Tevis Epilogue

Monday August 24 2009

Now that the dust of Tevis has settled (haha!) I can sum it up in one word - if that's possible - Amazing. (Well, maybe two words - Amazing, and Dust. : )

There is nothing easy about the Tevis, not from the moment you start at 5:15 AM, until you finish - wherever your finish may be. Every endurance ride has its challenges and difficulties, but the Tevis Cup has 100 miles of it. It's extreme, challenging, relentless, frantic, exhilarating, heart-breaking, exhausting, exasperating, insane, exciting, treacherous.

Yes, the Tevis trail is dangerous. However, though the Tevis has many (many) miles of perilous steep drop-offs and cliffs to ride along, many endurance rides have treacherous trails. You don't even have to have a dangerous trail to have a human or horse accident. You don't have to ride endurance to have a human or horse accident. Heck just being around horses can be dangerous. Anybody who owns a horse knows that even if he is just standing in a padded stall, he can find a way to kill himself. As for humans, just walking out your front door can be dangerous. You can die sitting on your couch. Everybody has to go some way, so you might as well not fret about it, and do what you enjoy doing.

We choose to take our horses on endurance rides, and hopefully, they do get some enjoyment out of it. I know my horse did. We put their lives at risk riding them, asking them to do things... but any horse is at risk, be it the most pampered pet horse or a wild mustang. Every horse has to go some way too, so it may as well be something he enjoys doing or excels at. Most riders tackling something monumental like the Tevis have some sense of what they are doing, and have prepared their horse well.

The death of Ice Joy was a tragedy, but neither his rider Skip Kemerer (over 4000 miles) nor Ice Joy (nearly 3000 miles) were inexperienced. May Ice Joy rest in peace, and may Skip eventually get some peace.

There's no certain winning formula for finishing Tevis. The best horse and rider combination is not guaranteed a silver buckle. (Although, if you study Hal Hall - 32 starts, 26 finishes - and Barbara White - 39 starts, 29 finishes - you'll learn a thing or two.)

And regarding experience on the Tevis trail, I am proof of the following points.

1) Ignorance is not necessarily a bad thing. By being somewhat unenlightened about things, you spend a lot less time worrying about things - which really gets you nowhere anyway.

2) Pre-riding the trail is not necessary for every rider and every horse.

Pre-riding the trail may help you mentally and it may help your horse... or it may not. One person once pre-rode his horse, who wasn't fond of river crossings, over the trail, taking him through the American River where he'd be crossing during Tevis, to get the horse used to it. The water was high, the horse got a little nervous, but they got across. During Tevis, the horse, remembering his previous experience, got uptight during the crossing, and tied up afterwards. Another person this year got lost in the last 4 miles; pre-riding the trail may have helped him not take a wrong turn in the dark. As for pre-riding the cliffs on the California trail... do you really need to do that? I preferred to see them for the first time during Tevis, because they weren't going to change at all, and you just had to keep going anyway.

What Tevis REALLY is all about, IMO, is Luck. Luck plays a part in any outcome with horses, and Tevis Luck plays a huge part in every horse's and rider's result.

It was good luck that the unfamiliar saddle I rode in did not bother my knee at all - or else I'd have had serious problems. It was great luck that this was possibly one of the coolest Tevises on record - or else I would have had really serious problems. It was luck I was riding a horse that had completed Tevis already, who knew the trail and was unintimidated by anything, was fit, and that I got along with. It was luck I was riding with some people who knew the trail. It was luck my horse didn't fall down when he tripped big time that one time in the dark. It was luck we spent just the right amount of time at vet checks. It was luck that we finished with 19 minutes left. It was luck we finished. The Tevis Gods were smiling on me that day and night.

Everything about the ride was absolutely amazing. The trails were amazing. Just the thought of crossing the Sierra Nevadas on a horse, just like so many pioneers did over a hundred years ago, on some of those same trails, with the same views, the same difficulties, was awe inspiring.

The volunteers were unbelievable - there to help you at every vet check/trot by. "Food, water, hold your horse, do anything else for you?" There are 6-800 Tevis volunteers - a statistic that is in itself astounding. Friends were amazing: some showed up to cheer me on, some showed up at different crew spots to help us and other riders.

My Idaho crew and fellow Idaho riders were amazing - I couldn't, of course, have done it without them. I know now I sure don't want to CREW this ride, because it was a very stressful job for them (3 crew, 5 riders) - especially that first vet check at Robinson Flat! I wouldn't have known how fast to ride my borrowed horse; and of course I wouldn't have had a horse to ride in the first place without Nance. Quinn was all ready to go for Tevis, ready to just hop on... which is literally what I did. Got on him for the first time Friday, for 30 minutes, and the second time Saturday for a hundred miles.

And speaking of my horse Quinn: he was utterly amazing. Nance said, "Oh, he'll perk up when the sun goes down." He was never NOT energetic. He got stronger as the day went on; I even had to put gloves back on leaving Francisco's at 68 miles. The power that was coming up from those legs, mile after mile after mile of challenging and demanding trail, was simply astounding.

It deserves to be said again that thanks go out to Tom Noll who cancelled, to Kevin and Julie who absolutely had no doubts (like I did) about me riding and finishing, to my crew Bruce and Chris and Gentry, and fellow riders Nance, Kara, Laura and Chandler; and most of all, thanks to Nance, who just gave me this horse to ride, and to Quinn, who did it all. (Really - I just sat in the saddle.)

Three weeks have passed since the 2009 Tevis Cup. Every night I pull out my silver Tevis buckle (when I can get it away from the Raven) and look at it and think... Did I really ride in the Tevis? Did I really complete it? Still can't believe it.

I don't think I need to ride the Tevis again. I'm not obsessed with it. It took my friend Judy 9 years to want to ride it again, and heck, the oldest finisher was 80, so I have a couple years to go yet before I have to think about trying it again. Besides, I really am proud of my 100% Tevis completion rate. That may well have been 50% Luck, 50% Horse, but nevertheless, it's MY Tevis record.

Then again, I HAVE already been offered a horse for next year...

And then again, there's always new challenges on the endurance trail. Like the Bighorn 100...

2009 Tevis: Phase III

Saturday August 1 2009

The final 'LD':
Foresthill to Francisco's - 17 miles - Gate and Go
Francisco's to River Crossing - 3.3 miles - No check
River Crossing to Lower Quarry - 6 miles - Gate and Go
Lower Quarry to No Hands Bridge - 2 miles - No Check
No Hands Bridge to the Finish - 4 miles - Last vet check


The last third of Tevis: CLIFFS and DUST. A few more words come to mind: Blackness, Hurtling, Insane, Enough Already, Disconnected, Fatigue, Intrigue, Thirst, Bliss, Misery, and (deserves mentioning again) Dust.

We left the Vet Check at Foresthill in the dark, at 8:52 PM. Refreshed, starting over, 8 more hours or so of riding to go - I felt we could actually do this! Quinn led the way in the dark onto the streets of Foresthill, under the streetlights, past honking cars, past bars and outdoor cafes with partying people who cheered us on our way. A man on a street corner holding his little boy on his shoulders said, "See those horses? Those aren't just endurance horses, those are Tevis horses!" Made you feel pretty special in your saddle.

We followed a few riders off the streets, onto the trail that is the start of the infamous California loop. We could see the lights of Auburn on the horizon, across the canyon of the American River, 32 miles by trail away. The almost-full moon was a spotlight reflection on the river far below, and it lit up the wide trail before us.

Nance and I had fallen in with Ernie Schrader on his paint horse Captain Calypso, and Cassandra Berube, riding Imasweetsteele. We trotted along the trail together, telling stories, slowly starting to chip away at the miles. Though Quinn had never flagged all day, he was pulling on the reins even harder now. I'd even had to put my gloves back on. Absolutely amazing.

And now is when I knew for certain that I would finish the Tevis with a sound horse. IF Quinn didn't trip and fall, IF he didn't hit that rock with his name on it, IF we didn't fall off a cliff, IF we made it to Auburn in time, by 5:15 AM, I would complete Tevis with a solid, strong, sound horse. A lot of IF's in there, but I knew Quinn wouldn't just go lame before we finished. It was a phenomenal feeling, to be on a horse that felt so unbelievably strong after 17 hours on the trail.

We eventually became a line of riders again when the trail started down into the forest, down switchbacks into the black hole of the canyon. With the single track downward came the thick dust churned up by hooves in front of and below us. The trail was quite steep (and I found out later how steep, something I was glad I didn't know), and even in the black you could sense this was a trail you didn't want to screw around on. It was very dusty - hard to breathe, and, unbelievably, I'd forgotten my breathing bandana. At times I'd try holding my shirt over my mouth, but this was a rugged trail and you'd better keep both hands on the reins. I gave up and choked down the dust. The red light on my helmet would often illuminate a thick red cloud; sometimes I'd shut it off and just hang on in the dark. Sometimes I'd shut my eyes the dust was so bad. It was starting to really aggravate my eyes. (What about those people wearing contacts who weren't complaining!)

Back and forth, Quinn would make the sharp switchback turns, forever going downward in a line of riders. A couple of times I turned on my light and looked down at the turn - eek! He stepped too close to the outside drop-off on that one and I corrected him! Was he doing this EVERY TIME?? Better, I think, not to watch what he's doing, let him pick his way. He did know what he was doing... didn't he? No point in worrying about it - sometimes you just have to trust your horse. Nothing you could do anyway but keep moving with the line of horses.


