tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87735992978955281132024-02-19T01:52:15.267-08:00It seemed like a good idea at the time...When I was 14, I was asked what I would want as my epitaph. The best I could come up with, after a few minutes of serious thought, was "It seemed like a good idea at the time." Twenty years later, that's still the best I can explain about why I do anything.Funderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358687366401205336noreply@blogger.comBlogger878125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773599297895528113.post-60605191932794505262014-03-03T21:03:00.001-08:002014-03-03T21:03:03.524-08:00Packing up and moving to our very own domainI'm not 100% settled in to my new home, but I think it's readable enough and it's got all my posts/comments, so I'll let yall take a look at <a href="http://fundersgoodidea.com/">fundersgoodidea.com</a>! <div>
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A few questions I'm anticipating:</div>
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<ul>
<li>Funder.com is prohibitively expensive, because <i>people who fund things</i> can spend a lot of money on URLs. :-/ Stupid venture capitalists.</li>
<li>Yep, it's Wordpress. I don't like the backend as much as Blogger's, but Blogger is so irritatingly buggy and WP is much more customizable. I'm bored with the devil I know and I'm trying a new one.</li>
<li>I think you don't have to make an account or anything to comment, just username/email address. Let me know if it's broken.</li>
<li>The header images are random, so you'll see something different on each individual blog entry. (Hopefully.) They're all cropped out of photos I took on rides, because this is the <i>best sport ever</i> and you see the <i>best scenery</i>. </li>
<li>I am still fighting with the sidebars, so one day soon I'll get all of your blogs lined up over there and get the calendar/categories thing under control. </li>
<li>Yes, you can just paste <a href="http://www.fundersgoodidea.com/feed/">http://www.fundersgoodidea.com/feed/</a> in your RSS reader. (If you haven't found a replacement for Google Reader, go try out feedly.com -- it's pretty much the same as Reader was but better.)</li>
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Anyway, there's a new post up over there. Go check it out. </div>
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Funderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358687366401205336noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773599297895528113.post-40910839383076208942014-03-01T13:00:00.000-08:002014-03-01T13:00:32.027-08:00Food, gear, etc<div class="p1">
Everybody’s favorite question is “what do you eat?” Even the experienced people are looking for new ideas, so here’s what I managed, roughly in order. (Remember, I can’t eat gluten, so there’s entire categories of food I don’t dare touch.)</div>
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<b>Food</b></div>
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<b>Friday:</b></div>
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<ul>
<li>A red bull</li>
<li>Powerbars</li>
<li>Coffee</li>
<li>A banana</li>
<li>Salami and cheese and “crackers”</li>
<li>Cold steak (it was so good I almost ate it all and then I remembered: <b><i>never eat the last of the rider’s food</i></b>, even if you’re the rider)</li>
<li>Ham and cheese</li>
<li>Chicharrones</li>
<li>Pasta, sausage, and rice noodles</li>
</ul>
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<b>Saturday early:</b></div>
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<ul>
<li>1/2 red bull</li>
<li>2 powerbars</li>
<li>Some pecans</li>
</ul>
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<b>Saturday midday:</b></div>
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</div>
<ul>
<li>Two eggs</li>
<li>GF snickerdoodles</li>
<li>Grande mocha</li>
<li>Potato chips</li>
<li>Cold steak</li>
<li>A mango drink</li>
<li>Cheese and crackers and salami</li>
<li>String cheese</li>
<li>More cookies</li>
<li>Pineapple</li>
<li>Chocolate pudding (where we’re going, we don’t need spoons)</li>
</ul>
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<b>Saturday dinner and beyond:</b></div>
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<ul>
<li>The rest of the steak (I’m so glad I saved it)</li>
<li>Chicharrones (not very good for the first time in my life)</li>
<li>Rum and coke</li>
<li>Dark chocolate m&ms</li>
<li>Hot chocolate </li>
<li>Rum and diet coke (FUCK NO)</li>
<li>Peppermints</li>
<li>Kaity’s energy chews - what were they?</li>
<li>Dark chocolate espresso beans (maybe never again; I don’t think they <i>made</i> me queasy but I ate them right before I got queasy, and URK)</li>
</ul>
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Everything tasted great or at least passable, except as noted. I didn’t eat ~enough~ out of my saddlebags, but I swear to god having great crew means you have enough time to eat enough at the checks. I cannot thank Kaity’s family enough. </div>
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I drank 80-90% of my camelback between every hold, and I took two Hammer Elite electrolyte pills whenever I’d think about it. </div>
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Dixie actually <i>wanted</i> wet mash, which is a little unusual for her. If she’s well-hydrated, I usually offer her a dry mix of LMF Gold (high-fat high-protein grain) and Elk Grove Stable Mix (low NSC but very palatable hay pellets). If she’s not interested in eating it dry, I pour in enough water to make it a milkshake. At this ride, she scarfed down the milkshakes. I usually crumble up a Nature’s Valley granola bar on top and offer any carrots or apples I can find, and she gets to eat whatever hay strikes her fancy. </div>
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The best way to get her to stop eating, I’ve found, is to offer beet pulp. <i>To hell with you and your beet pulp, human.</i></div>
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Between Kaity and I, we had some very fine stemmed alfalfa, some boring grass, some other boring grass, and some three-grain, and both horses went for all the hay according to their tastes. </div>
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I electrolyted her the way I’ve been doing for the past year: half a scoop of Enduramax, half a tub of applesauce, fill it the rest of the way with water and dose her right before we leave the check. I’m going to switch to my friend’s (hi G!) secret sauce, which includes ProCMC, but I didn’t want to change it up at a big ride like this. </div>
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One side of my saddlebags has people food, ride card, etc, and the other side has nothing but carrots. I can cram about 3 lbs in there, and when we get discouraged or she hasn’t eaten recently, I “insert carrots for more time.” Carrots are perfect food for desert rides: they’re really easy to transport and feed from the saddle, and they’ve got a little water in them. And they can take more abuse than apples!</div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">Gear!</span></div>
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I mentioned that Tami and Dave glued boots for me again, and I really need to give them another shout-out for the amazing job they did. Virginia City was the first time I’d (had her) glued, and she fit pretty perfectly in 0’s all around. This time? 0.5’s on the fronts, 1’s on the back. </div>
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I thought her feet looked exactly the same. It’s really hard for me to see changes because I see them so regularly. But Tami said her feet looked better, and they’re certainly not bigger because they’re flared, so: cool. The front right boot looked very wonky to me, but Dixie moved out perfectly in it and they weren’t even close to failing when I went to pry them off. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB-akybwN0Or3ADMdOjryJ2yCRjSjfH6YYEBI91XBzhyphenhyphenJAgNAZaaf_00F8mLXZW3Vuror5dFGc_l5zxrpBsixKfdxnsrudKuKfnCXqcAfwWuM0UEbo7db4AS_WUn6hRBmD9GNsSqNWv7I/s1600/IMG_1433.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB-akybwN0Or3ADMdOjryJ2yCRjSjfH6YYEBI91XBzhyphenhyphenJAgNAZaaf_00F8mLXZW3Vuror5dFGc_l5zxrpBsixKfdxnsrudKuKfnCXqcAfwWuM0UEbo7db4AS_WUn6hRBmD9GNsSqNWv7I/s1600/IMG_1433.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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It just looks so bulge-y at the toe!</div>
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And <i>no filling </i>in her legs. The footing is better than Virginia City (but really, VC is unbelievably rocky; y’all just don’t know if you haven’t been to Nevada), but it’s not easy terrain. I think the squishy Goober Glue in the soles of the glue-ons makes a tremendous difference in their comfort level. I know from my own barefoot-shoe running that an extra 2mm of sole makes <i>me</i> far more comfortable, and the squishy support in the frogs probably helps stimulate them. If you don’t glue for long rocky rides, you should consider some pour-in pads, perhaps? </div>
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I took a lot of (somewhat random) pictures of Dixie’s Easyboot glue-ons and Kody’s Renegade glue-ons, to show you the difference in them. I am really happy with how she goes in the Easyboots, but I think I’m starting to see the reasons you’d pick one brand over the other. I’m not really ready to sort and describe and post the pics, but that’s in the pipeline. You can do a little more tweaking of the hard-shelled Renegades, especially if you have an overreacher. </div>
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I know that I’ve spent a lot of time squee-ing about how wonderful my Specialized saddle is, but I’ve found the Big Problem with it: cantle bags. </div>
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I had a purple Stowaway that I bought at some ride last year and never <i>really</i> used. I don’t usually ride with a cantle bag — one of the few times I’ve come off Dixie was when I was twisted around trying to get something out of one, and she shied from a rabbit (<i>really?!</i>) and I ate dirt. But they’re really a good idea for the longer distances, so I strapped it down on the saddle Friday night.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilc4MZZDZDJ122mFs6Vijd0F2MJZR_CuImyQJICOJquYRAIe1p09teVv2Z1pmVGTz5K_L_tQ-8Y6at9nwptoSzGzfjIVeZJjtOhy2pW8Zv9kHpu6sDCxscdBum6GtZSNz7SiQ4o0uw2ws/s1600/IMG_1340.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilc4MZZDZDJ122mFs6Vijd0F2MJZR_CuImyQJICOJquYRAIe1p09teVv2Z1pmVGTz5K_L_tQ-8Y6at9nwptoSzGzfjIVeZJjtOhy2pW8Zv9kHpu6sDCxscdBum6GtZSNz7SiQ4o0uw2ws/s1600/IMG_1340.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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I ran the straps through the stirrup leathers, but the buckle looked like a world of hurt.</div>
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And I didn’t like how it looked. It was too far back, hanging off behind the pad, but worse, it looked like the buckles were going to be directly under the back of my thigh. I wanted to just set-and-forget the cantle bag and not try to strap it on at dinner, and I didn’t think I could do a hundred miles with something poking my thighs. </div>
