rather tonight. Steph’s 80km ride starts at midnight.
I’m all alone bird- and house-sitting and horse-less here, riding muscles aching to get back on a horse, and snow’s predicted for tomorrow. Not complaining or anything – I’ll just pull out another blanket and follow along and dream I’m in steaming in Malaysia…
Okay, so Egypt and Malaysia aren’t that close, but, I’m dreaming of that side of the planet…So, from the archives:
Saturday March 6 2004, Egypt
I am in LOVE. His name is Asa’il (or Harry).
We woke up to a beautiful sunny morning. This was My Day – to finally ride a horse in the Egyptian desert. Maryanne dropped me off at Morad’s. Denise was riding with us and Julie (and her black stallion) and Hortense and Morad and Christina.
A groom leads out into the sunshine my mount Harry: a huge magnificent flaming red stallion with a flowing mane and white-rimmed eye. My eyeballs popped out, and when I climbed aboard my jaw dropped. He turned into a fire breathing dragon - he tried to savage the groom holding him and tried to bite my leg several times, and he lifted me out of my saddle (English saddle, not used to this!), and lunged, mouth wide open into the palm branch we walked under as if he could devour the whole piddly little date palm itself.
When he walked he bowed his beautiful neck to his chest and his mane rippled over both sides of his neck and his forelock covered his face. His steps were light but he was so terrifically powerful I was like a mosquito on his back.
I noticed the reins were extra double duty thick - probably because he pulls so hard he’s broken a few. Great! As we walked a short distance down the paved road, he shook his mighty head and jerked it down again, and I knew he could launch me to the moon if he wanted.
Oh, Morad, what have you done to me, putting me on this monster??
We turned into the mango grove which drops you right onto the desert at the Sun Temple. Harry was walking calmly but I could just feel him ready to explode. I remembered the first racehorse I rode just bolting away with me at a dead run (or so it felt) and I had no control and I was scared. If Harry took off on me, I’d be completely powerless.
This is why I love endurance riding - it’s my speed (slow), and lots of it. We got to the sand, and there were maybe 7 or 8 of us, and I thought Oh God, we’re all going to take off like a cavalry charge, or Morad’s going to come charging by me, and Harry’s going to deposit me neatly in the sand (thank goodness it’s sand).
But everybody just walked on, chatting; Morad trotted near me, and I said "Morad, you might’ve put me on too much horse." He gave me a big grin and said, "He’s the lightest one I have," over his shoulder as he cantered off to some other riders on a hill. His lightest one? Right. I was going to die out here. Visions of getting my face smashed again popped into my head - I wanted to gallop in the desert!? How 'bout just a pleasant little canter on a quiet little gelding instead of this colossal mighty dragon?
Morad came cantering back toward all of us, and then he and Pal took off galloping up a little wadi. Hortense said to me, "Come, we can go up this hill." I thought, well, if he bolts off at a dead run, at least it’s sand and he’s going uphill. I had a cross on Harry’s neck if I needed it though so far out here on the sand, I hadn’t touched his mouth. I was ready though, I knew it was coming.
I moved my hands just a little, and thought Forward, (but please not too fast), and Harry bowed his head and floated into a trot. I could feel every powerful bone and muscle of this horse beneath me; I wanted to canter in the desert!? Heck this trot is pretty darn nice, and fast enough, thank you.
At the top of the hill where it flattened out, I thought Oh Shit, here we go - and Harry did nothing but continued floating over the sand at the trot awaiting my command. I did notice I was still barely touching his mouth. He had a big smooth trot and was ahead of Hortense, so she moved Maximus to a canter to catch up with us.
I thought, OK, THIS is where Harry bolts off, and what the hell, it’s time to find out if I’m going to hit the sand or get scared or whatever. I gritted my teeth, I touched my legs to his sides every so lightly - and Harry bowed his flaming head and touched his nose to his chest and broke into a canter the same speed as his trot, and I still had never touched his mouth. Oh my God, I thought, what is this thing I am riding!?
We cantered on, trotted on, and came to another group of people, and Pal joined up with us from another direction. Mohammed said, "Come with us," and Pal said "Let’s go!" and he took off. I said to Harry, "Let’s go!"