In the pitch dark as we descended, sometimes all I could see was a line of floating green glowsticks - most breastcollars had 3 glowsticks on them, and they floated eerily toward us, above and below us on the switchbacks. At times, Quinn would watch them, turning his head, fascinated, as he walked along - AHH! Please turn your head back to the trail! Don't trip or fall off here for watching the other horses!

When we came to a very tricky spot in the trail where the lead horse slowed to cross - a little spring over wet rocks, or a pile of rocks, or a branch at about human head level requiring you to duck over your horse's neck, we'd pass the information to the rider behind us - you could hear it going back down the line in the dark: "Rocks!" "Headache!" "Watch it here!"

Nance was in front for a while, trying to feel her way in the dark. The red light on her helmet helped, but only just penetrated the blackness. Some horses are sensible enough to slow down over rocks, and trot when it gets better; Jasbo would trot over anything, so Nance was just guessing when it was safest to trot.

I'd been talking to the guy behind me for a while before I realized it was Bruce Weary and his Tennessee Walker, John Henry. I glanced back, noticed his hat, and his clean white shirt (still!). He offered to go in front, because he knew the trail, and his horse had a great walk, and was very sure-footed. Bruce took over, and became our Trail Master of the Dark for a while; John Henry kept up a good pace for all of us.

I kept waiting for that first little water stop/trot by, whatever it was, coming up fairly soon. I'd checked my card twice upon leaving Foresthill; the stop/check was 4 miles from Foresthill. I was going to fill my water bottles, because I'd already used half of my supply, some to douse my head, which was uncomfortably hot under my helmet, and some to wash down the peanut butter crackers I'd brought along and was trying to choke down. Maybe I could rinse my eyes out too, because they were killing me.

The trail kept going and going - surely we'd gone 4 miles by now - and Bruce kept talking about the vet check at Francisco's which was 17 miles. It took me a while - like hours - to comprehend that there WAS no water stop/vet check before Francisco's. We were ON the long 17 mile loop to Francisco's, the next vet check. There was no drinking water to be had between now and then. I pulled out my card and looked once more, and indeed there was no stop before Francisco's listed on there. Whatthehell?

Oh, that was a crushing blow. Now that I had a couple more hours of slow miles to go till I could get more water I started obsessing over it. I needed water - I was terribly hot, lightheaded - my head felt like a sauna - I was hungry (but couldn't eat because I didn't have water to wash anything down), very thirsty (but now had to ration my water), my eyes were hurting badly from the dust, this was one Long-A** ride, and whose bloody idea was this, anyway.

That trail to Francisco's was the longest 17 miles. Ever. On and on it went. And though it felt that the time ticked by slowly, the ride time still ticked mercilessly on, and we could not let up. And still the rocky trail and tricky footing was unforgiving. We flew through the dark, trotting on, a stumble here, sparks from hooves flying there, on and on. I found myself zoning out when I trotted, the pace unchanging for so long in the dark with no solid visual reference to anything around me. I wasn't really riding, I wasn't really on a horse. I was somewhere off to the side (to the right, to be exact), in the ether as we flew down the trail, and a few times I had to physically shake myself to get me to come back onto my horse, to hold onto those reins and pay attention, be ready for a stumble, or a duck to the left or right on the trail.


For we seemed to be going impossibly fast in the black void. A wild rollercoaster in the darkness - flat ground (with rocks, of course), up, flat, down, up (oof! your stomach gets jammed), zip left, zip right, horse stumbles, pick his head up, zip right, up, left, down. Sometimes I leaned left for a turn, but Quinn went right. So much dust the red light from my helmet just showed a thick red cloud of what is going into your eyes and down your lungs - better to shut it off and be in the dark and stay very centered on your horse to follow whichever way he zips with the trail you can't see.

I'd find myself disconnecting again... I wasn't hallucinating, I wasn't hearing voices, but I was seeing a few extra things... lights... outlines of things... (that weren't there)... just... things... before I'd pull myself back to the present. Was it really 20 hours ago I climbed on this horse, 80 miles from here? Or was that another century I did that?

For some long stretches we were on a narrow trail above the American River - the river far, far below - straight down below. Ah, so these were the cliffs I'd heard (but purposely not read) about. I was glad I hadn't known about these cliffs. Though the moon was hidden behind one of the walls of the canyon, the sky was bright enough to illuminate the drop-off of the white cliffs on our left. One star was a bright beacon reflected in the water. It was hard to gauge exactly how far the river was at the bottom - 500 feet? A thousand? - but if you went over the edge, there was nothing to stop you reaching it. You might bounce once... but you might not.

If I had any sense, this is where I'd be scared... but I really was too tired to care, and nothing to do anyway, but keep moving over this trail, to eat up those miles as the clock kept ticking.

Sometimes we'd go through a little strip through the trees, then we'd be back on the cliff trail. Rarely we'd end up on a logging road for a bit, a blessed change, and we'd really let fly, though we couldn't really see anything more here. It was easier to stay focused and in the present here because of the pine tree branches that would suddenly appear in my red light at the last second and slap me in the face. Luckily they were polite, small branches. Most of them. One ripped Nance's headlamp off her helmet... but no time to stop, go back and look for it - you just keep trotting down the trail.

Then, in the dark, flying at a trot, it happens - The Big Stumble. Not one stumble and recover, but three - SLAM SLAM SLAM! This is it, we're going down. A picture flashes in my head: Quinn plows into the ground, flips over, I'm underneath.

I instinctively brace my feet in the stirrups and hands on the reins as it happens, so fast, but in slow motion - the third stride Quinn catches himself - or I catch his head - from going all the way down (at the next vet check, I find a cut on his nose where it hit the ground) and he leaps forward into another trot gear - almost as if embarrassed at the stumble and now he has to catch up quickly.

Now I have adrenaline shooting throughout my body and out my fingertips, now I'm very awake and aware that we almost lost it there, and that hurtling through the darkness where I can't see anything like this is sheer insanity... but there is nothing to do but keep careening, because the time clock is always ticking. I'm not quite scared now, just very... aware, alert. We are a looooooong way from help if anything happens - (somewhere in here is where in 2007, Nance passed a place in the trail where someone was waiting at the edge, with a man and horse who'd fallen over the cliff and was awaiting evacuation) - and besides, there is no time for an accident, because it would waste time, and we have no time to waste! Must keep going, must keep pushing.


And my horse is going. Quinn is pulling even harder on me. If I let up on the reins at all, he's right on Jasbo's butt. We're back to the discussion we had with each other at the beginning of the ride. Do I hold him back more as he pulls harder, so he can see where he's putting his feet, or trust him and let him go as fast and as close to Jasbo as he wants, risk clipping heels?

It's midnight: my eyes are killing me, (I wonder - can I damage my eyes with this much dust?), one more stumble like that and this horse is going to kill me, if he stumbles like that on this narrow trail... well, don't even think about that, my head is very hot, I'm thirsty, fatigued, why am I doing this, I am ready for this ride to be over. Get the end of the trail here, or pull me, I'm ready for this to be done one way or the other. I got my money's worth, enough already. But I have at least four more hours in the saddle.

And then someone says, "Look, see the lights? That's Francisco's!" It is still a mile or two away, but the lights are like a magnet, drawing us in - this godawful long loop is over!

We jumped off and walked down in to Francisco's, went right to the pulse takers - our horses were below the 68 criteria, went straight to the vets - passed no problems - and took our horses back to the hay. Time cut-offs be damned, the horses were hungry, and, "If I don't eat something, NOW, I'm going to die!" Nance said, "Ohmigod so am I!"

I looked over the pile of delicious treats baked by the volunteers (oh, how I wish I could eat those desserts, but I can't, because I'd get nauseous while riding), debated over sandwiches, and picked a peanut butter and honey one that I split with Nance. I have NEVER eaten PB & H, because I don't like them, and this one went down so good and so fast, Nance and I split another as we collapsed on the ground by our chowing horses. We guzzled cold water and gatorade, and volunteers filled our bottles for the trail.

Wow, we both felt SO much better - and now we had only 15 miles to go - 15 more miles to the finish! Now a glance at our watches - 12:40 AM, recommended time-in here was 1 AM (cut-off 1:45 AM) - time to mount up and get going! Just as we were about to climb aboard, in came Kara - she'd caught up with us! "I pushed Jack harder than I should have, but, well... I'm here." She wanted to stay with us, so she went straight to the vets, vetted Jack through, and without grabbing any food or drink for herself, she mounted up, and we took off down the trail.

Now, the ride was different. Now the end was in sight and in our grasp. Now, this was all we had left, and I memorized it: 3 miles, then 6 miles, then 2 miles, then 4 miles - and the Finish! "What's the first thing you're going to do when we get back?" Nance asked. Now that we were close, we could think about it. "Sleep? Eat? Brush your teeth? Shower?" All good choices, but - "EYEDROPS!" It felt like my eyeballs were bleeding, but now they'd only have to do it for another couple of hours!

On the dark three miles to the River Crossing - along more cliffs, trotting fast all the way - we'd picked up Cassandra again. Ernie had been pulled at Francisco's. Cassandra got us all talking a bit, then Kara and Nance and I started singing songs from the Sound of Music. "Favorite Things" to take our mind off this looooooong tiring journey, and, of course, "Climb Every Mountain," because that's what we had done today! Though we sounded weak and out of tune with voices choked and scratchy with dust, several people joined in. Kara made up a second verse having to do with the final Auburn mountain to climb and fording the American River.