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So I muttered <i>shit</i>, took it off, and carried it over to Henry Griffin’s tack trailer. He had an English style that might have worked, so I <s>stole</s> <i>temporarily borrowed</i> one and tried it on my saddle. The pocket didn’t quite fit over the back of the seat, but worse, the velcro straps that go around the billets are about 4” too short. </div>
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<i>Double shit.</i></div>
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I returned the stolen bag and went digging in my trailer. Surely I had something I could make do with! In one of my early fits of “I need one of everything,” I’d bought the last old-style cantle bag Henry had. It’s a tiny duffle bag, with a big metal zipper and a bunch of D-rings. (And it’s so old it still has Henry’s Montana address on it, if that helps date it!) </div>
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It fit, and if I strapped it down it wouldn’t bounce and it wouldn’t rub, so it would have to do. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNyuEVCYLL-XFW3U8XptYhamhpqM3n7yM2U3hy_-hA2_JcdEODKu6ujacOypeKWEKcrf7hnOc6FCIh4WCPaJUqur1X2I3dH0vnS2fWUUzysm7xZZkRzFRsECrqek0AWUjd-HWsVg8JtII/s1600/IMG_1347.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNyuEVCYLL-XFW3U8XptYhamhpqM3n7yM2U3hy_-hA2_JcdEODKu6ujacOypeKWEKcrf7hnOc6FCIh4WCPaJUqur1X2I3dH0vnS2fWUUzysm7xZZkRzFRsECrqek0AWUjd-HWsVg8JtII/s1600/IMG_1347.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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Wire from D to D, with bungees going from saddle D's to the center D on the bag.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIjmXvtEprMUq8j4tklId91uQNapqFeZGPUkaOjpglOjy0LI0NJCdW2-uPDNITmojN2p7EBAKRCd2QzvGsn5wtjt3ksO06VcJHQtOQVMoPTQdf65YjmFFu5gKZwt7r8wNaJXGJD_gnxLU/s1600/IMG_1346.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIjmXvtEprMUq8j4tklId91uQNapqFeZGPUkaOjpglOjy0LI0NJCdW2-uPDNITmojN2p7EBAKRCd2QzvGsn5wtjt3ksO06VcJHQtOQVMoPTQdf65YjmFFu5gKZwt7r8wNaJXGJD_gnxLU/s1600/IMG_1346.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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One more shot, post ride. I'd threaded the bridle underneath the yellow bungees, with a carabiner for insurance, but the whole thing stayed very tight all day/night.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZJ-fFjOMSZReqnRKOAj3rW9eNNrkj1iVHmnggDwZBYff_QuJzPNlCwTRQ3tK2wqvjp9glJ2SuGdjOnNf-VHKhcE_QfWyygU-aWdsNnoFVkdklPZBqQD_CH-kd3Ia_GZJLdenLCx8C28c/s1600/IMG_1416.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZJ-fFjOMSZReqnRKOAj3rW9eNNrkj1iVHmnggDwZBYff_QuJzPNlCwTRQ3tK2wqvjp9glJ2SuGdjOnNf-VHKhcE_QfWyygU-aWdsNnoFVkdklPZBqQD_CH-kd3Ia_GZJLdenLCx8C28c/s1600/IMG_1416.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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I feel totally, totally justified in all my hoarding tendencies. I will buy <i>anything</i> I see in a checkout line that looks like it might work on an endurance ride one day, and at some point I’d picked up these adorable tiny bungees from REI. And I had some wire that I’d saved from changing out a fluorescent ballast. Between the wire and the bungees, I got that bag down <i>tight</i>. </div>
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Inside the bag, I had two spare Gloves, two of the biggest space emergency blankets I could find, an extra flashlight, an extra multitool, some wire and baling twine, some toilet paper in a ziplock, and a tiny roll of duct tape. Garbage bags work almost as well as emergency blankets, and I wanted two because if we got stranded and <i>I</i> got cold, <i>Dixie</i> would get cold too. </div>
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So, if you’ve got a Specialized, what works for you on the cantle? If you haven’t tried a cantle bag yet, I think you could do some minor surgery on an English-style Stowaway (fix the pocket size, replace the velcro straps with longer ones), but to be honest, I’m not thrilled with the idea of straps under the billets. If I didn’t have that one rare and wonderful Griffin’s pommel bag, I’d try to mod a tiny camping duffel from REI and strap it down, but right now I don’t know of an off-the-shelf solution.<br />
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Anyway, getting that straightened out took hours, and I had no time to hang out with Evelyn The Tights Lady! But she gave me a big cheer on our way out of camp at 65 miles — thanks, babe! </div>
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I started fully tacked up: halter, bridle, bit, and running martingale. Dixie knows that she can’t properly express her feelings about the pace I choose when she’s in the running martingale, and she has to content herself with angry little head-shakes instead of wildly flinging her head around in the hopes I’ll let her run. She <i>hates</i> it, precious, but I hate having the reins flipped over her head more! The martingale came off and went in my saddlebags at the first check, and it never ended up going back on. I didn’t start with a crop, but I did grab it when we headed out at 65 miles, when I knew she would be extremely unmotivated. Took some whacking to get her to the top of the ridge in the dark, but once we quit climbing, she got with the program and moved out with just an “ok trot” or a bit of leg for the rest of the night. </div>
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I tied Mel’s Lucky First Hundred Rump Rug to my pommel when we set off after 65 miles, and the luck clearly rubbed off. I didn’t want to try to attach it to the maze of bungees on the cantle unless I was going to use it.</div>
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<b>Things I need to change: </b></div>
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Dude, I am <i>so done</i> with that one headlamp. I've got three: a really heavy complicated one, an extremely reliable middleweight one with no red light setting, and a nice new-ish ultralight headlamp with a red light. Twice now I've yanked the newest one out to find it's dead — last time I got batteries from Lucy and thought it was a fluke, but this time it was dead <i>again</i> so it's dead <i>to me</i>. I don't know if it really sucks battery that fast from disuse, or if the switch is just in a bad spot and it gets turned on accidentally, but it's unreliable. Ended up starting with the white light, but I couldn't turn it on without blinding everybody, and at 91 miles I swapped with Brenna for a red light. (Also I need to store spare batteries in the trailer, or at least in my camping duffle.)</div>
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I told y’all that I rode half the distance in just a rope halter. I didn’t use my favorite halter, the blue-and-purple paracord one from Mrs. Mom, because it doesn’t have rings. I pulled out my backup rope halter (hoarding: justified <i>again</i>), made of yacht rope with sidepull rings, and rolled all day in that. It worked; she went fine without a bit and seemed to appreciate the freedom, but it won’t do long-term. It’s got those “control knots”, and it’s fairly rough rope, and I just don’t want it yanking on her facial nerves. Also, it’s not sized right for a TWH head, and at the finish I noticed she couldn’t quite open her mouth wide enough to yawn — I had to re-tie it a little looser (and lower on her nose) for her to get a proper yawn. </div>
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So I need something custom, and I think I’m going to get ATG to make me a biothane halter fitted precisely to her head, with bit hangers or a snap-on headstall. I need to get with them and get the measurements I need to take, but I actually have plenty of time before the Derby (or even NASTR).</div>
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And I need new stirrup leather covers. I bought the velcro kind, because the tube kind are so horrendously hard to fiddle with, but the velcro is rubbing. When I was scratching Dixie all over on Monday, I noticed two little rucked-up patches of hair on her ribs. So Tuesday I apologized, promised I wasn’t really going to ride, and threw the saddle on. Yep, the hard plastic velcro backing was rubbing her. No heat, swelling, or tenderness, but it’s one of those things that will only get worse.<br />
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More on boots later when I feel inspired to write again!</div>
Funderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358687366401205336noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773599297895528113.post-72314254296020880962014-02-27T15:12:00.001-08:002014-02-27T15:12:26.506-08:00Twenty Mule Team aftermath<div class="p1">
So we’d walked in to camp, whooping and hollering, and convinced our tired ponies to trot out one more time, and we were <i>done</i>. I got Dixie parked at her buffet, pulled her tack, and blanketed her. I honestly can’t remember if Kaity’s mom Carol helped me here or not — I know she helped blanket in the dark at least once, but was that dinner, finish or both times? It is a mystery! </div>
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Somehow I got my bra off, a clean-ish shirt on, my shoes off, and some chemical hand warmers shoved in the bag with me. I carefully tucked one between my boobs (ahhhhh my core was so warm!), set an alarm for 7:30, and passed out at 3:30. </div>
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At 6:30 I woke up, because it was blindingly bright and I had to check on my girl. She was just fine: no filling in her legs, sound, cheerful, rather happy to see me. I started staggering around packing up to head home. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY20FRKaXhjq5DQhLoR41CuBmg53mH9HwXpKOid9_Hr0tG9mXVBwSBtLAglwf9a2THgQyKP0w8BcKivid4FPniFf5AgRFqvWnrcu_acKZ6MiZQjU1CSkPu2o_s4uc15qt5Mwu0w2snj20/s1600/IMG_1386.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY20FRKaXhjq5DQhLoR41CuBmg53mH9HwXpKOid9_Hr0tG9mXVBwSBtLAglwf9a2THgQyKP0w8BcKivid4FPniFf5AgRFqvWnrcu_acKZ6MiZQjU1CSkPu2o_s4uc15qt5Mwu0w2snj20/s1600/IMG_1386.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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She's always so hopeful that the camera is edible. (And see the rub mark on her nose?)</div>
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Pretty good.</div>
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OMG so tight!</div>
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Eventually it warmed up enough to take a shower. Yes, it's true! The Desert Empire Fairgrounds has showers, and they’re free, and they’re <i>hot</i>. Nothing makes you feel human again like a shower. (Also: I cannot recommend carefully tucking a hand warmer between your boobs and going to sleep; I woke up with a small burn on the right one. But at least I slept warm!)</div>
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Jaya came by to collect all six of us for pictures. We let the ponies roll in the arena, then lined ‘em up:</div>
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Get it, girl.</div>
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Yes, I’m bragging about this: as we walked by to the arena, one of the vets, Sue, said “she’s moving good.” Calling her taciturn is a bit of an understatement, so that was high praise indeed. <i>Yes!</i></div>
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Then on to breakfast and awards. There was much whooping and hollering. About half the Nevada Riders were there, and you know we were loud! Awards this year were very nice wine glasses. Yes, I made a 900-mile round trip and rode seventeen and a half hours to get a wine glass, and by god I earned it! </div>