Harry tucked his nose to his chest, picked up the right lead I asked for and we cantered along the western Sahara desert (or the Libyan desert, or Egyptian desert), past the pyramids of Abu Sir. We came to the top of the little wadi we were in and the desert flattened out - acres and miles and countries to ride through - anywhere! I could ride from here straight to Morocco if I wanted to! Morocco!
The group cantered onward; my wonderful mount and I cantered by ourselves 50 yards away. Much of the footing out here is not as deep as you’d think - a galloping hoof leaves an impression as deep as one on a groomed racetrack, though the sand’s just a little harder. A lot of the sand is also rocky, and it almost sounds like a gallop over cobblestones. The consistency/footing of the sand changes: from the harder sand to the rocky sand with firmer footing, to soft sand where they do sink down. I could feel the change in the footing and the adjustment in Harry’s stride - I’m sure the horses quickly learn to read the footing - though he never bobbled. I could’ve drunk a glass of champagne from his back. And I still didn’t touch his mouth - the reins just sat on his neck.
Harry and I drifted further from the pack; I urged him to a gallop, and my magnificent steed and I flattened out into a gallop, past the pyramid and temples of Saqqara, and it hit me: oh my God, I am GALLOPING A HORSE IN EGYPT BY THE PYRAMIDS!! I could have cried.
I did cry, many times that morning. This couldn’t be real, I was in another world and another time.
Walmart-but-not-Walmart-but-worldly-cancerous-plastic bags rolled across the desert like Nevada tumbleweeds. One was heading our way and would intersect us if I didn’t change course. Maryanne said these Egyptian Arabs didn’t spook at flying plastic bags. I noticed none of them had in our rides in the countryside. We continued on course, and Harry galloped right on over the plastic bag without blinking an eyelash.
Harry and I veered back toward the others; we climbed another hill and looked around us. It was a beautiful partly cloudy and cool day with a slight breeze - just perfect. We walked/slid on Harry’s haunches down the hill, and Pal said “Let’s do the Back 40," or something like that, and we all took off again. Pick your path - anywhere, any direction, any speed, any company - just go!
Pal and I fell behind the others, and slowed down to a walk. He said "I read some of your stories on EnduranceNet - I just can’t wait to see how all these Eccentrics you’re meeting are going to flesh out!" He also read about mine and Steph’s tea with the Sun Temple guide. Yes, he said, we did eat his lunch. No matter how poor they are they pride themselves on sharing whatever they had. To have refused to share his tea and food would’ve been impolite. But geez, I didn’t have to pig out! Pal's wife is the Norwegian ambassador to Ethiopia. He talked about his wife’s job, and Addis Ababa and Ethiopia. "You have not seen, nor can you imagine, the utter misery and poverty in Ethiopia. I’ve been to slums in Mexico City and Bogota - they don’t compare." It sounded absolutely hopeless with no light on the horizon - not to mention completely depressing: civil war, famine, disease, millions of refugees, an unbreakable cycle. I said, "Then there’s no solution." Pal said, "Short term, no. Long term, yes. You just have to keep hope and keep pushing forward."
We talked about ruins in the area - he said there are hundreds of known sites buried out here - they just aren’t excavating them. A lot of it’s political and a lot of it is Egypt’s treasury - to be dealt out over time.
Pal told me Harry had another name: Asa’il. It means "Honey." Julie of the new black stallion had previously owned him, and couldn’t quite pronounce Asa’il. “It sounds like Asshole,” she said, “I’m giving him a new name!" And Harry he became.
By now we’d lost the others - here riders can cover a lot of ground and they quickly become spots on the horizon - they’d swung east around a string of sand hills. We walked till we got out of the deeper sand, and Pal said "Let’s see if we can find them."
As we walked along, I couldn’t keep my hands off Harry. I patted his beautiful neck, I ran my hands through his mane, I patted his big red butt. No queen had ever had a more beautiful seat on a golden throne than I had right here. "How do you say 'You are beautiful’ in Arabic?" I asked Pal. He said "'Enta gameel.’ It means not only physical beauty, but beautiful from the inside." Oh, yes. I leaned over Harry and put my arms around his neck and I hugged him. "Enta gameel, Asa’il."