We descended to the river, where our passage was lined with glowsticks floating on lines. Volunteers were down there - their tents set up to grab a snooze after the last riders passed - taking our numbers. Our horses plowed into the water. Cool and refreshing, it came to above my ankles. Jasbo and Quinn seemed to linger in it instead of going straight across.

Across the river, out of the river, a good shake off, and starting up the other side, we gave a whoop - 6 miles more, then 2 miles, then 4 miles! The horses picked up the fast pace though the trail led uphill. Quinn knew where he was. Jasbo sensed the excitement. We zipped along, and the six miles to the Quarry - which took over an hour - disappeared under fast flying hooves. It all seemed to be happening more quickly now.

We pulled into the Lower Quarry - the last vet check at 94 miles - at 3:31 AM - cut-off time was 3:45 AM. 14 minutes ahead of the clock. They gave you 15 extra minutes to linger here before going out - Cut-off out-time was 4 AM - but we didn't linger. Volunteers threw blankets over our horses butts as we arrived - it was a little cooler here (thank goodness! I was no longer feeling so heat-stroked). They offered us anything, "Food? Water? Hold your horse?" No, thanks, gotta keep moving! We vetted through, pulled our starving horses away from the hay, and we climbed aboard one more time, and we were off into the dark once more.

Two more miles to No Hands Bridge, then 4 more miles to the finish. Our horses got a bit confused leaving the Quarry: Kara took off first, I trotted after, and Jasbo was last... but he thought he was leaving Quinn behind. Big whinny, and he stopped. Nance couldn't get him to move. Louder whinny. Quinn, trotting up ahead, answered, turned himself around, and we flew back to Jasbo. Whinny-cry-snuffle-Oh there you are, I thought I left you! No I'm here! Nicker nicker. We turned them back up the road and took off after Kara.

We were helped across the highway out of Francisco's by volunteers. "Thank you guys for being here!" we hollered over our shoulders as our horses pulled us fast up the hill. The clock ticked, the two miles flew by, and we were crossing No Hands Bridge. It was wider than I thought, and had rails - no big deal. I guess there was a high drop to the river but I didn't notice - we were already across it, and moving onward.

ONLY FOUR MORE MILES!


I knew we would probably make it. Keep flying along, it would be close, but we were almost there. We trotted when we could, walked when we had to. Nance was in the lead, though she had no light and was going blindly. Should she gamble trotting over this stretch? Walk here? How's the time? Check the watch. Doesn't really matter anyway, because I have no idea how far we have to go. Cat and mouse game with the clock. Will we make it? Will we get there too late? It was suspenseful, it was exciting, it was fun. If we made it on time - OHMIGOD - there was a silver buckle at the end, handed to me by Julie Suhr... if we didn't make it on time, then we weren't meant to make it, and I didn't get a buckle from Julie, but my amazing horse had gone a hundred miles anyway and we had done it.

We caught up with a line of people. Now we couldn't go our own pace, but had to go at the pace of those in front of us. Now the factors varied more, and the exciting tension went up a notch. Would we make it? Would this line slow us down? Were we walking too much? If we trotted here, would a horse slip and go down? If anything happened to anybody on this trail, we would all be held up.

But I wasn't worried, even though I didn't know exactly how much more we had to go, because I'd seen the sweep rider at the Quarry, mounted up and preparing to leave. When Nance and Chris finished together in 2007 they'd been just ahead of the sweep riders, who'd said, "Don't worry, we'll get you there in time." If we were going too slow now, they'd catch up with us. No worries. Just anticipation, exciting uncertainty. Whether or not we finished in time, there's nowhere else I wanted to be than right here right now.

And then: the damper on the whole final few miles. Someone had come up behind me, someone in a panic. "Guys, we have to move here. We have to trot! OHMIGOD they aren't trotting ahead of us!" We couldn't move any faster, we were in a line. Wailing: "We aren't going to make it! OH MY GOD! You have to TROT! PLEASE! OHMIGOD!!" On the switchbacks, the leader must have heard the hysteria below him, but on the straight lines, I got it. All of it. Miles of it. Totally ruined the atmosphere. Now I, who had been relaxed and enjoying the hunt, was starting to get a little worried. What if we didn't make it, what if we were overtime, oh no! On and on the hysteria went in my ear. I was ready to jump off my horse and sit on that voice in the dark.

Another line of riders came upon us, and one or two voices from there were in a tizzy also. "We need to move faster!"

At which point I was able to realize - so WHAT if we don't make it! It's all part of the Tevis luck. You spend too long at a vet check and you lose minutes. You lose a shoe, you lose minutes. You stop to help someone, you walk too long over a stretch, you get caught behind a wall of riders on a single track and you have to walk, you get behind a rider and horse that helps pull your weary butt and your tired horse along, you fall off a cliff, you get a clear stretch on your own, you are given a horse to ride 5 days before Tevis, you get to ride with 4 friends who are also probably going to make it to the finish, you find or miss that rock with your horse's name on it that lames him, you get stuck with a hysterical rider behind you - it's all Tevis luck that the indifferent Tevis Gods dole out at random with amusement, and sometimes it has nothing to do with you personally.

And I was at peace once again with the outcome - either we finished in time and I got a buckle, or we didn't finish in time, and I didn't get a buckle, (heck - I don't even wear belts!), but I had an awesome sound horse that got me 100 miles on an absolutely amazing ride across the Sierra Nevada mountains to Auburn, in more or less 24 hours. It was all good. : ))

Kara had slipped around someone and was outta there ahead of us. She'd had enough. We caught up with our pal Max Merlich and his mule Junior. The verbal panic was irritating Max enough - and you all know you can NOT get a mule to trot, if a mule does not want to trot - that Max risked limbs pulling over on a switchback to let a few of us go by. Nance and I had no room to pull over also to let anybody by us, so Nance flew along - in the pitch black, leading the way, stalked by the distraught rider.


We came to a wider spot in the trail. We pulled over. "Go by - PLEASE!" I said, "GO!" The rider would not pass. So we flew onward along the dark, twisting trail. We popped out at Robie point where there were water troughs. Jasbo and Quinn chose to stop and drink. The hysterical rider was almost sobbing, "We don't have time to drink! OHMIGOD!" as she let her horse drink. The volunteer tried to soothe her: "You have plenty of time! Even if you walk in all the way from here, you'll make it!" "No we won't! OHMIGOD!" One or two riders trotted past on down the trail. "JUST GO!" I said, gesturing down the open trail - "PLEASE! GO!" and she would not go.

Nerves taut now, the last final bit. Hysteria behind me, absolute irritation inside me: exasperation at overwrought riders who maybe should have left at least one vet check all day five minutes sooner, vexation that I'm bothered by it when all was so peaceful and exciting, aggravation that the Tevis Gods had planted a rider like this behind me this last bit. The luck of the draw indeed!

One more small narrow spot in the trail to pass, Nance and I pulled over in desperation. A number of riders went past. Hallelujah!!

Now we rejoined the line, now it was back to trotting madly in the dark, back to the exciting hunt, silent but for fluttering nerves and trotting hooves over the dark, twisting single-track trail. I didn't look at my watch. The time didn't matter anymore. My horse knew where we were. He pulled, and pulled, following Jasbo's butt.

A glow up ahead. A whoop from far ahead along the line of horses - whoops, whistles from the line of riders working its way down to us - we took up the whooping and hollering and passed it on down the line - and we spill out over the top - the finish line under the lights at Auburn - and it was suddenly over. OHMIGOD - we'd arrived at Auburn!

I still hadn't looked at my watch, but from the cheers of the anxious crews and friends, I knew we'd made it in time. Nance and I were in the middle of a long line of riders - all 18 of us arriving at the same time, I found out later, at 4:56 AM. Plenty of time - 19 minutes! - to finish! Ten more arrived after us - two of them at 5:15 cut-off, and one man who was lost the last few miles was overtime. Connie Creech finished with 7 minutes to spare, and she said she was never worried, because she knew she'd make it.

It was a whirlwind from here. I lost Nance, yelled for her, pushed through the crush to follow her and Jasbo; we were rushed right away over the little bridge to the vet area; didn't see any water for Quinn to drink, none to sponge him off with; hugged some people; Quinn was starved, diving for dried grass as a volunteer came to take his pulse; "68" - criteria is 68... maybe I should sponge him off before we go to the vet?... that's a little too close for comfort for me...

A vet waves us over. It's Ray Randall. He gives me a smile. I must look shell-shocked. He takes Quinn's pulse. "68." Yikes! Still too close for me. What if his CRI is high, when we trot back? "Trot out to cone 3," Ray points. Ready Quinn? Our fnal trot-out of the day/night/morning. We trot to cone 3. I don't look, but I know Quinn is sound behind me. We turn around. We start trotting back. I look up, and - OH NO! The vet is gesturing to another vet - Come here quickly, watch this horse trot! My heart sinks - Quinn is LAME and they are going to ask me to trot again, with 2 vets watching! This can't be! Then I realize I am trotting toward the wrong vet, that Ray is over to my left. He is waving at me - "Yoohoo, this way," and laughing. I say, "Oops!" as I zigzag back toward him. "You want me to trot out again?" But he isn't even watching the final steps of Quinn's trot out, because Quinn is sound as a dollar. Nance has already vetted through and completed with Jasbo, and even before Ray takes Quinn's pulse once more, we are hugging each other.