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Melissa and Robert, the RMs, made Jaya tell the story of how Asali did bonus miles, but you'll have to visit <a href="http://www.enduranceriding.me/twenty-mule-team-100/" target="_blank">Jaya's blog</a> to read that! Then they made the three of us who’d finished our first hundreds come say something, and I was caught completely flat-footed and just babbled out something about how proud I was of my girl, and how much fun I’m having learning this sport. </div>
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Then more crying, more hugs, more pictures, and it was time to go. The first song that came on the iPod was <a href="http://youtu.be/9jg4ekLG9Zo" target="_blank">Rock and Roll Suicide</a>, and I left Ridgecrest belting out "And you're not alone! You're <i>wonderful!</i>" at the top of my lungs. </div>
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I headed out of Ridgecrest at 10:40 and made it to Dixie’s barn at 6:40. It was a hellish, hellish drive, but it was better than trying to rest in camp with everybody leaving. Dixie wasn’t eating as well as I’d have liked in the trailer, so we stopped at the Coalinga rest area on I-5 and grazed and ate the last pound of carrots. </div>
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Dixie hopped off that trailer and followed me over to a little patch of grass beside a pistachio orchard, and I thought about how far we’d come. We’ve both found our limits, regrouped, and found new ones. We aren’t just tentative friends; we are absolutely partners now. I held that lead rope on the side of the interstate pretty tightly, but I knew she wasn’t going to freak out on me, and she knew I wasn’t going to let anything hurt her. We really do share a more profound bond now. ;) </div>
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I got screwed at a gas stop — it had a $75 limit per transaction, and when I tried to re-swipe the card to finish filling up, Chase declined it with their slightly over-zealous fraud protection. But Ron has all the fancy digital fuel stuff, and he kept assuring me that we’d have enough gas to make it to the barn without stopping again, so we just roared on north. (And by roared, I mean, I set it at 62 and watched thousands of cars stream past me going 85 or more. It <i>sucked</i>.)</div>
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The far eastern end of I-580 has the worst pavement I’ve seen since I put Arkansas in my rear-view mirrors, and then we hit a huge rolling traffic jam in Livermore, but eventually we were back in Oakland, and then back in the hills, and then Dixie was home. I stashed her in her stall with extra <i>extra</i> hay, showed off my wine glass to the boarders in the clubroom, and finished it up. </div>
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Fuel level low. Oh truck, I know how you feel.</div>
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Then down to San Leandro, got the trailer parked in one try, and back up north to the house. I’d been saving the last shot of a particular bottle of whiskey (Old Potrero!) for my Hundred Victory Drink, and G put my <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sazerac" target="_blank">sazerac</a> in my wine glass, lol!</div>
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And Dixie continues to look really, really great. She was moving slow but very smoothly on Monday:</div>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="281" mozallowfullscreen="" src="//player.vimeo.com/video/87813301" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="500"></iframe> <br />
<a href="http://vimeo.com/87813301">Dixie, two days after completing a one-day 100 mile ride.</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/funder">Funder</a> on <a href="https://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.<br />
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(Blogger just gives me errors whenever I try to upload video or change anything on my sidebars, which is why the sidebar hasn't been updated in so long. I'm moving to my dot-com <i>soon!</i>)</div>
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She's held her weight quite well.</div>
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I pried some boots off on Tuesday, but after I’d gotten the fronts off, she asked very politely if I’d stop banging on her feet and scratch her — so of course I did. She’s a little thinner, of course, but I’ve seen horses look far, far worse than this after shorter rides. </div>
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Not a very attractive set of pictures, but they show her condition pretty well, I think. She's wet after grazing in the rain for 45 mins, and she's eating yet another carrot while she waits for her massage.</div>
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Wednesday I finished pulling the boots and Dixie got her customary post-ride massage. She was a little tight in the chest, because we still go too much on the forehand, and she really liked the coronet band work, but Rebecca said this is the best she’s felt after any ride, and I agree. She was clearly in a great mood, finally answering the question that I’ve always wondered. Yes, this horse <i>does</i> like this sport just as much as I do!<br />
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Such a soft look in her eyes :)</div>
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Gear/food analysis should be up this evening, then maybe boots tomorrow.</div>
Funderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358687366401205336noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773599297895528113.post-89022903914370511072014-02-25T11:20:00.000-08:002014-02-25T15:45:02.232-08:002014 Twenty Mule Team 100<div class="p1">So last weekend Dixie and I finished our first hundred. What a ride. What a <i>horse! </i></div><div class="p2"><br />
</div><div class="p1">I think I have to start back in January, when my truck started making a Very Bad Noise. You know how when you vacuum up a screw you hear that metallic racket as it works its way through the guts of your vacuum? Kinda like that. Extremely loud, metallic, and intermittent. The first thing I thought was <i>oh god I have to fix this before 20MT!</i> So for two weeks I shuttled Ron (I think the truck’s name is Ron Burgundy) back and forth between two different mechanics. Both of them eventually heard the noise, but they couldn’t reproduce it in the shop and they couldn’t find out what was making it. They handed it back to me both times with a shrug and a “whatcha gonna do?” look. Exploratory surgery on vehicles ain’t cheap.</div><div class="p1">I despaired, and I gave up on the ride. Took the ride entry off the fridge and threw it away. Posted that I wasn’t going. Cried and felt really, really horrible for days. </div><div class="p1">And people came out of the woodwork to offer me help. “Trailerpool with me,” “I will come down there and haul you myself,” “come borrow my truck” from multiple people. It was really astonishing, and the more I thought about not doing the ride, the worse I felt. I decided to go. </div><div class="p1"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEherGBC1KwDna-ytotSruosrs-ej7fzFaYuLE6EuR5GBbAy0tjfJ52XH1DuZDEg4wvxVDR5Ly_woaG7iTyWjQKEZcipNXOt6j52H6pS1tBWQTEBB_-YyedoF3Mq0wBU6AQMpMjoCfk46xw/s1600/IMG_1275.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEherGBC1KwDna-ytotSruosrs-ej7fzFaYuLE6EuR5GBbAy0tjfJ52XH1DuZDEg4wvxVDR5Ly_woaG7iTyWjQKEZcipNXOt6j52H6pS1tBWQTEBB_-YyedoF3Mq0wBU6AQMpMjoCfk46xw/s1600/IMG_1275.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div><span id="goog_494909353"></span><span id="goog_494909354"></span><br />
</div><div class="p1">I was going to borrow my friend Kristin’s truck, but that fell through through no fault of hers, so I was going to borrow Mel’s from Davis. I sent in my entry, confirmed that Mel was really, truly serious about the truck, and started packing. </div><div class="p1">And the noise stopped. It had been making the noise every few days, then every day, then twice in one day, then… nothing. It sounded exactly like it always has. At the last minute, I decided I’d just take my own damn truck, and if it broke down, I’d beg USRider to haul me to Ridgecrest and do the damn ride and send my hundred-mile horse home with one of the other Bay Area riders and get Ron fixed out there and I was just going to do this thing come hell or high water.<br />
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</div><div class="p1">Then my shoulder got a tremendous muscle spasm. I’m sure I have no idea why such a thing could have happened — it’s not like I was stressed about anything — but it did. I could barely move my neck last Saturday, and Sunday wasn’t much better, but I gimped on out to the barn for a boarder’s farewell party. My friend Rebecca (who is also Dixie’s masseuse) said, “You owe me a drink for this. Sit down and tell me if it hurts too much.” She did about 15 minutes of excruciating deep-tissue massage, yelled at me about my shitty, shitty posture while I ride, and told me to go kick ass. </div><div class="p1">By Wednesday I was 95% improved. Full range of motion in my neck, and as long as I kept my back straight and my shoulder blades back, the evil knot stayed quiet. I loaded everything in the truck and trailer and got one more glorious night of sleep in my glorious bed. (It’s memory foam! It <i>remembers me!</i>)</div><div class="p1">Thursday I loaded the Dirtiest Endurance Horse and we headed south.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFUArxr4muZiDWxUPL3eliAt7RjSPl07IOHNOnElOm7IOY0OQycBpxShFKWJikYqnSPMr84VsLuIvkBnRKxuuIapE-7z0-Dv5vSog2eId5L8TDxfscUcKzapQJb1uQLYiW8wzdLmmmMp0/s1600/IMG_1289.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFUArxr4muZiDWxUPL3eliAt7RjSPl07IOHNOnElOm7IOY0OQycBpxShFKWJikYqnSPMr84VsLuIvkBnRKxuuIapE-7z0-Dv5vSog2eId5L8TDxfscUcKzapQJb1uQLYiW8wzdLmmmMp0/s1600/IMG_1289.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> "Wait, you want to go <i>how far?</i>"<br />
<br />