Pal moved his horse to a trot, to a canter. Harry graciously bowed his head and floated to a trot, and bowed his head again and glided to a canter. Pal was now galloping, full out running ahead of me. Harry asked me - asked me! - if he could go. "Meshe Harry!" Go on!
Harry spread his wings, and we ran through the desert. The wind roared in my ears and whipped his mane in my face and drove the tears out of my eyes and across my face. If I cocked my head to the side I no longer heard the wind but the 4-beat of his hoofs on the sand. I dropped the reins and put my hands on that golden red neck and felt his strength through my fingertips. "Enta gameel Asa’il!"
Maybe it lasted a minute, or maybe 10 minutes - but I’ll never forget it. We rounded the corner and saw nobody, so we cantered on to the top of a hill. Still no other riders, so Pal said "Let’s go that way. I’ll show you something." And so we cantered on, down one row of hills into a little wadi and back up another hill. Harry adjusted his strides perfectly to the uphill or downhill, softer sand or hard. We crested the hill that Pal had picked out - and we met Maryanne, Jackie and Christina coming from the opposite direction. On top here was a big hole about 20 feet deep and maybe a car’s width all around with a hint of remains of a wall, with sand piled all around the hole. "It’s a tomb. They just aren’t bothering with it because there’s so many other big things. There’s hundreds and hundreds of them."
Can you just imagine what this area looked like 4000 years ago before sand buried everything? You just get the feeling out here that you are riding over ancient treasures everywhere. We walked down the hill, and walked and trotted along a while, talking. Harry had a big walk and we were out in front, when I spotted 5 or 6 riders off in the distance. I wondered if it was Morad and Hortense and Denise.
Wait - why wonder? I can zip on over there and find out! I lifted my fingers and Harry confirmed with a bow of his head and we cantered a mile across the desert. As we got close, I could see it was nobody I knew - it looked like a slow plodding tour group. Boring! Harry and I arc’d in a big circle and cantered the mile back to our group.
Pal then trotted up to me. "You want to go?" He read my mind! Off we cantered to the distant Japanese Hill, near Saqqara. And cantered and cantered and cantered, over buried remains of Egypt’s 4000 year old history.
Japanese Hill is where the Japanese are excavating a huge site a little distance, maybe ~1/2 mile from the Saqqara Step Pyramid, which is all likely part of Saqqara. It’s the highest hill around, and you can see the 3 Great Pyramids of Giza, Abu Sir, Saqqara, and the Bent and Red Pyramids from Dashur, stretching north and south as far as you can see. The pollution wasn’t so bad this morning after yesterday’s bit of rain. (Maryanne said that last year Cairo surpassed Mexico City as the worst polluted city in the world.)
Harry posed with me up top for pictures, then we slid our way down and galloped around the hill to meet the others. I took pictures of everybody, and kept handing off my camera to people: "Take my picture!" Usually I prefer to be behind the lens. Not here - not with my new gorgeous Egyptian boyfriend! (Who was quite photogenic I might add.) Please - nobody tell Stormy about this. He gets very jealous.
And OK, now I understand a little the Egyptians’ love affair and addiction to stallions. I think this is the first time I’ve ridden one. They are different! We trotted on past the Abu Sir pyramids, heading back home. I was looking at a nearby hill, and thought - why look, just go! I turned my hand, and Harry picked up a canter, loped to the top, and we stopped and looked around one last time, then trotted back down to join the others, to the Sun Temple, and exited the desert at the mango grove.
I was so happy I cried all the way home. I didn’t have to say anything to Morad when he and Hortense and Denise got back to the stable a short time later. He laughed. "See? I told you!" I gave him a big hug - thank you, that was the best ride I’ve ever had in my life. I’d’ve given Harry a kiss on his big red nose but he’d’ve probably bitten my face off. (And Stormy would’ve been REALLY jealous, because he loves the nose kisses.)
Dinner was at Janie’s. We had a great dinner with everybody and a last visit (this trip) with my friends in Egypt. When we left the full moon was shining straight down on us. I said a silent goodbye to my Egyptian boyfriend Harry as we drove past his stable the last time (this trip).
Enta gameel, Asa’il. Shukran.
Monday, November 20, 2006
There seems to be a bit of the travel bug in the air.