Ray gives me the nod, and the congratulations - OHMIGOD - WE JUST FINISHED THE TEVIS!!!

I am suddenly whooped. I stagger after Bruce, who's leading us to the stadium, where we are now supposed to get back on our horses and ride their 'victory lap' - poor horses just want to eat, they are grabbing at anybody who walks by with hay and yanking it out of their arms - and oh god, I just want to lay down. We get on our horses once more, and trot the lap around the track together, the announcer not quite getting Nance's stats right, and not even getting to my name. There are only 3 people in the stands anyway, and one is my friend Carolyn Dawson, who's waited up all night and morning, and is clapping and cheering me on, and she calls out my name - "Alright Merri! Way to go!" and we are all laughing as Nance and I pass out of the stadium. We jump off our horses and they grab mouthfuls of hay from Bruce, and we cheer for Bruce Weary, who finished in our group at the same time, as he takes his victory lap, his first Tevis finish, on his big Tennessee Walker John Henry. Laura and Chandler have finished (way to go Chandler! one of the 4 juniors who finished) 8 minutes ahead of us, and Kara finished in our group. Three minutes behind us, Max Merlich and Junior finished - that made the Idahoans 6 for 6 this Tevis.

But we weren't thinking of any of that. We staggered after Bruce to the horse trailer and pen he'd set up for the horses in one of the parking lots. Quinn and Jasbo dove into their hay and grain. Nance and I couldn't quite figure out what to do and how to do it, but we managed to think to put blankets on the horses and wrap the their legs as the sky was starting to lighten - dawn over Auburn.

Staggered into the trailer and fell into bed. Eyedrops - ohmigod.

Can't remember if I took any clothes or shoes off or not. Passed out.

Finished Tevis. OHMIGOD, I finished Tevis.



Next: Tevis Conclusion

Pictures, results, more stories on the Tevis page on Endurance.net

and note: the photos aren't from Tevis! I hung onto the reins in the dark. : )
They are just to get you thinking along the lines of flying in the dark. Put on your sunglasses while you look at them.

2009 Tevis Cup: Phase II

Saturday August 1 2009

The middle third of the Tevis trail: CANYONS and DUST... and HURRY. If you weren't racing to win Tevis (we weren't!), you are not racing the other competitors. You are racing the clock.

Those cut off times: through this section they began to nag at us, eat away at our sense of comfort. I've never had to worry about cut-off times in rides, because I usually ride at a steady pace, which gets it done at rides. My theory has always been, "Trot when you can, walk when you have to." I thought this would apply to Tevis also, but, here it's more like, "Trot when you can, walk when you have to, and you better trot through a heck of a lot of that too, and fast."

You can add HEAT and CLIFFS here to this section too - stagnant, thick heat (my opinion), and cliffs inches from your horse's hooves. Add the DUST factor - pervasive, invasive, god-awful, torturous dust - one more time so you really comprehend that.

All of this to deal with as the clock is inexorably ticking.


The second 'LD':
Robinson Flat to Dusty Corners - 9 miles - Water stop
Dusty Corners to Last Chance - 5 miles - Gate and Go
Last Chance to Devil's Thumb - 4 miles - Water stop
Devil's Thumb to Deadwood - 1 mile - Gate and Go
Deadwood to Michigan Bluff - 7.5 miles - Water stop
Michigan Bluff to Chicken Hawk - 1.5 miles - Gate and Go
Chicken Hawk to Foresthill - 4 miles - 1 hour hold at 68 miles

I was feeling pretty jazzed as we left Robinson. Tired, unrested and a little disconcerted from the vet check, but elated. I'd completed a third of the Tevis trail - and, at times, as we were zooming along, still could not believe I was riding it! If Quinn had been pulled at Robinson, or before, I would have been very disappointed. Getting past Robinson had been my modest, unspeakable goal. I felt like I'd gotten my money's worth. Now, every vet check more that Quinn got under his girth, was icing on the cake, and I'd be happy with however much further we got. The next big goal was Foresthill, 8 or so hours from here.

We picked up a fast trot right out of Robinson, but slowed to a walk going down switchbacks through an old burn area, when Chandler was squirming in her saddle. She had shin splints, and had vet-wrapped them at the vet check, but now they were seriously bothering her. We didn't stop moving, but Laura put El Din in front at a walk; and behind, Chandler perched like a bird on a wire, first one leg then the other out of the stirrup and in front of her, as she peeled the wretched bandages off. (Did I say these were fairly steep switchbacks?) Then quickly her feet were back in her stirrups, and we were back at a fast trot, down and down the switchbacks.

Chandler never complained, not about her shin splints or sore muscles or being afraid, or anything. She always said she was "Fine!" when I asked, and she always had a big grin on her face to accompany that. What a unique adventure for a 13-year-old!


Onto single track trails, logging roads, and cliff trails, we trotted, and trotted incessantly, and fast. Just a few times Quinn broke into a canter, but almost always, we trotted. I automatically switch diagonals with curves in the trail, almost always posting because it's hard to two-point in a sports saddle that keeps your legs so far in front of you (good for my knee though!). I thought once, as Jasbo got a bit of a lead on us, that I'd urge Quinn to a canter, to use some different muscles, and Quinn opened up another two gears at a trot, like a Standardbred in a race. "Canter!" my legs were saying, and he upped the trot yet another gear, and we almost ran into Jasbo's butt! After that, I let Quinn decide what he wanted to do - he knew what he was doing with no help from me.

But there were the stumbles to deal with. He'd thrown in a few during the day - he's a 'daisy clipper', doesn't pick his feet up as he moves down the trail. Makes for efficient trotting, but sure throws in some disconcerting stumbles. One was so hard it slammed my lower abdomen into the saddle pommel, enough to make me gasp and curse out loud. I found myself missing much of the scenery for watching the trail - and I got to where at times I knew when a stumble was coming, and I was there to pick his head up before it went down too far. Every time he did it, I'd half yell at him, half pray: "ARGHHH! This isn't helpful for a finish at Auburn!"

Somewhere ahead was Dusty Corners and Last Chance. Kara, in the lead, had pulled out the card with the cutoff times and realized we were not even a half-hour ahead of schedule anymore. "Guys, we have to get moving!" (I thought we were!) "If I can average 10 mph, we'll get there with 45 minutes to spare..." and with that, all we saw was a line of dust from Kara and Jack on the narrow trail along the side of the mountain.

Not that there wasn't dust everywhere, all the time. I was still breathing through my bandana when it got thick, but my eyes were starting to smart from it. Boy, was I glad I'd cleverly packed my eyedrops for Foresthill, several hours down the trail.

Dust, and more thick dust. We came up on a crossroads that had water troughs and a cloud of dust - our horses drank a bit and we were quickly zooming back down the dusty trails. "That must have been Dusty Corners," Laura called. "Why'd they pick THIS spot to call Dusty Corners? It's ALL dusty!"

Kara kept up the fast pace, I kept my eyes on the narrow trail, and realized that I really hadn't been taking in much of the scenery. All this beautiful Sierra Nevada terrain "THE MOST BEAUTIFUL RIDE EVER!" Dick Dawson had said, and most of what I had seen so far was 40 miles of trail and rock, ever watchful of where my horse might stumble next.

I picked up my eyes and saw, to my right, an awesome canyon far across the way and - gasp - a wide, bottomless pit below me. 30 degree bare slope, with nothing for 500 feet down, then a forest another oh, 500 feet or so down to the bottom, which you could not see.


Okay, forget that, go back to watching where my horse is putting his feet on this foot-wide-trail-with-nowhere-to-go-but-forward-or-GONE, and be sure he avoids that big round stone, or that slick rock coming up that cants toward the edge of nothingness! I fleetingly wondered if this was maybe "Pucker Point", or where Lucy had said gave her the Heebie Jeebies, but I was glad I hadn't read up on it. If I'd had sense, I might have been a little scared here - this really was one of those wrong-step-and-you-die stretches of trail - but there was nothing to do but fly along. Which we did. (Besides, walking wouldn't have made it better - you'd have just spent more time going along the drop-offs!)

We arrived at Last Chance 33 minutes ahead of the cut-off. It was rather mind-blowing - I didn't see how we could have been going much faster. And yet the leaders were probably some 2 hours ahead of us already. (In fact, Melissa Ribley, who finished second, was 2 hours 10 minutes ahead of us at this check.)

For once, there wasn't a big cluster of horses with us at the vet check. Quinn drank deeply - MUCH to my relief, and we stood in the shade a while. The horses chowed down on hay, and one volunteer sponged Quinn down. "Do me too!" I said. "Really?" "Yes!" He squeezed a spongeful down my neck and back, a blessed cool refresher for my Cool vest - the hot canyons were coming up next. We went to the vet line, and as the vet listened to Quinn's heartrate, he mumbled something before moving back on him to palpate his butt muscles and listen to his gut.

I said, "What!?" The vet turned to look at me. "44." "Forty-four!" That was Quinn's heartrate - a very low 44. I was floored. "Wow!" He checked everything else - all good - and the vet scribe handed me back my vet card.