</div>It’s only about 400 miles, but it’s a pretty damn long 400 miles. We left the coastal redwoods, fought our way through the Bay traffic, got on I-5 and roared through the angry republican drought-stricken industrial farms of the Central Valley. Eventually we headed east, to Bakersfield, then up Tehachapi Pass into the southern California high desert. I love seeing new climates, and I love any kind of mountain and or desert climate.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNd4EM3TPgSLCEWT1bT-4ZkuxCA0vXWmZ-Ync4QlvkOKXnHGCK6Li6GJJRydGBK2co6s-T8kB74GUPvmQQtL0GK5H8fahMkZWbHtbf3fRbYEJjSlDcJZd4bg6mQSK9gO8gOV1Y7Ll5l2w/s1600/IMG_1291.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNd4EM3TPgSLCEWT1bT-4ZkuxCA0vXWmZ-Ync4QlvkOKXnHGCK6Li6GJJRydGBK2co6s-T8kB74GUPvmQQtL0GK5H8fahMkZWbHtbf3fRbYEJjSlDcJZd4bg6mQSK9gO8gOV1Y7Ll5l2w/s1600/IMG_1291.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">... I don't know? Manure piles?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFWgOnTGgyiJi-lRX0ouauNibCikSLV9uT0NioIq3glDaWGXnkMvERpJWPb4jd9vzhwrrKvBeR3T-_kcI8jPnvtFN-tbc77MKurZuT0zEALuN_CGKXu-axmL3ibuK45uBoW7j1_xJU86g/s1600/IMG_1292.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFWgOnTGgyiJi-lRX0ouauNibCikSLV9uT0NioIq3glDaWGXnkMvERpJWPb4jd9vzhwrrKvBeR3T-_kcI8jPnvtFN-tbc77MKurZuT0zEALuN_CGKXu-axmL3ibuK45uBoW7j1_xJU86g/s1600/IMG_1292.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Almonds, I'm pretty sure.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYIjNjpFSIS4A3NBU_O5nNiQV3qtkwdYx2YMohYBgRpQwCJhE1sOFytxrjyEtJflk8XL9kG0xmiiyPZFkQ4mWDtkz4oUp1jn-UntXE5olQn1wFiedvLRHi4kFYEz6kZrIbeOqPAS8Vtzo/s1600/IMG_1294.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYIjNjpFSIS4A3NBU_O5nNiQV3qtkwdYx2YMohYBgRpQwCJhE1sOFytxrjyEtJflk8XL9kG0xmiiyPZFkQ4mWDtkz4oUp1jn-UntXE5olQn1wFiedvLRHi4kFYEz6kZrIbeOqPAS8Vtzo/s1600/IMG_1294.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Definitely citrus.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXkvdKjEfvEpICd_8juYBeJDbqu_yMYA4zWDClo-HFcrQJwOF3fg1jU4i39ZhuxVZxdig_mBykzMQ8lyhlKwC7jHVQ3CVwILFJsvu-yBof2QrOjumSiL2W3btgwy8AV5nUPYNQzFbTFgk/s1600/IMG_1297.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXkvdKjEfvEpICd_8juYBeJDbqu_yMYA4zWDClo-HFcrQJwOF3fg1jU4i39ZhuxVZxdig_mBykzMQ8lyhlKwC7jHVQ3CVwILFJsvu-yBof2QrOjumSiL2W3btgwy8AV5nUPYNQzFbTFgk/s1600/IMG_1297.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Headed east outside of Bakersfield.</div></div><div class="p1">Ron purred right on over the pass. Outside of Mojave we turned north, past Red Rock Canyon (not to be confused with “my” Red Rocks north of Reno), and onto a rather ominous looking little desert road. I’d been re-checking my phone map app all day, like “are you sure this is the way, phone? Are you <i>really </i>sure?” but shortly after I turned onto the little road (Red Rock Randsburg / Garlock Rd) I saw another rig ahead of me and I knew I was safe. (Or that we both had iPhones and we were going to get lost together, but misery loves company?)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqwfe8vgvukaAYW8eztH1AAFqea31tgXoZK8Bltua_24GMIg54LBJz0tvExhnvj8OSXlEyQAlm4W50omQxCcNmVWhmi9-HKO7yKpvXLP2SlgSoVNz0pEuCtu9RujlNimlhYBXM9pFBeSM/s1600/IMG_1301.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqwfe8vgvukaAYW8eztH1AAFqea31tgXoZK8Bltua_24GMIg54LBJz0tvExhnvj8OSXlEyQAlm4W50omQxCcNmVWhmi9-HKO7yKpvXLP2SlgSoVNz0pEuCtu9RujlNimlhYBXM9pFBeSM/s1600/IMG_1301.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It's dangerous to go alone! Take someone else with an AERC sticker with you.</div><br />
</div><div class="p1">Eventually we made it over to Hwy 395 and I started looking around. I knew from my friends’ ride reports that we’d cross the highway several times, and that we’d go “up the mountain past The Golf Ball,” but I didn’t really know what the hell they were talking about. Is this some tourist trap creation like the World’s Largest Ball of Twine? Is it a giant satellite dish? Is it just a half-dome mountain that’s kinda pockmarked like a golf ball? <i>It is a mystery!</i> </div><div class="p1">Not too far outside of town, I recognized the golf ball. I started whooping and yelling at Dixie (who couldn’t even hear me, of course) that we’d be riding there on Saturday and she’d better pay attention! We cruised on into the fairgrounds just before dusk, after 7.5 hours on the road, with a happily purring truckie. </div><div class="p1">Of course when I started talking about doing 20 Mule Team, back in September, I managed to convince like five or six different people that it would be a great idea to come down and ride it with me or crew me and threaten to beat me if I wanted to pull RO. Attrition had whittled our numbers down to just two: me and Kaity (and Kaity’s sainted family, who were coming to crew her). Kaity told me that her friend had staked out a triple space with a white cabover camper “by the grass,” and since there’s really not very much grass anywhere near Ridgecrest, I found it pretty quickly. No one was home, so I moved the bucket and flagging tape and parked by them. (Quite poorly, actually; so poorly that I unloaded poor D and tied her to a tree and tried again. Except that I managed to park just as badly the second time, so I threw my hands in the air and set up camp.)</div><div class="p2"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ7BlqUY_qPVbB6QczcKJ6WjOr7CknkPv5u2OG9P3zK7Ya6wxgDXuIW3jmdw4Blai6XSnVZpIsqxh-WR5MjDiBBOnhrnd7LX3dhgdavfRlobRF1nYVzqC0wj1xOTkxoL0w2mZxujOpWi0/s1600/IMG_1304.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ7BlqUY_qPVbB6QczcKJ6WjOr7CknkPv5u2OG9P3zK7Ya6wxgDXuIW3jmdw4Blai6XSnVZpIsqxh-WR5MjDiBBOnhrnd7LX3dhgdavfRlobRF1nYVzqC0wj1xOTkxoL0w2mZxujOpWi0/s1600/IMG_1304.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Ain't gonna lie; her neck is so white because I clipped all the dirt off the day before.</div><br />
</div><div class="p1">Snug under our blankets, we both slept pretty well. The next morning, I braided Dixie, then Tami and Dave tag-team glued boots on her. After the glue had set for a while, I <i>actually washed </i>my horse — well, rinsed at least — and we were “ready.” I spent the rest of the day slowly sifting through my stuff, making an Away Checks pile and a Food Pile and a Manure Pile and a Pile of Crap to Tie to the Horse. Unbelievably, this took me an entire day and merits at least one additional post — I took a lot of pics of my gear, and Dixie’s feet have drastically changed shape yet again, so that’s coming later this week. </div><div class="p2"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhga0X8yFrXKRFm_dSGS2_nSedC37BZYENugMa80u5DoNhCKPzBqFRv2lm1sH2zsY1v32eb1af0QyYsPKrhwZ-A3nWsMAoXW3JONe4USYpErsSuAF2LqhDGruyrm5EX2Jjx53-OE374A5g/s1600/funder-tami-dave.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhga0X8yFrXKRFm_dSGS2_nSedC37BZYENugMa80u5DoNhCKPzBqFRv2lm1sH2zsY1v32eb1af0QyYsPKrhwZ-A3nWsMAoXW3JONe4USYpErsSuAF2LqhDGruyrm5EX2Jjx53-OE374A5g/s1600/funder-tami-dave.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div><br />
</div><div class="p1">We vetted in with a 36 — yes, <i>thirty-six</i> — pulse, all A’s, and so much impulsion that our trot-out was a buck-fest. I threw her back on the hi-tie and headed over to completely zone out through the ride meeting, as always. Hundreds start at 6 am. Pink ribbons, then glow sticks. 60 pulse, 64 at the finish, maybe 64 at the 91 mile check too? Don’t lose your meal ticket, and don’t leave it stapled to the ride card! </div><div class="p1">Kaity’s mom cooked actual hot food for us and we had a lovely dinner with lots of laughs. I hadn’t seen her mom and sister since Tevis last year, but I remember thinking they seemed cool back then, and I was right. They’re hysterically funny, terrifyingly competent crew, and just great to be around. We all headed off to bed pretty quickly, and before I knew it, it was 4:30.</div><div class="p1">Rather sullenly — I’m always rather sullen at 4:30 — I managed to change into my ride clothes plus some sexy, sexy sweatpants and a hoodie and a parka. I choked down a stale powerbar and half a red bull and got to work on the horse. </div><div class="p1">Dixie knew exactly what was up. She tried to keep her shit together, but by the time I was ready to bridle her and get up, she was high as a kite. I took the parka off, but I couldn’t bear to part with the hoodie, and I honestly forgot I was wearing the sweatpants. One last “I’m not entirely sure this was such a good idea” post to Facebook and I was up and headed for the start. </div><div class="p2"><br />
</div><div class="p1">Kaity and I left in about the same spot we’d ride at all day — near the back, but not last place. The horses were jiggy and fresh, and we just kept it to a dull roar as we worked out way through town and up the first ridge. (I’d heard a few stories about 20MT and “riding through town” and it’s not quite what I’d expected — you do ride a couple miles in town, but they’re rural desert sand roads, not paved roads for the most part. Two paved crossings, I think, and you cross 395 a few times during the ride, but it’s not like riding through Virginia City.) </div><div class="p2"><br />
</div><div class="p1">Very quickly, we made it to the top of the ridge and went past the photographers. Bill and Rene got great pictures of us, as always, and it’s a shame I look so frumpy and un-purple, but hey at least I was warm! </div><div class="p2"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ5KQ_XSGo4XSR9PawsiZLrXThUzyQmsUanxT8acz9RRAc5AXAzE9uiJ3psn_9xuTx7fMsozGScCib-rJdyB2lrv7rVMDiYL2H5wj-hwCOymTMk7mPhyG7KMgsba2V_qtgAmBtQyrIWjM/s1600/IMG_1428.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ5KQ_XSGo4XSR9PawsiZLrXThUzyQmsUanxT8acz9RRAc5AXAzE9uiJ3psn_9xuTx7fMsozGScCib-rJdyB2lrv7rVMDiYL2H5wj-hwCOymTMk7mPhyG7KMgsba2V_qtgAmBtQyrIWjM/s1600/IMG_1428.jpg" height="241" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgua64cPCHoIDMnQHcOOOFXpPFTDmLU1QtCotb7D1a69GFaxjceUNGu-s3VJ-7qI184nLrL6vQgYdTwQQPecuQXo_-eoGFb4KaFYfc-OLjwqmSYPm6opiXPbuDqevQLB13lEar0836N1TA/s1600/IMG_1430.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgua64cPCHoIDMnQHcOOOFXpPFTDmLU1QtCotb7D1a69GFaxjceUNGu-s3VJ-7qI184nLrL6vQgYdTwQQPecuQXo_-eoGFb4KaFYfc-OLjwqmSYPm6opiXPbuDqevQLB13lEar0836N1TA/s1600/IMG_1430.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">\m/</div><br />
</div><div class="p1">Not long after the pictures, we saw Mr. 420, The Possibly Phallic Monkey Rock. I don’t know what else you could possibly call it, and I am somewhat at a loss for words, so here’s some pics.</div><div class="p2"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkfx-XQ-CTTJ7k4VgI2HfozZdyVH4HDkRhFq1ssqQV-PeNz0Om1MTvQn1EWP-qWznCLiS4HO1ikfurAEI3DlLYlbsim757pmQc9bl9a-TZ7X9ik4yhHTZ9NBI4yq5idmkSuxGqF0jl4Ug/s1600/IMG_1378.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkfx-XQ-CTTJ7k4VgI2HfozZdyVH4HDkRhFq1ssqQV-PeNz0Om1MTvQn1EWP-qWznCLiS4HO1ikfurAEI3DlLYlbsim757pmQc9bl9a-TZ7X9ik4yhHTZ9NBI4yq5idmkSuxGqF0jl4Ug/s1600/IMG_1378.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Mr. 420</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid6S74XzAwShu0JJWgYoWj0_kvgQjV74CXQ4yTO-xtEUSuwbzc7-Hdzef1QKzs9799TcgEXSTBTLHBg-aHSp_fYZtrA1hEdv96rGcoaDqF4USmdy_Ea434wyoAUKy_5afvnSk9oNrOVmw/s1600/IMG_1379.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid6S74XzAwShu0JJWgYoWj0_kvgQjV74CXQ4yTO-xtEUSuwbzc7-Hdzef1QKzs9799TcgEXSTBTLHBg-aHSp_fYZtrA1hEdv96rGcoaDqF4USmdy_Ea434wyoAUKy_5afvnSk9oNrOVmw/s1600/IMG_1379.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The monkey face.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzD-ARRhnjXa1a3-K8v_nb1Q3PtkrmATCvgQfbvRkeLwuXwowHZB6i3-13ji7gdNDbdbwHFuYfhVeVkdFdEoBVKrOoWu2MInXbEKgllv9eKQMnywQGH7_NYBZsNK50yDu2irTp77TGh_E/s1600/IMG_7583.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzD-ARRhnjXa1a3-K8v_nb1Q3PtkrmATCvgQfbvRkeLwuXwowHZB6i3-13ji7gdNDbdbwHFuYfhVeVkdFdEoBVKrOoWu2MInXbEKgllv9eKQMnywQGH7_NYBZsNK50yDu2irTp77TGh_E/s1600/IMG_7583.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Another shot of the monkey, from Lucy's ride last year.</div></div><div class="p2"><br />
</div><div class="p1">We zoomed down the other side of the ridge and along the singletrack beside the highway, then got ready to cross. There was a volunteer at the side of the highway — probably a number-taker or somebody to help us wait for a break in traffic — except she was wearing purple riding tights and a helmet and <i>oh shit that’s Jaya!</i> Sans horse. We stopped and checked in with her: are you ok? Do you know which way Asali went? Did anybody tell ride management? And then we went on our way. Kaity called her mom to double-check that somebody’d gotten the message to ride management and we headed across the flats — not much else we could do right then. </div><div class="p2"><br />