I just emailed a friend in Seattle and asked if she’d be there when I visit in December. “No, I’m going to the South Pacific for 3 months. Come meet me in Vanuatu!” (Had to get out my map.)
An old boss of mine is on his way to Egypt right now to sightsee and birdwatch.
Earlier, the plan was for me to go spend November and December in Egypt, to do a bit of horse stuff, be there for a local endurance ride, the Gamoosa Gambol, that Maryanne was putting on. My friend Steph was going to meet us there for the ride – a kind of mini-reunion from 2 years ago, when Steph first traveled to Egypt at Maryanne’s invitation, and I invited myself along.
Before my winter Egyptian plan fell through, Steph’s did also. She couldn’t make it for the Gamoosa Gambol ride because “my friend the King of Malaysia invited me to come do a ride there.” Or something to that effect.
I didn’t make back it to Egypt this winter (yet)(for the 3rd time), but my friend Steph is, indeed, currently on her way to Malaysia to hob nob with the King of Malaysia, who himself is an accomplished equestrian. She’s going to be doing an 80 km ride in a few days on a horse from her friend the King’s Royal Stable.
Her Royal Adventures will be on www.endurance.net and I, the friend of a friend of a King, will be awaiting the stories of her escapades with bated breath.
Friday, November 17, 2006
Aspens are not your friends.
Beautiful and shimmery, green in the spring, golden, fiery yellow or orange in the fall, they demand adulation from a distance, or from close-up – but not too close. They are exquisite but untouchable; they are aloof. Nature is friend of the aspens, but not man. No hugging of these trees! No picnicking under these trees unless you’re a bear! If you must hike through an aspen stand, woe to you! You’d better be wearing Kevlar or Mithril because the aspens are often guarded by wild rosebushes that grab and tear at you and rip your hiking pants and stab and scratch your skin. Favorite trick is for an aspen branch on sloping ground to trip you up so that you reach out scrambling for balance and grab onto a rosebush for balance.
If you still insist on hiking through an aspen stand, if the rose bushes do not get you, some of the aspens themselves might. They can grow dense as a jungle and low as bushes, and if you can squeeze through the intense growth, they will snarl and snag you and trip you up and eventually become impassable.
This particular aspen canyon we walked through on an old jeep road for an archy survey was known as Quaking Aspen Canyon. It was not known as Welcome-Humans Canyon. The aspens had lost their leaves and looked dead (and still aloof), but they still had their own nature thing going on.
We intruding humans disturbed a red tailed hawk out a tree, a covey of quail, an injured hawk who was fluttering and running on the ground, and limping-crashing-flying to get away from us. Some other birds I couldn’t identify were squawking warning calls.
Plenty of bear sign in this aspen-bear playground – climbing claw marks on many of the trees and piles of poo from bear picnics. We got to a fence at the end of this old road which we crossed to try to see a little further up-canyon, but the rosebushes clawed at us, the downed aspens tripped us up, and concealed wire grabbed at us.
Time to retreat, tail between our legs, and leave this Quaking Aspen canyon to itself.
Monday, November 13, 2006
6 AM, away we go down the trail on the Git R Done 75 miler! At the start, just before dawn, just light enough to see, Gretchen on Raffiq and me on Spice hooked up with Nick on his beloved Don (aka Forever Dawn, aka Princess, aka Ned of the Desert) doing the 100 miler.
The whole ride was a flat trail, 3 25-mile loops, (the 100 milers would repeat loop 1), the biggest hill of which was about 7 feet high up and over railroad tracks. The footing – dreamy! Soft jeep roads, maybe 20 yards of rocks in the entire 100 miles. The weather – dreamy! Not too cold, high diaphanous clouds to keep the sun visible but the burning rays away.
As we cruised along at a nice steady trot, Nick reminded us that there were 11 horses in the 75 miler. “You’ll be racing each other for Top Ten so you can show for BC!” That’s Best Condition – any horse that finishes in the top ten can show for BC, and the horse with the highest score, based on vet score, weight carried and finish time, receives the award. Some might say that’s a better honor than finishing first. Which we definitely would not do – our horses just aren’t fast horses. We trot along and do our thing, and usually end up mid-pack. I think I’ve finished in the top ten twice before. This time – one of us would Top Ten if we finished!