The vet said, "Wait!" The scribe grabbed the card back. Uh oh! The vet was listening to Quinn's heart again. Oh no, what if something was wrong! I held my breath. The vet looked up at me and grinned. "44. I just had to make sure I was hearing right." : )))

This was a bit of a pivotal point for me: I wouldn't be worrying about Quinn's pulse rate anymore. We were exactly halfway done with the ride, (halfway done!!); despite the cracking pace we were going, my horse was pulling harder on me now than he was this morning - with a pulse of 44 here; and Nance had said, "Quinn will perk up after sunset." Well - he hadn't ever UNperked! Quinn had plenty of gas left in the tank.

Next: down into the first infamous canyon. This was the one where Clydea had told me it was 114* at the bottom one year she did Tevis. Not looking forward to that! Down we went, switchbacking, into the heat, further down, and steeper.


Nance and I got off our horses and led them. We had ended up again in a long line of people, in front of and behind us. You had to pay attention to the footing - very rocky, steep, tricky steps, big steps - a long line of people behind us that you didn't want to fall in front of and hold up the line. Had to just keep moving. It was terribly dusty. Hard to breathe, cloyingly hot (for me), no breeze, (this side was in the sun), this was not fun, I didn't really want to be here, dust so thick I had tears pouring down my face - and you had to keep moving, watching so your horse wouldn't jump on you at some of those big, tricky steps, down and down, quad muscles getting shaky, 1726' and almost 2 miles of down. The guy behind me had been off and running a lot of the Tevis trail - something like 17 miles already. We asked him if he had done the Western States 100 mile run - over this same trail - a month before. "No, and after this, I don't want to!"

Zig-zagging forever downward, impossibly down, concentrating on the trail, too hot and dusty to converse. Just the plopping of hooves in dust, and clopping and slipping of hooves on rock. And then, finally, the temperature dropped slightly and a new sound... we were getting close to the North fork of the Middle fork of the American River, the bottom, yahoo!

There was a small crowd of people down off the trail going into the river to drink, and a little line of people waiting to cross the bridge. The sign said no more than three horses at a time. Nance said if you get two on there the bridge will start to swing - no thanks! She waited till the horse in front of her had crossed. Quinn and I followed when she was almost across, as did the person behind me. When the bridge started to sway a bit, Quinn was unbothered, and we just kept walking, and made it onto solid ground on the other side.

Then - mount right back up and keep right on going. What trail goes down must come back up - 1565' out of the canyon. This side was several degrees cooler - but just as steep. Steeper in some places. Quinn was panting like a dog as we switchbacked, climbing higher and higher, dirt and sweat coating him from ear tips to hooves, dripping sweat, straining muscles, pushing hard with the hind end, digging in and pulling himself up with his front end, step after hard-fought upward step, me leaning forward in my saddle, willing him the help he needed. I worried about it... what if this was too much, should I stop him? What if his heart just beats so fast he stops and keels over? If I stop him, would it be too hard to get going again? You don't want to stagger sideways on this trail because sideways is a drop-off. Is he smart enough to stop himself if he needs to?

And once did he stop on his own and pause... one, two, three, four, five seconds - and that was it; he pushed onward and upward. That was the only time all day and all night my amazing gray horse ever stopped to catch his breath - those five seconds climbing up that steep canyon.

We were back in a line of horses, putting one foot in front of the other. Nothing to do but keep moving. One guy's paint horse in front of us had stopped. He wouldn't move. Too tired. It happened to be on a switchback where there was a tiny bit of extra room, and he was able to pull over, and several of us rode past, our line of horses straining upward past him, noses to tails. The guy got off to lead his horse.

The trail made a bend around a steep ravine... something caught my eye to the steep downhill side that was not right. I glanced over my left shoulder and saw something brown and white at the bottom. Not right, not right. That was a horse, and it should not be there - could not be there. Holy S***. I looked again, at the brown and white body down in the green, the head turned oddly, and it was not moving. We all saw it at the same time, and realized what it was. Gasps and sobs came from our line of riders.

I didn't dare look - is it wrong to stare?? - but I couldn't help looking back. Big mistake. I saw a man, sitting on his dead horse, cutting something - bridle, lock of mane, I didn't know, then looking upward. It grabs at your throat and chokes off your air. Some man just lost his horse, his partner, his friend.

One bad step, a freak instant where it all goes wrong. Sometimes you find that rock with your horse's name on it that makes him lame; sometimes you find a bad step with your horse's name on it - or your name - where it's all over. It was over for them.

There was no place to pull over to help - though there was nothing to rescue - and the line just kept moving upward, onward - and for god's sake, keep paying attention to the trail, because this could happen to any one of us. It had happened to one of us.

The silence and sobs and the tear-streaked black faces from our line of riders were a pitiful tribute to the shocking loss we just passed.

The climb went on. We all moved on and up, thinking, as our horses' panting filled the silence. Several volunteers who were hiking down to the dead horse and his rider pulled off the trail - hanging onto trees so as not to slip down - to let us march past. "It's alright. We're going to help him." They had a long hike down.

We finally spilled out at the top of Devil's Thumb. Quinn was drenched in sweat, and I jumped off to sponge him and Jasbo (and myself) off as they dove into a water tub for a drink. We didn't have much to say. We mounted up and kept moving the last mile to Deadwood.


We were about 40 minutes before cut-off - and in a cluster of horses again. Our horses were starved and dove into the hay near the water troughs. By the time Nance and I got in line to vet, it was a long one. We held hay for them to eat as we waited, volunteers ran to fill our water bottles and hand us cups of watermelon chunks. We finally got to the vets, trotted out and back, passed with flying colors, and pulled over to wait for Kara, Laura and Chandler in the mild chaos. Kara was held by the vets (!) and told to go back and let her horse eat a while, because either his CRI was a bit high, or his gut sounds were low. What!? We didn't have time for this.

We didn't see Laura and Chandler in the maelstrom anywhere. Had they left? Jack was eating, over by the water troughs again, there was still a long vet line - that Kara and Jack weren't in - and the clock was ticking.

That old Cut-Off Time: haunting us, pressing us, stalking us, taking away from some of the experience of the ride. How long were we going to be here?? Should we wait? Do we have to wait? Are we obligated to stick together? Was it selfish to want to leave Kara behind, after we'd all travelled 55 miles of hard trail together, our horses buddied up well? Do I ride my ride, or do I ride someone else's ride? And anyway I was riding Nance's horse, so it wasn't even completely my ride to ride. Where were Laura and Chandler? Is it all about having fun and experiencing this Tevis ride together, or is it about me myself, and finishing my ride myself? I had pictured Nance getting pulled, and me having to go on without her (yikes!). I'd pictured me getting pulled, and Nance going on without me. I hadn't planned on Kara or Laura or Chandler getting pulled, even when, before the ride, Chandler had asked all of us if we'd be her sponsor if her mom got pulled.

I looked at my watch for the thousandth time today, and said to Nance, "We have to go, we can't wait!" We'd now lost about 30 minutes (at least our horses had been eating all of that time), and if kept up our same pace, we'd now be 10 minutes ahead of cut-offs. Ugh!

Nance was on the fence, I know she didn't want to abandon Kara, but... bottom line was, that clock was ticking. I held Jasbo and Quinn while she went to talk to Kara. Nance came back and said Let's go. I looked at my watch once more.

I don't remember the next 7.5 miles of the trail to Michigan Bluff - Into the next canyon, and 2665' of descent total over the next 7.5 miles - and I don't remember the trail, though I know we were rushing along it, and it was rocky, and it was dusty. Probably a combination of tiredness, hunger, time worries and a dead horse to think about. And heck, I probably couldn't see anything anyway because of the dust! My aching eyes were starting to give me a bit of a headache.

This Last Chance to Michigan Bluff trail was built in 1850, and used to be a maintained toll trail. Our horses' feet were following the footsteps of hundreds of years of mining history. The trails were just as steep and rocky - and treacherous - for them as it was for us now.

I do remember popping out on the top at Michigan Bluff. Once a tent city in the 1840's with the discovery of gold, then a permanent mining settlement, now it's a small ghost town (the city had to be moved from its canyon precipice in 1859, as mining activities threatened to erode the town off the cliff). $100,000 worth of gold was shipped out from the mines at Michigan Bluff during its heyday.

A few dozen people still live here - and many of them were out enjoying the horse race passing through, out in the streets and on their lawns, waving and cheering us on, still rooting for the back-of-the-pack riders. Quinn avoided the water troughs and trotted on down the road as if he were in a parade... onward for the 1.5 miles to the next Gate and Go vet check at Chicken Hawk; onward against the clock.

A mile-and-a-half of nice soft (dusty) logging road - we caught up with Laura and Chandler - dropped us into Chickenhawk vet check at around 30 minutes before Cut-off time - and a nice surprise, our friends Jackie and Gretchen there to help us crew. Gretchen and Jackie jumped in to sponge our horses, while volunteers jumped in to ply us with food ("What can I get you?!?") and fill our water bottles and take our horses' pulses.

By now, I'd finally figured it out: get into a vet check, immediately water your horse and sponge him down, grab some hay while you move on, go straight to the pulse takers, and if you're down, go straight to the vet. If you linger anywhere, you lose time. The horses can eat afterwards. A little late in the day to get that one figured out, but something to practice the rest of the night.