</div><div class="p1">Dixie wasn’t interested in water at 9 or 12 miles, and I refused to let myself think about it. If she doesn’t drink by 18 miles, I start to worry very much, but a large part of this journey has been learning to trust the horse about some things. If she’s thirsty, she drinks; if she’s hungry, she eats. We rode along a dead railroad track for a while, then cut under the trestle bridge, chatting the whole way. Before we knew it, it was 8:30 or so and we were at the first vet check (I’m going to call them VC1, VC2, etc — I haven’t suddenly switched gears to talk about Virginia City.) We’d gone 16 miles, I felt quite perky, and Dixie was ready to start drinking. </div><div class="p2"><br />
</div><div class="p1">We pulsed down in one or two minutes, passed the vet check, and let the horses eat for the 20 minute hold. The Best Crew Ever (I’m really sorry to all my previous crews but I don’t love y’all anymore, holy crap Kaity has her family so well trained, y'all gone have to up your game now) shoved a grande mocha in my hand and I sucked it down and ate two boiled eggs and kicked off the sweats and managed to push the right buttons to turn on the spot-tracker and shoved a granola bar in Dixie’s face and popped an electrolyte chaser in after and got back on and whoosh we were gone. It goes <i>that fast</i> - you spend <i>years </i>of your life dawdling down these stupid boring-ass gravel roads, but you get to a vet check, and you’re in and out in about twelve seconds. </div><div class="p2"><br />
</div><div class="p1">We chugged on up a pretty good — and extremely scenic — canyon climb. Jaya reappeared behind us, mounted on Asali, her <s>Rocky Mountain,</s> <i>(edit: woops, not a Rocky, a Foxtrotter? definitely gaited!)</i> this time. She was hanging with the Nevada Riders, and we leapfrogged their group for a bit before they slowly drew ahead. Dixie felt really, really good — not “I will buck you off” good, and not “I am going to set a new speed record” good, but Dixie Good. Strong and sound and very rateable and very interested in going with the other horses down the trail at a completely sustainable pace. </div><div class="p2"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNn34r-lVfR89os7C97H4PeWfoJx9afyUiuQmQoIvKORTFhfv7PVY3cMg-EaWoGPZkJtsrdk39gXZoav6j5eYhFJ0X8Kgp2zrzyrERRbCFe4y_qxG-qV3OgXw-WNTb_nLfLoZrBUzAjDA/s1600/IMG_1349.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNn34r-lVfR89os7C97H4PeWfoJx9afyUiuQmQoIvKORTFhfv7PVY3cMg-EaWoGPZkJtsrdk39gXZoav6j5eYhFJ0X8Kgp2zrzyrERRbCFe4y_qxG-qV3OgXw-WNTb_nLfLoZrBUzAjDA/s1600/IMG_1349.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Jaya in purple, Dave Rabe, TJ (?), and I think Connie was just in front of Jaya.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh19zO-8B7etOPObHbC_ccwxzicX3WwVmEi_f9iEcBPpBa1SWEH7amtztFi-eVNKX6uQEFZBXV9F4jhxhHfpARE3EPxaZZ96MSDjhhHPDi8mg774F-yCIgYLC7yrtKUdk-TsAOozhbZBqk/s1600/IMG_1350.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh19zO-8B7etOPObHbC_ccwxzicX3WwVmEi_f9iEcBPpBa1SWEH7amtztFi-eVNKX6uQEFZBXV9F4jhxhHfpARE3EPxaZZ96MSDjhhHPDi8mg774F-yCIgYLC7yrtKUdk-TsAOozhbZBqk/s1600/IMG_1350.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Your glamorous blogger with Kaity.</div></div><div class="p1">About an hour after leaving VC1, we came to The Forest. I’d been warned to pay attention near here, lest I miss my one chance at seeing trees, so I was ready for it. Behold!</div><div class="p2"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLJrkSv3SDhwpxkNIZnj7B-Ll06KiY-oq62LMDwrgMMHC2WHRiJUr26AKYrzjx4aVNHHFbktBfi5ktJPfiUwr0lY01295cMJD3zhspfuTz0Oy-7oX2lnYBeHeGaDm-h34G6ihhFK7MpX0/s1600/IMG_1352.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLJrkSv3SDhwpxkNIZnj7B-Ll06KiY-oq62LMDwrgMMHC2WHRiJUr26AKYrzjx4aVNHHFbktBfi5ktJPfiUwr0lY01295cMJD3zhspfuTz0Oy-7oX2lnYBeHeGaDm-h34G6ihhFK7MpX0/s1600/IMG_1352.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div></div><div class="p1">Also, Robert Ribley had told us to keep an eye out for petroglyphs (the ancient native kind, not the modern spray-painted monkey-face kind) on the rocks near The Forest. I’d already put my phone up, and it was far too early in the day to stop and backtrack for pictures, but we <i>did</i> see the petroglyphs. Kaity spotted them, on a boulder behind some kids camping in The Forest. If you’re going south up that canyon, look on the right fairly high up as you pass the trees, and you’ll see them!</div><div class="p2"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8C6BZA-B5OphszXaCK7C9S6FOrjaa5rJoRGqH2OELXJx_TgruH7PvUDP4PR6nAJ-wttNRTYibOdIcxAChzOY_E1PdB0EvbpTkG_uCO9yxP0GHBPKOufJ01QcVZ5y18_ABQNVw9Q3qExU/s1600/IMG_1353.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8C6BZA-B5OphszXaCK7C9S6FOrjaa5rJoRGqH2OELXJx_TgruH7PvUDP4PR6nAJ-wttNRTYibOdIcxAChzOY_E1PdB0EvbpTkG_uCO9yxP0GHBPKOufJ01QcVZ5y18_ABQNVw9Q3qExU/s1600/IMG_1353.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Headed down.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbcT0NHvvFAVyPZwDq5cns2c1JGMj50EhcoYJl3SYBx2bSe5vSnqGyJuzxI3Zph-BSmtbM4acsUKGHKoMgnGKvzGVGUkXnV8BRDwpEgZ0Wz367FV75ayCLLwVIRXztGdD2wxkKsRl__jo/s1600/IMG_1354.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbcT0NHvvFAVyPZwDq5cns2c1JGMj50EhcoYJl3SYBx2bSe5vSnqGyJuzxI3Zph-BSmtbM4acsUKGHKoMgnGKvzGVGUkXnV8BRDwpEgZ0Wz367FV75ayCLLwVIRXztGdD2wxkKsRl__jo/s1600/IMG_1354.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Headed up.</div><br />
</div><div class="p1">We worked our way up. For a while a pickup followed us, quite slowly, and we thought he was a rather ambitious driver - a nice late-model dually on a narrow, incredibly rocky and steep off-road road. We kept waiting for him to turn, and he kept following us, but he never got close enough for us to move out of his way and pass, so whatever. People in the desert get weird, but they’re usually harmless. </div><div class="p2"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV852C9C3ywSaJUCbCuAibdNJJOk6Qe-qmdxk6MkBtFYehJouiPuzyuPrluJqJ9Mgy52K_NUTMATndBwiTccIiMINs0Z6e12wp2SAkZ9dErrnVbYsqGuyJ_FCc62BVsWoDrKuKnonO0fk/s1600/IMG_1356.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV852C9C3ywSaJUCbCuAibdNJJOk6Qe-qmdxk6MkBtFYehJouiPuzyuPrluJqJ9Mgy52K_NUTMATndBwiTccIiMINs0Z6e12wp2SAkZ9dErrnVbYsqGuyJ_FCc62BVsWoDrKuKnonO0fk/s1600/IMG_1356.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div><br />
</div><div class="p1">We caught up to some other riders at a water stop, and the pickup pulled in behind us, briefly. He had a generator and two flakes of hay in the bed of the truck, and he offered us hay, and then he drove away again, and we sort of shrugged and went on. I still don’t really know. </div><div class="p2"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZxLbNLueW2xIvAJpyL6MuCLeqtwjqrwlh291AuUUkAp3daLQzdgd81iVzbbCXcOlcwL3Lka0q9s3qg1Gg7RYhmqQTbnu2F-qG0fvaPBARzKadxHKd37_tv25CvXVP97RGSOi61ROyytY/s1600/IMG_1359.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZxLbNLueW2xIvAJpyL6MuCLeqtwjqrwlh291AuUUkAp3daLQzdgd81iVzbbCXcOlcwL3Lka0q9s3qg1Gg7RYhmqQTbnu2F-qG0fvaPBARzKadxHKd37_tv25CvXVP97RGSOi61ROyytY/s1600/IMG_1359.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div><br />
</div><div class="p1">At about 25 miles, we crested the mountain and started a long gradual descent. We’d been making good slow-but-steady time all day, trotting the bits that weren’t too steep, too rocky, or too deep. We weren’t precisely <i>tired of riding</i>, not like when I used to make a heroic effort to ride 25 miles and then fall on my face for two days, but it was a good point to get off and jog slowly with the horses. Kaity is also a trail runner, and like Mel, she assured me that it’s not that I’m such a sucky runner, it’s just how normal people run trails. Perhaps I’m not the Worst Runner Ever :) </div><div class="p2"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEDwLu2enusV4hveEe1CSbBKOPpt2KAPit7MMlaaKVibg_v1dBdBZ0X2QJuvUtDSHN1PPsrf9wqU79uguBdVC7XDbpLC2qeusTtotgJ9cy8cCzO3yG7PkJCLRWid-96HQCWc51HAY9qD4/s1600/IMG_1361.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEDwLu2enusV4hveEe1CSbBKOPpt2KAPit7MMlaaKVibg_v1dBdBZ0X2QJuvUtDSHN1PPsrf9wqU79uguBdVC7XDbpLC2qeusTtotgJ9cy8cCzO3yG7PkJCLRWid-96HQCWc51HAY9qD4/s1600/IMG_1361.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Cool striated volcanic rock.</div><br />
</div><div class="p1">So we slowly ran the not-so-steep downhill bits, and we walked the steeper bits, and when we got bored with being on foot, we got back on and rode some more. Kaity told me what she knew about the formation of this mountain range — it’s volcanic, and there’s some cool outcroppings of striated lava and some epic lavabombs and it’s just very, very cool if you’re a high-desert nerd like me and Kaity are. </div><div class="p2"><br />
</div><div class="p1">We worked our way down out of the mountains (the Goler Heights, according to one of Lucy’s maps) and onto a big flat desolate plain. Kaity pointed off to the left where some tiny vehicles were sparkling and said that must be the vet check — this year, they moved the “dry lakebed” check a mile down the road, to The Other Forest (more than one tree is a forest, yes?) We trotted on over right around lunch time.</div><div class="p2"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPk2WzQ9ZWziKomPovDsR8IcDbxTjRyQFWUdVWaVZoxEpYanio62G5fb69H1vsMpL3RWXaUzHKG22UKwZ9ecFxFpY6iQyonmVfcdwg0E1onIGJiQdwgKMH7THcEMC3f0sCUyghVxyjOIM/s1600/IMG_1362.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPk2WzQ9ZWziKomPovDsR8IcDbxTjRyQFWUdVWaVZoxEpYanio62G5fb69H1vsMpL3RWXaUzHKG22UKwZ9ecFxFpY6iQyonmVfcdwg0E1onIGJiQdwgKMH7THcEMC3f0sCUyghVxyjOIM/s1600/IMG_1362.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dead ahead, in the middle distance, is the Other Forest vet check.</div><br />
</div><div class="p1">Dixie was a little hot and sweaty and sullen, and it took her four minutes longer than Kody to pulse down. I sponged her neck and whispered sweet nothings in her ears, and she came down from the 80s to the 60s and then down to 60 criteria pretty well. Like a lot of things that day, it wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t unexpected. But once she was down she vetted fine — even had a CRI in the mid-50s after her trot-out. </div><div class="p1">We had a whole hour at this check, and the horses dove into their slushy mashes (and each others’ hay) while the riders set to stuffing their faces. Not only did I have enough time to sit down while I ate, I had enough time to <i>order snacks for the next check</i>. I decided I’d rather like a lemonade-y drink and we got ready to ride again. We screamed our thank-yous to everybody helpful in camp, clambered back on our patient horses, and headed out to conquer Golf Ball Mountain. </div><div class="p2"><br />
</div><div class="p1">But first we had to ride for three years down a stupid boring road beside a stupid boring railroad track. </div><div class="p2"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq0UXDRSkVBNZQ8oaiJ66kBxFx9AGODEKbnYH-3v0StgmUhA-FC-4jQdMKmOiOklzZmurpVVWiyKLHg2CPK6EaCsyXJFAgNL8-Asm5eReFnjULEGSZ47jxc88wZrh5fgIdfGHW8ysxhfQ/s1600/IMG_1366.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq0UXDRSkVBNZQ8oaiJ66kBxFx9AGODEKbnYH-3v0StgmUhA-FC-4jQdMKmOiOklzZmurpVVWiyKLHg2CPK6EaCsyXJFAgNL8-Asm5eReFnjULEGSZ47jxc88wZrh5fgIdfGHW8ysxhfQ/s1600/IMG_1366.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://youtu.be/AWtCittJyr0" target="_blank">Road to Nowhere</a></div></div><div class="p1">One of the things Dixie and I just have a hard time doing at our barn is long trotting. We can’t trot for more than five minutes straight in our park without encountering some other Trail Users, and most of the other Trail Users aren’t cool with an endurance horse trotting quietly and politely by on the other side of a doubletrack trail, so we have to slow down and say hello and quietly walk past and then pick up the trot. (Usually we make it a hundred yards down the trail, turn the corner, and find another professional dog walker trying to corral seven Labs and two pit mixes and we have to stop, completely, yet again. They are probably as annoyed by us as we are by them, but you know what? This is an endurance horse blog, not a professional dog walker blog.) </div><div class="p2"><br />