After about a mile – we passed a 75 miler mule! Now we were 9th and 10th!
Another 10 miles went by and we passed John Parke on his little Norwegian Fjord pony – now we were in 8th and 9th! Our horses coasted easily along, seeming to enjoy this ride – soft footing, easy elevation (2600 vs 6500+), and no hard mountainous climbs! Even with our vet check and 30 minute hold out on the loop, we finished the 25 miles in 3 ½ hours.
Another hour vet check in camp and we were on our way. Debating what to wear, we looked up at the Sierras just to our west. There were darker clouds behind them, and, I’m not kidding, 3 minutes later I looked again and now there were definitely rain clouds above them. Rain in the desert!? Nick said “Oh no, it’s not going to rain down here,” and he stayed in his one layer long-sleeved Tshirt. Gretchen put a vest on over her short-sleeved Tshirt, conceding a little to the cool wind that had picked up a little. I didn’t think it would rain on us either, (I mean – rain in the desert!?), but I opted to carry an extra layer along (lessons learned from pack trip misadventures).
Spice didn’t eat as much as she usually does at the vet checks, and her poop was not firm, but it had been that way since at least yesterday, and she felt strong beneath me. On this second 25-mile loop though, she had to stop more often to poop. She’s one who has never learned to poop on the go, so while stopping was the norm, this was getting to be a bit much, and the poop sure wasn’t getting any firmer. So, was this just the way it was today, or, was something bothering her? I don’t like it when I’m worrying about a horse I’m riding.
About 3 miles out of camp it was definitely raining over the Sierra peaks, but, as usual when that happens, the rain stayed over the mountains and that darned Mojave Desert wind kicked up on the desert floor. Hmm… I think I would rather ride in rain than wind, because I HATE the wind.
It howled from our right side, so at least we weren’t going into it (yet). But of course with the wind suddenly comes a gazillion Horse-Eating Things, blowing in our path and catching on the big fence to our left, flapping alongside the road we were trotting. Ned of the Desert was up front, spooking occasionally at Horse Eaters. Being in back (having to stop to poop, then catch up), Spice wasn’t as spooky, as horses in back tend to be, since the horses in front are the ones likely to get eaten by the Horse-Eating Things.
There was one big bed-sized thin piece of flexible something-or-other up ahead to our left, about 10 feet off the road, and I saw the corner of it moving, but fortunately it wasn’t flapping. Until, of course, when we had just passed it. A perfectly timed bigger gust whipped through right then, must have lifted the Horse-Eating Thing off the ground to come attack Spice, because she braked and whipped around so fast I was hanging off her left side before I knew what was happening. I do remember thinking as I was falling off, Damn, I really hate to hit the ground, it usually hurts, and here comes the ground…I could feel it… and it was either my wrenching hard on the left rein to stop her spinning, or she just stopped herself, or it was my intense loathing of hitting the ground that stopped things, because Spice did stop moving and I was able to wrestle myself back in the saddle without kissing the ground. Whew!
We continued trotting our way south, and south, forever it seemed down this straight road, until we came to a water trough where we finally turned west toward the mountains.
And then came the really bad warning that things really were awry for Spice: her pee was brown. Not good – brown urine indicates some kind of muscle tie up. Keep going with that, it’s possible to kill a horse. That, with the runs, and the having to stop often, made me suddenly very worried, and through my head flashed the different bad scenarios I’ve been around or heard of.
A few years ago one horse we knew died the night after completing a 100 mile ride, and her only indication of something wrong was one incident in the middle of the ride of the runs – she was fine before and after that. My buddy Zayante suddenly colicked and almost died on us in the middle of a ride last year. Spice colicked suddenly in the middle of the Eastern High Sierra Classic in August.
Gretchen and I told Nick to go on without us; Gretchen walked with us for a while, and when she and Raffiq picked up a trot and Spice didn’t, that was it. I told Gretchen to go on; I’d walk Spice in and pull her from the ride. We had maybe 12 miles to go to get back to camp, but at least Spice wasn’t in distress. I got off and started the long trek back, leading her on foot. Raffiq screamed in the wind till we were out of earshot (he’s the Drama Queen); Spice neighed a few times but didn’t really mind being left behind.