It also helped that there weren't many horses here. Quinn took about three minutes to pulse down - he was quite hot to the touch, and it was warm/muggy here, but we kept moving closer to the vets, and as soon as he hit 64, we vetted through. Jackie and Gretchen held our horses at piles of hay while we used the Honey buckets, and then grabbed one more slice of watermelon to eat before we mounted back up. I don't like watermelon, and I must have eaten a half of a whole watermelon throughout the day. It was delicious today. I ate the pulp, Quinn finished the peels.

The day had flown by, we had flown over the trails, and now, unbelievably - we were 4 miles from the hour vet check at Foresthill - Foresthill: clean clothes, EYEDROPS, food, Dr Pepper, a face wash (I hadn't washed my face till now, because the dirt was a good extra layer for the sunscreen shielding my face), a little rest (oh, PLEASE, let me be able to rest, just a little) - and, if we passed the vet check, 2/3 of the ride completed!!

The last half-mile into Foresthill is an uphill climb on a paved road. We came off the trail onto the road, and there were a few people clapping for us as we rode by. Then, as we moved up the road, more people. Many were crewmembers waiting for their horses, but many were just observers, people out to take in the spectacle, to cheer you on. I was very amused at the people who were very amused at my blackened face and once-yellow-now-black shirt. They cheered, "Good job!" which made you feel pretty good, and added a bit more straightness to your seat on your horse, and a bit more spring in your step when you got off to lead him in - much more energy than you felt a half hour ago.

As you got closer to the in-time gate, and the crowd grew, and the cheers increased, you started to feel pretty darn good. Friends' faces were popping out the crowd, calling your name. "Hey Merri - I'm so glad you're riding!" "Great job!" "You go girl!" You got more cheers, you started to get hugs. Sue Hedgecock, there crewing for someone else, jumped in to unsaddle my horse. A little girl with a water hose jumped in to spray off Quinn and Jasbo. Dick and Carolyn Dawson were there by the number takers and hugged me, even though I was pretty much black from head to toe from dust. Another surprise, a friend Mickey was there, and she followed us to help us crew.


We moved into the vetting area, got our horses' pulses taken (they were below the 64 criteria) and we moved straight on to the vet, holding hay for our famished horses to eat. Bruce said he'd trot Quinn out for me. I said - surprised that I wasn't hurting at all - "I think I can do it!" And I did. Quinn looked just terrific, alert and not tired, as he stood in the twilight for the vet who took his pulse, and when we turned to trot out down the sandy lane and back, we both jogged as if we were vetting in on Friday, light and easy. The vet finished his check and smiled at me: "Good job!"

Nance had finished her trot out with Jasbo, (the two neighed as we trotted past each other) and we left the ring together - and we high-fived each other. We had finished two-thirds of the Tevis trail - 68 miles down, only 32 more miles to go! It hardly seemed possible that I - who 5 days before had no idea I'd be here - really had a chance to finish my first Tevis ride! What an awesome horse I was riding!

Following Bruce to the crewing area that he and Chris and Gentry had set up for us, I passed Julie Suhr on the way. She gave me a big hug and when she said, "See you at the finish," I choked up. She said it matter-of-factly, and, coming from Julie, a finish really did seem possible.

First thing I did, once Quinn was set up with grain and hay (he and Jasbo STILL weren't much interested in their grain, dang it!), was a CHANGE OF CLOTHES! I was wet from head to toe - from sweat, and my cool vest - so I pulled out a new set of clothes, ran between the trees, and peeled everything off. Wow - a clean and dry set of clothes - even though I was still dirty - gave me a whole new perspective on life. Then - I washed my face. WOW! Now I could face another 8 hours of riding! One more thing: EYEDROPS!

Uh oh. The eyedrops were missing. I frantically dug through crew bags and in the emergency kit in my saddlebag - no eyedrops. Oh man, this was going to haunt me down the trail, I knew.

But nothing to do about it, must keep moving on: must EAT, fill water bottles, fetch more horse water because Jasbo just knocked the bucket over, sit a few minutes, (ooh, maybe that wasn't a good idea, because now I realized how really tired I was becoming), find some peanut butter crackers to stuff in my pocket for the ride to the next vet stop, find a headlamp and put that on my helmet, worry a little about Quinn because he looked like he had to pee, but I swear he hadn't peed at ALL today. I scattered some hay underneath him, because horses don't usually like to pee on hard ground, and they love to pee on hay... but he wouldn't go. I dumped my buttpack with two extra bottles of water, because I figured I'd come across plenty again at the vet checks on the way; and anyway I'd be carrying 3 on my saddle.

Kara and Jack arrived, about 20 minutes behind us. Gretchen and Jackie showed up at our spot. Along with Mickey, they helped tape glowsticks to our horses' breastcollars. I really wanted to lay down a minute... but I knew that wasn't a good idea..

Time to resaddle anyway. We needed to leave on time because, still we were only 40 minutes ahead of Cut-off. Equipment on, Quinn and I started following Nance and Bruce and Jasbo across the parking lot to the out-timer (Laura and Chandler had already gone). Suddenly Quinn pulled me to a stop. What - reluctant to go on? He had never once shown any sign of reluctance. I asked him again, but he wouldn't come... then I realized he'd stopped over hay - and he started to pee! Yeahoo, and the color looked good - a relief! Now he followed me at a trot to catch up with Nance and Jasbo.

I was just about to climb on, as Nance was doing, then, "Crud! I forgot my chaps!" Have to ride with chaps, or my legs get rubbed, or pinched by the stirrup strap. I couldn't stand that for 8 more hours. Argh! I threw Quinn's reins at Bruce, and ran back (ugh!)across the parking lot to our spot - couldn't find the chaps. Gentry brought his light over - it was now dark - and we found them. I ran back across the parking lot with my chaps in hand - now out of breath and hot - found Bruce and Nance and the horses, sat in the spotlight by the out-timer and fumbled to get my chaps on. I finally got them zipped up, mounted up on Quinn, and we were out, only a minute behind our out-time.

We were off, onto our last third of the Tevis trail, the California loop, a lady holding traffic for us as we rode out into the darkness. 8 hours or so ahead lay our destination: Auburn and the finish line.



Next: the final Part III

Pictures, results, more stories on the Tevis page on Endurance.net

2009 Tevis Cup: Phase I

Saturday August 1 2009

I'd been given some good Tevis advice by friends who'd finished: ride Vet Check to Vet Check. The start was at 5:15 AM; I figured we could plan on finishing (if we were so lucky) around 4:45 AM, 23 1/2 hours from now, if we went the same pace that Nance did when she finished in 2007.

The ride could be divided into three Limited Distance rides. From the start to Robinson Flat, the first 1-hour hold, was 36 miles. This should take us around 6 hours. The second LD was from Robinson to Foresthill - the second 1-hour hold after another 32 miles. Hopefully we would arrive around 8 PM - another 8 hours down the trail. There were some wicked canyons - thousands of feet of ups and downs between the two. If we were lucky enough to make it that far, we were 2/3 done with the ride! Only one more LD to go: 32 miles to the finish, about 8 hours of riding.

To break that up, there were a number of either water stops or trot-by or pulse-down vet checks in each LD ride, with 4 to 17 miles between each. If any of that was overwhelming, long-time endurance rider Dot Wiggins suggested, "Don't ride to the end of the trail, just around the next bend, or to the top of the next hill. You can always get that far."

Thinking of riding a hundred miles, over 24 hours, and 18,000 feet of up and 23,000 feet of down, is rather overwhelming. Just riding to the next hill, one step at a time, makes it easier.

But I wasn't able to think much of anything when I got up at 3:20 AM to the alarm, because I could NOT get my s*** together. I had made a pile of my clothing to grab and put on, but when the alarm went off I could not find my tights. They weren't in the bag, they weren't in my bed, (the table/bed in Bruce and Nance's horse trailer) they weren't on the floor. I must have spent 5 minutes fumbling around for them. Then I couldn't figure out what to eat, or how to make coffee.

When it came time to saddle up Quinn, I could NOT get the saddle to fit right. It had fit just fine yesterday, but now the breast collar was too tight, and the crupper under his tail was too tight. This was not possible, but this is how it was. I had to loosen both, which did not make sense... and I knew that not far down the trail they would both be too loose. Then I couldn't get the front brushing boots on - they were new, and the three velcro pieces on each boot kept sticking back to itself before I could stick them through the buckle.

3:30-4:30 AM is not my best time of the day. And I had a loooooooong day ahead of me.

I double checked that the Raven bag, with the Raven and the Tevis Guardian Angel inside, was cinched down tight... I didn't want to have to backtrack a hundred miles of Tevis trail looking for the Raven!

It was time to leave, and head for the start. I had to pull Quinn's head out of the hay bag. Good sign, he was tanking up for the long day! As Nance and I waited for our three Idaho friends in the dark, I got one little twinge of nervousness. Oh, this would not do! I remembered this was just another endurance ride, (one starting way too early for my taste), and miraculously, that twinge went away.

Our crew followed us with flashlights in the dark to Pen 2, where our horses waited calmly (hooray! Good boy Jasbo! He can be quite naughty at the start sometimes) until someone yelled it was time to start walking up the road. We called out our numbers as we left the pen, escorted by claps and cheers from onlookers, and, "See you in Auburn!"