</div><div class="p1">Anyway. I got a little distracted there. The point is, we haven’t done any serious no-stopping long-trotting sets in quite a while. Now that I am also a runner, I understand how fatiguing it is to trot nonstop if that’s not what you usually do, so I taught Dixie to count. I didn’t mean to, but I really think I did.</div><div class="p2"><br />
</div><div class="p1">Kody happily trotted along down the never-ending Road to Nowhere. Dixie and I would walk for twelve steps, then we’d break into a little trot and catch up to Kody, then I’d let her walk for twelve steps again. Ten seemed parsimonious, and sixteen let Kody get too far ahead for me to talk to Kaity, and somehow I ended up settling on twelve walk steps and then a short trot. After a while, she started to anticipate me, and she’d just trot on her own after 12 steps - and when I got bored counting to twelve and started trying 10-step walk sets, she got <i>really angry</i> if I’d ask her “too soon.” I know that she might have just been keeping time in her head, but I really kind of think she can count to 12, and you cannot convince me otherwise.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcEZ0u0ZZrCjNE9OEUSoNsyvtYpclN0sHMNKOJ1lzomS6mI75NGOySxZHiuBRkTg0RqeDwAK9gXPYDzxedupykCveldprN7vl6PZi3tPY4RcRbEDAUAd4EnJYA6ESqC0_AG3GQ6cfFYA8/s1600/IMG_1367.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcEZ0u0ZZrCjNE9OEUSoNsyvtYpclN0sHMNKOJ1lzomS6mI75NGOySxZHiuBRkTg0RqeDwAK9gXPYDzxedupykCveldprN7vl6PZi3tPY4RcRbEDAUAd4EnJYA6ESqC0_AG3GQ6cfFYA8/s1600/IMG_1367.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It's just a RR mile marker... but it says 420, so you know I had to get a pic.</div><br />
</div><div class="p1">But this too shall pass, even if it’s a never-ending Road to Nowhere beside a railroad track, and eventually we crossed the tracks and started the climb to the Golf Ball. I suppose at this point I have to admit that it’s not quite as cool as a tourist-trap World’s Largest thing, but it’s still pretty cool - it’s an observatory. We worked sloooowly up a long, long sand canyon climb, with occasional glimpses of the Golf Ball. </div><div class="p2"><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBAsfvCWJQnO7Q1ET6TpmSaHMHNI6A3YxtEXOUzMSOIvM048ivj9B3GrDHPW_-yEWUN0emxwomVVF41kSDmhZDpKVfD_3xaxpRHT1dFnBEgU0HLroVAzBUBK9smqmmPPhgVtanAX3-3Tw/s1600/IMG_3247.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBAsfvCWJQnO7Q1ET6TpmSaHMHNI6A3YxtEXOUzMSOIvM048ivj9B3GrDHPW_-yEWUN0emxwomVVF41kSDmhZDpKVfD_3xaxpRHT1dFnBEgU0HLroVAzBUBK9smqmmPPhgVtanAX3-3Tw/s1600/IMG_3247.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Obviously not my picture - another from Lucy, from 2011 I think.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div><div class="p1">We leapfrogged with our teammates on this climb — they did a team thing at this ride, and Dixie and I (and Kaity/Kody, of course) were part of Team Slow. Spoiler: we lived up to our team name, but we all got ‘er done. Cheri and Helen, riding an Appy and an (Arab?) stud, were near us all day and all night. </div><div class="p2"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVdnUG5N_oaowGoEHuotHgtD-fsV1_MnqPUGfHrkuAi4uCn5-msYAA6aGZX_5lqHECLCV-8bzv-MiAcz6PodVCKk-wBJIAJ4Ib3MRJLrlApYuy8wg2o8-pD4_7_7xy-E5Ob8_028E-EAU/s1600/IMG_1372.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVdnUG5N_oaowGoEHuotHgtD-fsV1_MnqPUGfHrkuAi4uCn5-msYAA6aGZX_5lqHECLCV-8bzv-MiAcz6PodVCKk-wBJIAJ4Ib3MRJLrlApYuy8wg2o8-pD4_7_7xy-E5Ob8_028E-EAU/s1600/IMG_1372.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My best Golf Ball pic.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHBNt7VCwSaYXtNMS4UxKEr5Ff8zc9UQpaFnUX8EO33Y90shRM_Mjx_aqR_XU6yM01UaOOIx4auLGbqpt97HXaAiZKiCKevefcRrOEuSuUqbZ5fmMjIKA_q2WtquKEKbPBpaw0a9m3f1Q/s1600/IMG_1373.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHBNt7VCwSaYXtNMS4UxKEr5Ff8zc9UQpaFnUX8EO33Y90shRM_Mjx_aqR_XU6yM01UaOOIx4auLGbqpt97HXaAiZKiCKevefcRrOEuSuUqbZ5fmMjIKA_q2WtquKEKbPBpaw0a9m3f1Q/s1600/IMG_1373.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Spotty butt!</div><div class="p1">Somewhere near the top, we got to a very welcome water trough. I hopped off and pulled Dixie’s bridle and rode the rest of the day bitless — I didn’t think I’d really <i>need</i> brakes again, and she’d got a very good one-rein-stop anyway, and I thought she might like not having that thing in her mouth for all those hours. All the horses slurped up water while I strapped the bridle down in my intricate lacework of bungees on the cantle and got the reins swapped to the sidepull rings, and then I did not fall in the water tank when I used it for a mounting block and we were off again! </div><div class="p2"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="p2" style="text-align: start;"></div><br />
<div class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px;">The hillsides were dotted with Joshua trees. I’d never seen them, not in real life anyway, before this trip, and I had to double-check with Kaity that they were, in fact, Joshua trees. (No, I did not sing U2 — I’d already subjected her to a couple lines of Talking Heads, back down on the railroad trail, and I really didn’t want her to run away from my terrible singing voice.) They are totally crazy looking, and they were just starting to bloom, and there were quite a few of them. </div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSVJF4KEE5CStAGFS85TN1AT6K4Nan_20PUhYyOHCDuKPMQS9sd5SmkIOFjFGRFvuCZm78d83UGzmtgSruc9Llhbmq_4RiKJXMkW_IFhluD8zRJ0Ud8Zo8FF1IqVu0qrFQQ3_vFkpx5io/s1600/IMG_1375.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSVJF4KEE5CStAGFS85TN1AT6K4Nan_20PUhYyOHCDuKPMQS9sd5SmkIOFjFGRFvuCZm78d83UGzmtgSruc9Llhbmq_4RiKJXMkW_IFhluD8zRJ0Ud8Zo8FF1IqVu0qrFQQ3_vFkpx5io/s1600/IMG_1375.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Mine tailings and a <a href="http://youtu.be/3FsrPEUt2Dg" target="_blank">Joshua tree</a>!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div><div class="p1">We found some dirt bikers along there, too. A couple of them were zooming around further up the mountain, and a couple were hanging out on our trail, waiting for their friend to get his bike started. We said hi, and Dixie thought about giving them the stink-eye, but I kicked her and called her a fool so she ended up walking quietly by. </div><div class="p2"><br />
</div><div class="p1">On the long slow shitty-rocky descent back down to the common trail, we abandoned the rest of Team Slow and started making good time again. It’s a rocky power line road, and I kept us both amused by guessing wildly about where we were. “Is that Ridgecrest over there?” “No, that’s Inyokern.” “Hmmm. So camp is this way?” “More like the opposite of where you were pointing.” I was <i>so lost</i>, all day — usually I have a good sense of direction, but I could not get this ride straight in my head. I figured if I just kept the pink ribbons on the right I’d eventually find a town again.</div><div class="p2"><br />
</div><div class="p1">Kaity spent the whole descent from the troughs looking for, talking about, and pointing out the railroad trestle we were going to go under. We’d gone under one already, and we both love a good railroad trestle, and as the miles slowly ticked away and the trestle grew closer we got more and more excited… until… the trail turned. They’d rerouted it, and we weren’t going under the trestle, we were just going over the rail-to-trail. Boring!</div><div class="p2"><br />
</div><div class="p1">But then we rejoined the morning trail and we were headed toward the 56-mile VC3 check and everything was pretty good, even without a good railroad trestle. We let the horses trot a bit and walk a bit and even canter a bit. On one of our little trot sets, less than a mile from the check, Kody quit paying attention and almost wiped out — he tripped over an invisible boulder and went down on his knees. But he adores Kaity, and he pulled up before he went all the way down or she came off, and he staggered back to his feet. She leapt off, checked his scraped knees, and let him walk for a few minutes. He walked sound, so she trotted him in hand and he trotted sound, so she hopped back up and rode him into the check.</div><div class="p2"><br />
</div><div class="p1">Both horses vetted fine. This vet check was set up near the highway, at the spot where the 9-mile water troughs had been in the morning, if that makes sense? On our way out, they were 9 mile water troughs, on our way back on the 65 loop they were the 56 mile hold, and we’d stop by one more time at 91 miles, in the queasy cold darkness. </div><div class="p2"><br />
</div><div class="p1">But this was at like 4 pm, and it was only a ten minute hold. Dixie was quite hungry, and Jaya had put some alfalfa in one of the troughs, and after Dixie drank some she marched over to the alfalfa-water and started munching. I checked in with Jaya, the usual “how’s your ride going?” stuff, and she headed out with her group, just a few minutes ahead of us. I needed to vet Dixie and shove food in my face, but I did not move an inch until Dixie had eaten her fill of that good soggy hay. When she came up for air and started looking around, I dragged her straight over to Sue and got her vetted, and then, finally, we went to the Greatest Crew Truck and I got a snack.<br />
<br />
</div><div class="p1">I don’t remember what all I ate at which holds, but I’m pretty sure this was the chocolate pudding stop — Brenna offered me a pudding, and it looked amazing, so I ripped it open while she looked for a spoon. She was abysmally slow at finding a spoon, so I started licking it out of the container, and when she admitted that perhaps there <i>were</i> no spoons, I just scooped the rest of the pudding out with my fingers. A guy wandering by was like “… that looks <i>so wrong</i>” and I was like “but it tastes <i>so right</i>.” </div><div class="p1">God, I love endurance.</div><div class="p2"><br />