After 3 or 4 miles, we got to a spot where a ride volunteer was checking numbers, and just as we arrived, our trailer-ride back to camp arrived! What service! Gretchen had requested it for us when she rode through.
Safely back in camp 10 minutes later, Spice dove into her food and ate like she should have at the last vet check; later her pee got lighter, and by evening even her poop had firmed up.
So, I was very glad Spice was going to be fine, and, I was glad we pulled… and I was a little stung with disappointment. Pulled from a ride! Every ride I do is precious, because I just don’t get that many opportunities to do them. And this, an opportunity to Top Ten (okay, so there were only 11 starters, and, at least one of these would elevate up to 100 miles, so there were at the most 10 starters) – gone. A whole ride – gone. No, the 35 miles or so we’d done didn’t count unless you finished the whole thing.
I’ll any day happily opt for not possibly killing a horse, and I never felt I made the wrong decision about pulling Spice, but, there I was, sitting in camp, feeling a little sorry for myself, while Gretchen and others were out enjoying themselves on the rest of the ride.
Well… maybe not enjoying so much. The wind was now blowin’ a wee littl’ gale (as they say in the Scottish Hebrides, when a person can no longer stand upright in the wind), and I really, really hate the wind. I moved Spice to the leeward side of the trailer (where she continued to contentedly pig out), and I sat outside bundled up in layers so I could keep an eye on her. The sand sandblasted my face and sandpapered my eyes – in ten minutes they hurt like hell and I had a headache. I chased a few things down from peoples’ trailers and anchored them down.
Nick and Ned came in for their next hour vet check then headed out on their 3rd loop. Gretchen and Raffiq came in (Raffiq screaming till he saw Spice) for their hour hold, then headed back out into the howling sandstorm.
Okay, so I was let down about having to quit, but then, I had to admit, the stinging sand and blustering gale took quite a bit of the sting out of the defeat. Have I mentioned how I HATE THE WIND??
Nick and Ned arrived just before dark for their last vet check, then headed out for their last 25 miles. Ned was looking great and his vet scores were great. Gretchen and Raffiq finished (with flying colors) about an hour later. They finished, not just in the Top Ten, but 5th!
Spice was now looking pretty fine, and Raffiq looked fine (and had fun despite the wind) after his TOP TEN FINISH, and by now I was too sandblasted and tired from being sandblasted to be so disappointed in my finishing fate.
There’s always the next ride, and Spice will be hale and hearty for it!
Saturday, November 4, 2006
Dang, is it hot in Ridgecrest. Well, okay, maybe it only hit 77* this weekend, but being used to 15* mornings and maybe 40-50* days, Gretchen and I just can’t take the heat. Wimps, we are.
First thing before our ride on Saturday, we shaved Fuzzy Bear – Raffiq. We’d already taken a little hair off his neck and chest for the last ride, the High Desert in October, but that was up north where it’s pretty chilly. Next weekend’s 75 miler will be down here near Ridgecrest, where, if Gretchen and I think it’s hot, Raffiq must think it’s hot too. We can peel layers off, but he can’t. We took a lot more hair off, his neck, shoulders, belly, left a big brown pile under his feet. Anybody ever figure out what to do with all that horse hair? There must be something. Pillows? Mattress stuffing?
Spice isn’t nearly as hairy so we didn’t shave her.
We hauled the horses up to one of our favorite training trails at Brady’s, in the foothills of the Sierras. It’s the shortest hardest ride we know. Eight and a half miles of: a stiff climb up to a dirt road that meanders flat for a few miles, then another long tough climb, then a long downhill, a fun sandy glissade-able trail, then one more medium uphill climb, then down another sandy trail, and a few easy flat miles back to the base.
For the first time ever here, we ran into a few motorcyclers.
Now here, a few words about motorcyclers and 4-wheelers. Spice is afraid of motorcycles, and that is because last year on a ride, an idiot riding one almost crashed into us. We were rounding a curve on a logging road, and here came two dirt bikers. The first one immediately slowed down, and made sure the horses were okay as he slowly rolled past us, and the second one saw us, gunned his bike around the corner, hit a groove in the road, wobbled crazily and almost slid and fell right into Spice and me. She blew up (who wouldn’t have) and jumped up and twisted away from him even as I and the other riders around me were yelling curses at the asshole while I tried to stay on Spice. (He continued gunning it on down the road, never slowing down, almost getting the next two riders thrown.)