The 10 minute walk down the road became a 300 yard trot - then a 10 minute stand-still. Unbelievably, our horses, and all the horses around us were standing quietly. Kara's horse Jack stood like a model, legs straight, toes slightly pointed daintily outward, his head bowed, looking out from under his eyelashes, as if he were in a halter show. But he was no prissy horse - Nance called him the 'Energizer Bunny' and he'd be zooming along the trail later in the day ahead of us so that all we saw of him at times was his dust.

Finally, the mass of horseflesh started moving, we were moving, and we funneled off the main road onto the wide trail - we were off on our Tevis adventure!

The first 'LD':
Robie Park to Squaw High Camp - 13 miles - Water stop
Squaw High Camp to Lyon Ridge - 8.5 miles - Trot-By
Lyon Ridge to Red Star Ridge - 7 miles - Gate and Go
Red Star Ridge to Robinson Flat - 7.5 miles - 1 hour hold at 36 miles

This phase might be summed up as: the ROCK and DUST phase. Not that there weren't rocks on the trail for a hundred miles, but there were a lot of rocks underfoot along this stretch. A. Lot. Of. Rocks. And Dust - pervasive, invasive, horrible, torturous dust.

The dirt road we started on was a wide two-track that eventually narrowed to a single track. There wasn't too much passing or pushing or shoving going on, nobody's horses balked at the little ditches we went over, nobody got bucked off, and nobody yelled too much. A very orderly start considering, around us anyway, something which I hear does not always happen, and something I was a bit worried about. We 5 Idaho spuds even managed to stay right behind each other.

The line of horses - 169 horses long - moved along at a good trot. Usually in such a long line, you have the annoying accordion stops that squeeze back down the line, but a slight sense of urgency, that would plague riders in the back all day (us), and get stronger as the day went on, remarkably kept the whole line moving at a good clip most of the time.

The trail wound around in the forest, along the side of a mountain, up and down and around, but mostly down, about 6 miles to the Truckee River. Once in a while the trail would widen to a two-track, where some impatient people would sprint ahead, only to cause a jam up with everybody trying to funnel back down to single track. If your horse slowed to a walk anywhere - like, say, to put his head down to negotiate some tricky rocks, you might get yelled at by the one guy behind us who was impatient and perhaps should have started closer to the front part of pen 2.


Much of the Tevis trail was like this - long single-track - where there was no place for anybody to pass. You could go on for miles behind, or in, or in front of, a string of horses - and on the last phase this would be us - and you went with the flow of traffic, and if you didn't like it, you lumped it.

As we zipped along, I was adjusting to Quinn and his methods; he was adjusting to me. He liked to be right on Jasbo's butt - i.e., where he couldn't see the rocks his feet were landing on - and I preferred him to be back a little bit so he could see where to put his feet. We eventually worked out a compromise, but it took a while, and we did some stumbles - though I'm sure every horse was doing that. Fortunately Quinn was smooth, and though the saddle and my position in the sports saddle felt unfamiliar, it was comfortable. And, so far, no screaming from my knee!

This area was slightly damp from the rain/hailstorm/thunderstorm that hit Robie Park on Thursday, but you could tell the boundary of that, because it quickly became dusty.

Ah... the dust. What would eventually become for me a major misery of Tevis was just beginning. I could imagine a long snaking line of dust being kicked up, that could possibly be seen from outer space. From the couple hundred hooves in front of us, already the dust reached over the tops of the fir trees like a heavy cloud of fog. Fortunately I'd worn a bandana just for breathing in, and I whipped that over my mouth and started using it right away.

Then we were down at the Truckee River, where we crossed under the highway - and here were three members of my Fan Club. Krysta, and Dick and Carolyn Dawson cheered when they saw me - all 10 seconds of it. Carolyn had a cool vest for me to grab and put on - just in case I'd need one, for the hot canyons ahead - but I yelled that I had one. We flew onward, calling out our numbers, me waving over my shoulder like a queen of the Tevis parade, the little crowd of spectators cheering everybody on.

Trotting along fast, flying over the rocks hidden by fine silty dust, we dropped down to the Squaw Valley ski area, onto a nice easy dirt road, where, still in a long line of people, I noticed that the trail veered to the left off the road - our group of 5 had just crossed a white line across the road indicating plainly, "Don't go this way!" It gets easy just to follow people blindly - which over a dozen riders had already done, going far around the corner and on down the road.

I yelled, "Wrong way! Hey guys! Trail goes off this way!" I pulled back to let those in back of me take the trail first, and to wait for my Idaho spuds (Quinn and I were in the rear). As they turned around and came back, Mr Crabapple - who hadn't even noticed he'd blown by the turn - followed them and said bitingly, "Well I guess that's what the yellow ribbons are for!" I guess it was! We made sure he passed us so he could go yell at someone else.

Back to flying at a fast trot along the dusty, rocky trail (I may as well now just drop the "dusty" and "rocky" descriptions - how about if from now on I mention if the trail suddenly was NOT dusty or rocky), on a steep slope, Laura was in the lead, when her horse hit some slickrock, and fell right down. It happened so fast, I couldn't even yelp. El Din's feet whipped out from under him to the downslope, Laura sort of fell off into the upslope; El Din was able to scramble right back up, and he stood there while Laura jumped back on. And quick as that, we were back going at a trot.

Something happens, you just keep going, because you have a line of people behind you.

From Squaw Valley the trail climbs 2500' toward Watson Monument amidst the ski lifts. Less than a mile from very the top there was a water stop at High Camp. Quinn and Jasbo didn't want any water. It was only 13 miles into the ride, and it was still cool, but you sure would be happier if your horse took a drink now, with 87 miles ahead of you. He didn't want any grass either, and Nance said he was a good eater. Hmmm.

Something to file away and worry about later, but not yet, because my horse was feeling awfully strong. He was more interested in jigging than walking, so we trotted quite a bit of the uphill pulls. Some guy in front of us got off to walk the last steepest part: whoa! That's one thing I wouldn't be doing. I might get off to walk some downhills, but for the rest, Quinn would be carrying me. I was too out of shape to walk uphills fast at altitude, and I don't tail horses anymore.


We crested the ridge at the Watson Monument atop Emigrant Pass, at 8700', with shiny blue Lake Tahoe in the golden sunrise at our backs to the east, and the Granite Chief Wilderness spread out before us to the west.

From here to Robinson Flat, our route mostly followed the historic route of the Placer County Emigrant Road built in 1855. Sure made you feel sorry for those emigrants! Ahead lay the Granite Chief wilderness, and some REAL rocks. They don't call it Granite for nothing. Jasbo was wearing four boots for the first time ever, because of this section. Quinn was wearing four boots just for this section. Miles and miles of rock to negotiate: leg twisting rocks, rocks hidden under dust, slick rocks in streams to slip over, rocks hidden in bogs, (the bogs were supposedly not so bad this year), rocks to just plain knock you over or cut your legs. Sometimes we plowed through tunnels of overgrown willows, so thick it was almost dark, and so thick I'd lean over my horse's neck to get through, as he picked his footing.

When you didn't walk, you had to trot as fast as you could - over rocks. There's no dilly dallying on this trail. You have to constantly keep moving, pushing your speed limit dictated by the terrain.

To our left a wide and deep canyon yawned, with granite rock faces sticking up out of thick forests. I mostly kept my eyes on the trail though - when I could see through the dust - and both hands on the reins, ready to yank Quinn's head up when he tripped at our fast trot. When we had to walk, I gave him his head because he was very good at picking the best way through the perilous footing.

I'd been concentrating on Quinn's footing and my balance with him when I looked down and saw that his saddle pad was slipping back! The left side was already completely under the front of the saddle, and there was just a quarter inch sticking out on the right side. It had taken me this long to notice it!

I hollered that we'd have to stop at some point so I could readjust the saddle pad, and Nance said she'd take Jasbo's boots off. She thought we'd be out of the wilderness soon; and anyway, there really was no place to pull over. After a few more miles I said "I really have to stop now!" because I could picture the saddle pad flying out from under the back of the saddle, and me arriving at Robinson like a numnutt without my saddle pad. I had wondered before how on earth somebody wouldn't notice their saddle pad flying out from behind the saddle - and it could have happened to me here!

Laura came to a place that had only a bit of room for the five of us on a slope and pulled over, and I jumped off and quickly loosened my girth. It was almost impossible to pull that @#!*&@ saddle pad, a heavy, wet-with-sweat-Skito pad, forward underneath that saddle without taking the whole shebang off. I ran from one side of Quinn to the other, 2 or 3 times, heaving and grunting and cursing it - you feel the minutes ticking away - before I finally got it pulled forward enough. I quickly tightened the girth, and crupper a notch, and hopped back in the saddle, panting with the exertion, but Nance wasn't quite done with getting Jasbo's boots off.

Three riders were coming up behind us, fast, and zoomed past, "Are you alright?" Not that they'd stop to help unless we were dying - because you had to keep moving. We'd have done the same thing, asking but hoping they didn't need any help - and in fact we already had done the same thing, flying by a group putting on an easy boot.

Nance was done, she hopped back on, and we were quickly flying down the trail again, trying to make up for those minutes we'd lost there.


We passed out of the Granite Chief wilderness, and the rocky footing improved slightly. The trail continued up and down to Lyon Ridge - a trot-by check (a vet is there; if you're obviously lame or are having problems, you can pull here), where there were a lot of horses and a whirl of chaos, swirling around water troughs and flakes of hay.