</div><div class="p1">And then back on the horses, nine more miles to camp and our dinner hold and the end of the 65 mile loop and the beginning of the night ride! We’d already done this part of the trail that morning — across the highway, then up the singletrack beside the highway, turn left just past the Ridgecrest billboard, up by the Possibly Phallic Pot Primate, down the long sand draw, and through town. </div><div class="p2"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJhlEwllYeG5_lnmpwm1tDcLoC_jfiiAIfmITjoy4AUKPKA6MMyRtHFdsm8ZZvzMfXccT07XkosE8ITqdrmeSYaSRPYa8PfNYZoX13Px-KXWrckSj3oKy5RUGrXEVI_RvL5MGYNNGi9Hg/s1600/IMG_1380.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJhlEwllYeG5_lnmpwm1tDcLoC_jfiiAIfmITjoy4AUKPKA6MMyRtHFdsm8ZZvzMfXccT07XkosE8ITqdrmeSYaSRPYa8PfNYZoX13Px-KXWrckSj3oKy5RUGrXEVI_RvL5MGYNNGi9Hg/s1600/IMG_1380.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDCcBnbpH-q48RedwwZcX08CL_6HrabE6O-Q6Lqs6n4E_Jn0jpqWm9zg5arkF1Hw3xcHZjp5Xejjpmwix3E6y8BDiG_jtzqWeyMi8lbC8xcEtjyH1adg4ocl9fTAu3nh-iiTHrF-MQyDU/s1600/IMG_1381.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDCcBnbpH-q48RedwwZcX08CL_6HrabE6O-Q6Lqs6n4E_Jn0jpqWm9zg5arkF1Hw3xcHZjp5Xejjpmwix3E6y8BDiG_jtzqWeyMi8lbC8xcEtjyH1adg4ocl9fTAu3nh-iiTHrF-MQyDU/s1600/IMG_1381.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxs1Von3h7oAsi5RJ8CoaVZRYm7yJC9UBNcLIw9RMmuo8atL5_xXdLFoccHGAyPrDQDnCV842IuLJU8mDRig58_HaWyeCJCjECRk4LUQX1AV0Drbswx0AiTfMqGiDh-PMpBKkrn-VndRU/s1600/IMG_1383.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxs1Von3h7oAsi5RJ8CoaVZRYm7yJC9UBNcLIw9RMmuo8atL5_xXdLFoccHGAyPrDQDnCV842IuLJU8mDRig58_HaWyeCJCjECRk4LUQX1AV0Drbswx0AiTfMqGiDh-PMpBKkrn-VndRU/s1600/IMG_1383.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div><br />
</div><div class="p1">I have to admit I had a few momentary thoughts about how I had, in fact, ridden a very long time and it was quite respectable if I just— <b>no. Hell no. After every damn thing I’d gotten through to get here? Hundred or bust, Funder. Harden the fuck up.</b></div><div class="p2"><br />
</div><div class="p1">So we were trotting slowly and happily through town, just a mile or so from the fairgrounds, and some guy came out of nowhere and went blasting past us at a gallop and we looked at each other like… was that <i>Brandon?</i> Did we just get lapped by the <i>hundred </i>front-runners? </div><div class="p2"><br />
</div><div class="p1">Yeah, it was Brandon, who finished first and Best Condition. A few minutes later, Diane cantered by - she’d grab second place. We “caught up” to her at the finish-line trough, about a quarter mile from the fairgrounds, said congrats while our slow-but-steady nags tanked up, then headed on into the dinner check at VC4 about 6 pm. We had felt like were plugging along quite well, but actually <i>seeing</i> the people who’d ridden <i>thirty five miles farther than us in the same time</i> was a little disconcerting, honestly. Good job, y’all — what you do is even more amazing than what I do… but I still don’t want to do it. ;) I mean, really: you didn’t get to ride a single mile at night, and the whole point of riding hundreds is to get the magical nighttime part of the ride! </div><div class="p2"><br />
</div><div class="p1">We got the horses pulsed down around 6 and vetted through right away, then back to the trailers in the deepening dusk. I have no idea why but I hadn’t put glowsticks on D’s breastcollar the night before, so after I got her mash set up I dug out the glowsticks and taped them down. I had an entire bag of mini-glowsticks that were too dim to be useful, and six of the nice Coleman camping ones, so I picked out the three “best” colors (i.e. brightest) and taped them down. I pulled the visor off of my helmet, taped down my nicest headlamp, discovered the batteries were dead again on what I’d previously considered to be my nicest headlamp, ripped the tape off, threw the headlamp somewhere in a rage, and taped my second-nicest headlamp to my helmet. (Death to that damn headlamp; I think the on-off switch is far too sensitive and I’m running the batteries down that way.) I slipped out of the silver stripe tights and into the blue and yellow fleece tights, changed socks, added a flannel, and tied another fleece on the pommel. In between all these little time-sinks, I shoved food in my face as fast as I could.</div><div class="p1">About five minutes before our out time, Jaya appeared with Asali, looking a little sad.</div><div class="p1">“Are you guys going out soon?” she asked. “I was with Dave and Connie and TJ, but Connie got held for a recheck and they haven’t left yet and…” she trailed off.</div><div class="p1">I didn’t even ask Kaity (sorry, babe!) I just said, “Of course! Do you have glowsticks on your breastcollar?”</div><div class="p1">She had a headlamp, but not glowsticks, so I gave her my last three and apologized for how dim they were going to be — it was, like, two blue and a purple, so the dimmest and weakest of the chemical glowsticks, ack! But we got them taped down and I shoved one more mouthful of M&M’s in and we were off into the night, just a few minutes behind.</div><div class="p2"><br />
</div><div class="p1">The thing is, whether or not you think it sounds <i>really, really cool</i> to ride a horse a hundred miles in one day seems to hinge on whether or not you like night riding. Yeah, if you go fast enough you can do it all in the daylight, but the general consensus is that nighttime is when the magic happens. It’s a huge bonding experience with your horse and your group of riders, and it’s wonderful and terrible. </div><div class="p1">So you think to yourself, <i>hell yeah! I love to ride at night!</i> I mean, one of my favorite things to do, back in Memphis, was saddle up the horses at dusk and go night riding with my partner James. He would ride SSB (the spotted horse I rode in October) or Rascal, and I’d take Champ or Dixie, and we’d go out til it got dark and then amble back. We saw deer and coyotes, and we talked about life for hours, and it was amazing. I love to ride at night, I really do!</div><div class="p2"><br />
</div><div class="p1">But taking a fresh horse out on a summer evening for a stroll isn’t quite the same as taking a tired horse out to trot through the night. It was harder than I thought it’d be to trot off into the darkness, honestly. Dixie was, understandably, rather demotivated for the first six miles or so — she did not buy in to the idea of finishing the loop until we were almost at the water troughs on top of the ridge. </div><div class="p1">We caught up to Helen and Cheri and the five of us loosely trailed along together for a while, then the three of us started drawing ahead of them by trotting the nicest bits of the downhills. Trotting around in the dark is absolutely where the magic happens, dudes, and it is beautiful and terrible.</div><div class="p1">The moon wasn’t coming up til 1:24. There was actually quite a bit of light pollution from Ridgecrest and Inyokern, but I could still see thousands of stars, with maybe the faintest suggestion of the Milky Way. I was so glad I’d taken my visor off so I could watch the constellations slowly wheel across the sky. I saw four shooting stars that night, and I think Jaya saw four as well — there must’ve been a meteor shower. I think Kaity (who hadn’t pulled her visor) missed them all, sadly.</div><div class="p1">Anyway, so it’s very, very dark out there, but you’re going to be out til fucking dawn if you don’t trot, so you just screw all your courage together and let your horse trot. We hung our glowsticks very low on the breastcollars, and the horses had enough light to see their footing, but the <i>humans</i> couldn’t really see where the horses were stepping. </div><div class="p1">We all talk a lot of shit about how we trust our horses, but for me, every little trot set was a test of that trust. Dixie’s a very efficient mover, so when she gets tired, sometimes she doesn’t pick her feet up quite high enough and she stumbles. If I catch her with the reins, she doesn’t go down or seem bothered by the whole thing, so I just had to let her trot though the night and be ready to catch her if she stumbled… for the next seven hours. </div><div class="p1">And the other cool thing was the way Dixie listened to me all night. When we walked out of the gate at the fairgrounds, she had her ears twisted back, <i>listening</i> to me, and they stayed that way til we were back at camp. She wasn’t upset (well, a little pissed those first few miles); she was just focused on me. </div><div class="p2"><br />
</div><div class="p1">So we climbed up the ridge and trotted along the ridge, taking turns leading. Kody knew the way, but Asali and Dixie walk almost twice as fast as he does, so we were bumbling along in the lead quite a bit. Kaity saved us from walking into the mine, like she’d almost done one year — there’s one spot up on top where you’re standing at glowstick A and and you can see glowstick B off in the distance, but if you walk straight between them you’ll walk straight into an abandoned mine. The trail takes a gentle curve to the right around the mine and then a gentle curve back to the glowstick, but the trail doesn’t look much different from the rest of the ground!</div><div class="p1">Kody watched out for his mares all night, y’all. If he was leading, he knew where to go. But the mares led at least half the time, and Jaya and I would lose the trail and sort of blunder along, and then Kaity would yell up from the back. “Kody’s getting nervous! You’re off the trail, he thinks it’s to the right.” (This system worked really, really well up until we got too tired to remember which way was right and which way was left.)</div><div class="p1">Before I knew it, we were curving down toward the highway crossing. A numbertaker was waiting at the trough, and Kaity’s crew had brought hot chocolate for all of us. I sucked down the hot chocolate, and then Brenna offered me some rum and diet coke. </div><div class="p1">Ugh, diet coke. I <i>never</i> drink artificial sweeteners. But (don’t read this sentence, Mom and Dad) I learned to party when I was underage at a women’s college, and I know all kinds of handy tricks like “if you don’t stop to breathe you can’t taste it,” so I hit that R&DC pretty hard. Then we were back on the horses, across the highway, and into the darkness again. </div><div class="p1">We trotted when we could and walked when we couldn’t. Dixie stumbled a few times, and I caught her every time, and my seat stayed really secure. Dixie and I were doing our usual thing, yo-yo’ing behind Kody as he trotted along, and I kept a very close eye on how far away he was. If I let Dixie lag too far behind, she’d want to canter to catch up to him, and I was hanging in there ok but my nerves could <i>not</i> under any circumstances take cantering a tired horse in the darkness. I just couldn’t. </div><div class="p1">And then I got quiet, and I started wondering why, and I slowly realized that I was queasy. Really, really queasy. Perhaps a light, haphazard dinner, a handful of chocolate covered espresso beans, a hot chocolate, and five gulps of rum and diet coke wasn’t the best choice. Perhaps staring intently at the way Kody’s breastcollar lights flashed through his legs as he trotted in front of us (but it was so pretty!) wasn’t the best choice either. </div><div class="p1">Jaya and Kaity (who are both nurses) noticed I was quiet about the same time I figured out that I wanted to puke, so we discussed my unruly body the rest of the way to the next water tank. Another numbertaker was there to cheer us on and reassure us that we were only an hour or so from the next vet check. We started off again, and my nurses were lamenting that they didn’t have any anti-nausea drugs with them. Zofran, or something else, or even some Benadryl. </div><div class="p1">I roused myself from my misery long enough to mention that I did, in fact, have Benadryl on my saddle. </div><div class="p1">“You have Benadryl?”</div><div class="p1">“Yeah, I have two vicodin and some duct tape and some benadryl, in case somebody breaks a bone or gets stung by bees! I’m not ready for <i>anything</i>, but by god I’m ready for a broken finger or a wasp!” Or apparently nausea. Who knew? Not me!<br />
<br />