Thanks to that one mentally deficient person having intelligence in the lowest measurable range, Spice has since been afraid of motorcycles. Also since then, Spice and I have met only one other idiot, and that was a young kid who actually did stop when his elders told him to, but he didn’t wait long enough for us to pass, and he gunned his bike to a start right behind Spice (Gretchen aboard), which caused her to freak again. Everybody else we have run into has always slowed down (sometimes we wave them to slow down but usually, they automatically slow) or stopped and turned their engines off till we pass. And believe me, we will always happily give motorcycles and ATVs and dune buggies as much space as we can – they can have the trail, road, whatever they want, we will move off - they can just come up on you so fast.
Today at Brady’s, one group of about 5 passed within 20 feet of us, but we were off the road, and they slowed down, and while Spice tensed up under me, she didn’t panic or jump. (I told her she was very brave.) Then, while on the dirt road, we ran into another group coming towards us. We waved at them to slow down, while looking for a place to pull as far off the road as possible. These guys, about 8 of them, stopped and turned off their bikes and were going to sit there while we rode by. Instead, we waved them to come on, but, seeing as there were so many bikes, I jumped off Spice. Good thing, because even though they went by slowly and as quietly as possible, after about the 4th one, Spice couldn’t take anymore. She reared up a bit and jumped back, crashing into Star, who, fortunately, like Raffiq, was not bothered in the least by the bikes. I talked to Spice and petted her while she was trying to figure out an escape route, and then they were all past, and I told her how awfully brave she was for withstanding the attack of the motorbikes. Maybe, since they didn’t really attack this time, she believed me and maybe she won’t be so scared next time…
It turned out to be a lovely ride on a beautiful day (above the desert floor, it was nice and cool), but the horses sweated quite a lot.
I think we’ll be giving them both pretty good body shaves for next weekend’s 75 mile Get R’ Done ride, and come to think of it, I may be doing the same thing, because it sure feels like summer already…
Friday, November 3, 2006
Trailers and trailering horses always makes me nervous.
An acquaintance of ours had a terrible trailer accident with her horse about 2 weeks ago. She was about to unload him, and she didn’t get him untied before he started backing out. He hit the end of the rope, freaked, reared up, got a front leg caught in the upper part of the trailer (where the horse’s head would be looking out), snapped it in two, then was caught there for a while. I don’t know the details, don’t want to know the details, just know that it was pretty awful.
Spice used to shoot backwards out of the trailer as soon as the door was opened. We’ve always been careful to make sure the horses are untied before any doors are opened, but it still scares me. One guy at a ride saw Spice come shooting backwards out of the trailer, and told us of someone whose horse was still attached when he did that; the horse’s back leg slipped under the trailer and he broke it that way. Trailers are just dangerous even if you do have a horse that doesn’t panic. You and a horse in a small enclosed place…
Spice has gotten better about flying out, and we’ve found that if you put her in last or next to last, she isn’t in such a rush to get out. A friend who was explaining this last accident said, “That’s why it’s so important that your horse will stand in there a while until you ask him to back out.” Common sense of course, but we’ve just never done it. We started that day on working with Spice to stand in there until we ask her to come out. It’s going to take a while.
And then we come to Stormy. Yes, we all know Stormy is The Most Beautiful Horse on the Planet, but, I must come clean, he is not the most intelligent one. When we first got him in our barn on the racetrack, he came with a reputation of being a flipper in the paddock. He never flipped in the two seasons of racing that I had him, but those reputations aren’t made up.
After his racing days were over and I’d had him a while, I witnessed him pull back when tied to a trailer; he panicked and fought and pulled so hard the rope broke and he fell over backwards – luckily not on cement. I saw him another time tied in a stall at the Hunewill Ranch where he jerked back, panicked, and would have done the same thing except the stall was small enough to bump his butt, which scared him into jumping forward, which eased the pressure on his head, which removed the impulse to panic and struggle. He since learned to spend all day tied to a hitching rail when he was being used as a dude horse, but, once a pull-back always a pull-back. He can never be trusted.