Nance and I stopped and tried water - our horses didn't want any - and then jumped off to electrolyte our horses - but we didn't have our system down yet and we lost time here. Nance had the water bottle of electrolytes and pulled out her syringe, Quinn and Jasbo about knocked us both over trying to scratch their heads on us, between us we couldn't siphon enough electrolytes out of the bottle, Quinn clamped his mouth shut for his dose, Nance tried to fill the syringe then electrolye Jasbo, I was trying not to get run into by another horse's butt, Nance lost the lid to the electrolyte bottle, I shoved her syringe in one of my bags, we jumped on, looked for Kara, Laura and Chandler, didn't see them, pushed our horses through the mess of horses, and took off. I was out of breath!

We weren't sure where our other spuds were, but nothing to do but continue trotting hard on down the trail. The famous Cougar Rock was coming up soon. Nance said, "Are you going up?" I said "I'm following you! (I was riding Nance's horse; I was doing what she was doing!) What are you doing?" "I'm going around. I'd rather finish the ride than get an awesome picture." "Me too!"

As we approached it, we caught sight of 3 yellow shirts just going over the top of Cougar Rock - several photographers standing on it, and a line of horses waiting to go over - and we zipped around the side of it, ending up right behind our gang.

We followed a very scenic ridge, deep canyons on both sides of us, and came to (I found out later) the Elephant's Trunk - a slight dip then very steep, sharp incline over loose lava rock, that got our horses puffing hard. Then it dropped down into the forest - back into heavy silty dust, and rocks underfoot. The dust reached to the heavens and hung heavy in the air - sometimes I had to close my protesting eyes it was so thick. I blinked tears which became mud running down my face. Quinn followed the others, stumbled, coughed, plowed through the rocks and dust. Great light for shooting, but I left my little camera in its bag and held onto the reins with both hands to steady my horse, and inhaled through my bandana.

We had a respite in a few miles of logging road coming into Red Star Ridge, our first Gate and Go vet check. If you knew you needed to save time, and your horse's pulse was down to 60, you could breeze right in, get his pulse taken, go straight to the vet, and onward.

Once again there was a big cluster of horses here; fortunately one of the volunteers with a stethoscope took on our group. Quinn finally took a drink - not a big one but a drink, and we sponged them off and pulled over to the side where they dove at some hay. Another volunteer filled our water bottles. Quinn, and Kara's horse Jack, just wouldn't come down. The volunteer took Quinn's pulse, we sponged him, took the pulse, sponged him, and did it again. He was hanging around 64, and it probably didn't help that he was eating - but he was so hungry, which is the lesser evil? Let him eat because he's starving, or make him stand there and not eat till his pulse is down?

I walked Quinn back to a water trough amidst all the other horses but he didn't drink. Another volunteer took Quinn's pulse, and said it was 80. 80! I knew that couldn't be right, so I went back to our own volunteer. She got him still at 64. More sponging. We were losing time here. It worried me a little bit - it wasn't the hot part of the day yet, and Quinn's pulse was running high.

Finally, both Jack and Quinn were pronounced to be at 60. We moved on to the vet, and fortunately didn't have to wait in line there. A quick overall check, and trot out one direction ("OK! You're good!") and we mounted up and kept going.

We left Red Star 15 minutes after we'd arrived - and were far enough at the back of the Tevis pack that several of the vets were just now leaving and heading to Robinson Flat. It was three vets to be exact, because we got completely dusted out by each of their 3 vehicles. "Sorry about the dust!" they each yelled... but what could you do but keep clipping along, breathing through your bandana.

As we trotted along, Nance pulled out the cut-off time notes, and Tom Noll's notes that he'd given us. Robinson Flat - the first hour hold - was 7.5 miles away. Tom had arrived there at 11:18. Recommended cut-off guideline was 11 AM. The cut-off was 12 PM. We looked at our watches. If we were lucky, we might hit Robinson around 11:20.

We played leapfrog with Bruce Weary, of Utah, on his Tennessee Walker, John Henry. This was Bruce's sixth Tevis, trying for his first completion. Bruce had on an awfully clean white long-sleeved shirt - how did he manage that?! My borrowed light yellow long-sleeved Idaho shirt was already a light shade of black. "Hey Bruce - how come you look so CLEAN?" It wasn't just black clothes we had on, but our faces. Nance and I cracked up at the raccoon eyes under our glasses.

We seemed to be absolutely flying along at a trot. 15 mph it felt like, though maybe I was exaggerating in my head. I was slightly worried about Quinn's pulse taking so long to come down at Red Star (though it probably wasn't more than 5 minutes), and was wondering if we were going too fast for him, but, he was pulling on me, and Nance didn't say anything about his speed, and she knew how fast they went in 2007, and Jasbo was keeping up or pulling ahead of us. And we had to keep pushing. If we arrived at Robinson at 11:30, we were only 30 minutes ahead of cut-off time.

I'd settled into a comfortable rhythm with Quinn, finding myself breathing in time with his pace, like I do when I'm hiking, balancing over his center as he negotiated rocks in the trail, sometimes slightly shifting my weight just before a foot fell as if we were precisely placing the foot down together.

"Anything special I need to know about Quinn?" I had asked Nance yesterday. "Well, last year at Deadwood (at 55 miles), he laid down at the vet check." He what!? "Well, he RAN up that steep canyon, and at the top, at the vet check, he just laid down. He wasn't colicking, and he wasn't hurting, he just laid down because he was tired, stretched out like a cat, and laid there and ate a while." A vet kept an eye on them - Nance told him that Quinn had done it one or two times before - but Quinn apparently was just resting. When it was time to go, he got up, they went on, and they finished Tevis (and the other rides he'd done that in.) We debated on this stretch if Quinn would lay down today. Gee, I hoped for my heart attack's sake that Quinn didn't do it today!


We had a little break from the dust here, my knee wasn't hurting, it wasn't too hot yet, and suddenly, we came upon a pink sign: "Robinson 4 miles." Whoops and hollers from us, and the horses picked up the pace. Quinn was on a mission, because LUNCH was ahead!

"Robinson 3 miles" then 2 miles, then 1 mile, followed by signs, "No crewing this side", and a glimpse of a trailer through the trees - we had arrived at Robinson!

We had arrived in Chaos Central, is where we were. Lots of people, horses, crews, more people... horses squeezing in beside each other at water troughs, horse butts in your face, horses knocking into you - Quinn didn't drink - no sponge handy - one sponge between Nance and me, and Bruce had it in his hand when he went to fetch a bucket - we walked onward into the tumult, dodging horse bodies - Gentry ran up with a bucket and quickly sponged all our horses as we walked - we stopped somewhere near the gate to the pulsing area - take saddles off? no! - where are my other riders - "yes, saddles off!" yelled Dublin Hart, directing traffic into the ring - we hesitated, not sure what to do first - I finally got my saddle off - "boots off too!" - Quinn wouldn't hold still because the others were - somewhere - Bruce grabbed him - I got the boots off and went into the pulse ring...

I hoped Quinn was down, because we weren't riding with heart rate monitors or stethoscopes (I can't hear a heartbeat anyway), but by the time Quinn's pulse was taken, he was down to 56 (criteria 60). That was a relief!

We'd lost some time in that mayhem, and though we now had a 'time in' at 11:27 - from which our hour hold began, as long as we passed the vet check - we had to stand in a long vet line. Chris had offered me a cold Dr Pepper as soon as we walked in, but I had turned it down - MISTAKE! - so I stood in the vet line, thirsty and hungry, hot, holding my horse for about 20 minutes. At least Quinn was chowing down on hay the volunteers kept handing me, but I was famished, and suddenly feeling tired.

By the time I finally got to a vet and trotted Quinn out and he passed, I never had time to worry if he'd trot out sound or not. He was fine, and we left the vet ring and wove our way through camp and horses to get to the spot where Bruce, Chris, and Gentry had set up for us.


But no time for me to sit and rest: had to get the horses eating - they didn't want their grain, so Nance and I tried mixing something else - made sure they had plenty of hay because that's really all they wanted - worried about that a bit - ran to the portapotty which was clear back at the vetting area - ran back, MUST get a cold Dr Pepper, MUST grab something to eat - but couldn't sit and rest because I had to refill my water bottles, mix up one bottle with electrolytes, get a Gatorade, find my butt pack to put 2 extra waters in - oh god, I must soak my Cool Vest for the canyons! - but we didn't have enough water so I went to fetch that but Bruce said he'd get it and I sat down for 2 minutes. Just enough to make me realize how tired I was already.

Bruce came back and I jumped up to soak my vest, then I fetched a bucket of water for Quinn because he had not been drinking enough (skin tenting was a B-), then, crap, it was 20 minutes till our time out, and we better get saddled right back up, because we had an exit exam and the line was going to be long.

Lunch was almost up already! I choked down the rest of my half a sandwich, saddled up Quinn, (my knee was fine, so I kept the sports saddle on), slipped on Quinn's hackamore and put on my wet Cool Vest and butt pack, wet bandana and helmet - and off we went to the other vet line near the exit.

We all vetted through there again and had a few minutes to spare before our out time. I stood beside Quinn, instead of sitting on him, and just then realized that was the least restful hour vet check I'd ever experienced in my 12 years of riding endurance, and I also realized - we'd all five successfully completed the first third of our journey towards Auburn!

But - no time to stop and reflect - have to keep pushing onward.

"#197, you're out!"



Next: Phase II


Pictures, results, more stories on the Tevis page on Endurance.net