He also has a few trailer issues. He will back out of a trailer, but he gets very nervous about it the closer he gets to the end, and when he feels that foot going down to the ground, he panics and throws his head up, which results in a terrific bang on top of the head on the top of the trailer. Happens every time. He panics because he knows the trailer is going to bang his head, which it does because he panics. He’s also panicky when he’s separated from other horses unless we work on this diligently – and being turned out at Hunewill Ranch with 150 horses all summer, he has not been alone at all.
So, that set up the scenario for when Gretchen and I picked him up from the Ranch to haul him down south with Spice and Raffiq. Spice and Raffiq were unloaded and tied to the trailer; we were going to put Stormy in first since he’s the heaviest. (Uh, okay, I must come clean – the fattest.)
Stormy was getting a bit wiggy, because here was a trailer, the thing that bangs his head really hard every time he gets out of one, and it meant he was going somewhere, and that is always nerve-wracking, and even though 2 horses were standing there (and he knows Raffiq), well, it was just terribly unsettling. I led him into the trailer, and slipped his rope through the metal tie loop. Something in my head said something wasn’t right, wait a minute, and, instead of standing quietly facing forward, Stormy turned his head right, which pushed his body into me into the side of the trailer (meaning he was paying absolutely no attention to me), and still my hands wouldn’t start to tie the slip knot, because this did not feel right, and I was just about to call to Gretchen to come close the trailer door, and right then, Stormy shot out the trailer backwards and 15 feet beyond.
My heart was pounding because that right there would have been a disaster – a broken leg, him crashing back into the trailer into me, the rope breaking and smacking him or me in the face, whatever - the death of him if he’d been tied. Kind of makes you feel like throwing up.
I caught Stormy, who was still nerved out, and Gretchen moved Raffiq to the other side of the trailer, where Stormy would be able to see him when he was inside. She got on the door, ready to close it behind us as soon as Stormy got in, but, now that Stormy was wigged out, he didn’t want to go back in the trailer. He’d get close, then refuse and turn his body sideways. If I swing the leadrope at his shoulder, he knows that means to move forward, which he’d do, and get his front feet in the trailer, then jerk back out in panic again. Once, twice, then the third time he went all the way in and Gretchen had the door shut right on our heels. Stormy started to back up, but bumped his butt into the side of the trailer, and he stopped. He then followed me forward, and we stood there, with me petting him, telling him Raffiq was just there outside, (he could see him), and he calmed down. I didn’t tie him up till I was sure he was calm enough. If he panicked with me in there, there was no escape route for me but the back door, which he’d be heading for.
I tied him up, then backed up to swing the compartment door shut. He started moving backwards again, but I patted his big fat butt and told him he was okay, and he stopped moving, and I swung the door shut and pinned him in there. He started moving around, and I patted his butt some more, then slipped out, and we loaded Raffiq in right away. Stormy was fine after that, except maybe for being a little claustrophobic, being so fat and all.
The trip down went smoothly, and once we got to where Stormy was going to stay, I made damn sure Spice and Raffiq and Stormy were all untied, then we unloaded Spice then Raffiq. I wasn’t going to ask Stormy to back out because he’d slam his head again, so I had to let him turn around, which he was going to do as soon as I swung his gate open. Only thing was, he’s so FAT, he almost got stuck turning around, which made him start to get scared, which was going to make him bolt once he got unstuck. Which put me in a vulnerable position, trying to hold the gate open enough for him to swing around.
Anyway, he safely made it out, and he was happily reunited with his buddy Woody from last winter.
We loaded Raffiq and Spice back up and hauled them to their place, where I made Spice stand in the trailer before letting her out. She didn’t like it, didn’t take it well, and when I let her go, she flew backwards out the trailer, which is exactly what we don’t want her to do. I loaded her right back up, which she also didn’t take well, but once in, she stood there a little longer, and didn’t fly back out quite so fast.
That’s what we’re going to be working on this winter with everybody – trailer safety. It won’t guarantee no accidents, but it can reduce at least a few of the possibilities, and (besides being common sense), will just plain reduce trailer trauma for horses and people.