</div><div class="p1">Kaity doled out half a benadryl to me and I slurped it down with a bit of water and we rode on. I think we trotted a few more times, but the footing was relatively bad (for a moonless night) and we were playing it safe. Eventually, we made the turn back onto the trail we’d ridden twice during the day, and we saw the lights of VC5 on the horizon. A few careful trot sets got us to the 91 mile check shortly before midnight.<br />
<br />
</div><div class="p1">The awesome volunteer there fed me a peppermint, and when that went down well she loaded me up with a whole pocketful of peppermints. Kaity yanked off my second-best headlamp and replaced it with her mom’s headlamp, because mine was white light only and Carol’s had a red light. Sue McCartney vetted us through and we let the horses chow down for maybe ten minutes, then we somehow got back in the saddle and headed out again.<br />
<br />
</div><div class="p1">The Benadryl and peppermint had me feeling a bit better, and I’d realized my mistake and stopped staring at Kody’s glowing legs. Kaity also had me turn on the red light and point it at Dixie’s neck, to give my brain something “fixed” to focus on. One or all of those things really worked, and I was ready to trot back to camp.<br />
<br />
</div><div class="p1">We trotted away, just a short way up the trail, then turned to cross the highway. Traffic was pretty light, but the trail goes singletrack and parallels the highway for maybe half a mile, and every fucking time a vehicle came roaring along with its brights on, we were all blinded… and the horses didn’t care. They were locked on to the fairgrounds, trotting steadily.<br />
<br />
</div><div class="p1">It was extra-scary for me. I just worked on holding my good seat and not telegraphing my fear to my horse. You say you trust her, Funder, now fucking <i>trust her</i>.</div><div class="p1">A quick left, a short climb up to the Pot Monkey ridge, and we were dropping back down into the valley where Ridgecrest sits. We started down, and Dixie stumbled one last time, and I caught her but it took literally all of my strength, and I was done. I had completely run out of courage. </div><div class="p1">“Kaity?” I called ahead. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t do this anymore, I just can’t let her trot downhill, I’m so sorry but I’m so scared she’s going to fall—“</div><div class="p1">“It’s ok!” Kaity called back. “I know, it’s so hard to catch them downhill. Here’s what we’re going to do: we’ll walk down into town, and then we’ll trot a few more sets on the nice flat level roads, so you’re not left with the fear of falling, okay?”</div><div class="p1">I could’ve cried (and yes, I’m crying writing this). I was so, so scared we’d fall. Sure, I didn’t want to come off, cause that sucks. But I just kept thinking about Dixie staggering back to her feet lame, after we’d come so far, and I couldn’t do it. And somehow, despite my monumental failure of will, my friends weren’t going to leave me. (I know, it’s not a very monumental failure, but at the time it felt like I was a disappointment to the entire world.)<br />
<br />
</div><div class="p1">So we walked for about … four thousand fucking years. I was so tired of walking, but it gets steeper right before it levels out and I don’t think we’d have trotted it anyway. Jaya started to get queasy too, so I passed her a peppermint and we made Kaity promise to give us the Heimlich — or at least kick us in the stomach til we started breathing again — if we fell off and choked on mints. Eventually, somehow, we made it down.</div><div class="p1">And we trotted again.</div><div class="p1">It was so hard, y’all. But it was absolutely the right thing to do, and I knew it even then. Maybe I can’t trot downhill on moonless nights after midnight, but I <i>can</i> trot the right spot on the trail. And of course Dixie didn’t stumble again, and she was actually quite strong in the sidepull, and we started passing houses we recognized, and we were actually going to make it. Right as we turned to go north to the fairgrounds, the moon popped up in the east, a stunningly beautiful fat crescent lighting up the entire world. </div><div class="p1">Kody was getting stiff and Kaity was worrying about him. “Funder? I’m really sorry but do you think—“ </div><div class="p1">“Oh my fucking god,” I yelled back. “Do not even! Don’t you dare apologize! You two tucked us under your wings and dragged us along all day and took perfect care of us and <i>of course we won’t leave you</i>, of course we’ll just walk in!”</div><div class="p1">The only problem with walking Kody in is that Kody likes to walk about 2.5 mph and Dixie wanted to walk about 5 mph. I had the bridle, still strapped to my cantle bag, but oh my god getting off and bridling her sounded about as complicated as flying to the moon right then. So we just gaited off a little ahead of Kody and then turned around and stood quietly and waited for him to catch up.</div><div class="p1">Hahahah, no, that’s not what happened. We’d gait off ahead of him, and I’d wrench Dixie into a one-rein stop and spin her around and she’d prance and jig impatiently. She is such a mercenary animal — she doesn’t like to be left, but to hell with waiting for her best friend Kody. She’d have ditched him in a heartbeat. About the second time I made her stop and wait for Kody, she actually thought really, really hard about trying to buck — her front end would pop up an inch off the ground, then her back end would come up, but she was a little too tired to actually work up much of a bronc routine. I told her I was going to clock her between her fucking ears if she didn’t knock it the fuck off, and she did actually knock it off. </div><div class="p1">Dixie and I really deserve each other. No other horse/human should have to put up with our respective shit. But my god, we do love each other.</div><div class="p1">So we walked the last, mmm, mile and a half? Straight shot to the fairgrounds. You could see the lights the whole way, and it’s kind of brutal because you can see your destination but you’re moving so slowly you are literally <i>never going to get there.</i> My knees and my groin muscles were screaming, but I knew there was no way I could possibly get back in the saddle, and it was farther than I wanted to walk, so I had to stay up. </div><div class="p1">But it wasn’t hard, not anymore. It was just a little more enduring discomfort and a little more talking and laughing with my friends. I decided I’d get off at the water trough, even though it was maybe a quarter mile from the fairgrounds. We watched for the tanks, but it was Dixie who found them. When she is thirsty, she will ignore anything you ask and just drag you to a trough, and when she zipped off to the left suddenly I knew she’d found the water. I slithered down (did <i>not</i> fall down when I hit the ground, thank you very much), and we limped on home.</div><div class="p1">And then it’s a blur of whooping and crying. Dixie ate while the other two pulsed in and vetted, and then I dragged her away from the hay and trotted her out one last time and we were <i>done.</i> </div><div class="p2"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyiYh_HYwrgjpkkNGqhgNf1Td8je72tVsSUn6hiocesRfVfcmN2FaDKRCGnEOP3bI_QuUaW0cKHOR7wMI9ByEGfxtPrkN7IMRsiGWp007FXyy8ZoLYjAkNx9YOIcGJyg71fp4KInPV6SM/s1600/IMG_1384.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyiYh_HYwrgjpkkNGqhgNf1Td8je72tVsSUn6hiocesRfVfcmN2FaDKRCGnEOP3bI_QuUaW0cKHOR7wMI9ByEGfxtPrkN7IMRsiGWp007FXyy8ZoLYjAkNx9YOIcGJyg71fp4KInPV6SM/s1600/IMG_1384.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div><br />
</div><div class="p1">We did it. I finished a hundred, and I finished it on my bitchy slow Tennessee Walker that I’d trained myself. It took us 11 months and three attempts from when I decided I wanted to try a hundred, last March. We are the most junior members of the pinnacle of this weird extreme sport, and <i>no one</i> can throw shade on me.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqVNlUIWCzhGryObLYiPRsCT6Ehq2YYO1PgHM9CQUH395XwABCUqcWDYmmUxlpvt9NPPZex88VOVP1fIvCd8ANeu6DiBxwzu1USazMFX1iyVFsKu9QQxilEKh33ZwfMnVpJ6Lrug138qI/s1600/kaity-funder-jaya+finish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqVNlUIWCzhGryObLYiPRsCT6Ehq2YYO1PgHM9CQUH395XwABCUqcWDYmmUxlpvt9NPPZex88VOVP1fIvCd8ANeu6DiBxwzu1USazMFX1iyVFsKu9QQxilEKh33ZwfMnVpJ6Lrug138qI/s1600/kaity-funder-jaya+finish.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">We did it! Pic courtesy of Jaya and her dad!</div><br />
</div><div class="p1">Patti Stedman is right — <a href="http://enduranceintrospection.com/in-so-many-aspects-of-our-sport-it-takes-a-village/" target="_blank">it takes a village.</a> From my first blogging friend Sara all the way up to Kaity and Kody, I had help every step of the way. But Dixie and I did the work. We dug deep, deeper than I ever thought we could, and we’re a hundred mile team. </div><div class="p1">I know that she’s not an objectively great horse — with any luck we’ll get Decade Team one day, and a couple hundreds a year for the next few years, but she’s no Perfect Ten. She’s no 10,000 mile horse. She’s not going to be memorialized with a full-page tribute in the EN. I’m not in competition with any of y’all for that kind of recognition. We did this for ourselves. <a href="http://youtu.be/dZmWOK-xVxs" target="_blank">You and me, Dixie, we're in this together.</a></div><div class="p1">I’m delighted to share my journey with y’all, my readers, and I hope you find a quest of your own!</div><div class="p2"><div style="text-align: center;">~*~</div></div><div class="p1">Next, the usual: gear, analysis, endless pictures of Dixie looking slightly thinner and a little tired, a list of everything I ate, and Sunday’s adventures. But that’s the story of our first hundred completion. </div>Funderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358687366401205336noreply@blogger.com41tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773599297895528113.post-12224805655866854452014-02-23T21:30:00.002-08:002014-02-23T21:30:59.905-08:00Placeholder - finished 20MTKaity and Kody did a great job babysitting Team Fixie (and Jaya and Asali, at the end) through our first successful hundred! We finished at 2:18 for a 17:38 ride time.<br />
<br />
I'm alternating between giggling wildly and snuffling away tears, and I'm too tired to write anything else about it just yet.<br />
<br />
Leaving comments off so nobody feels obligated to say "congrats" an extra time - I'll do my best to get the full ride story up tomorrow or Tuesday.Funderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358687366401205336noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773599297895528113.post-76814367985020452672014-02-12T19:05:00.002-08:002014-02-12T19:05:41.002-08:00Flip floppy Funder is going to 20 Mule TeamI hate flip-flopping. I'm one of those people who tries to not say anything until I'm sure about it, but here we go: I changed my mind. I worked really hard for this, and while I don't <i>deserve</i> to go to the ride, I really <i>need</i> to go to the ride. I'm going. (Two of my friends have offered me trucks - I'd really prefer not to have to trailer pool because then I have to pack literally everything I might possibly need and fling it into another trailer and remember to collect it all afterwards, and we all know that's not really my strong point.)<br />
<br />
Anyway, I'm going ... and I'm scared.<br />
<br />
Aarene just wrote <a href="http://haikufarm.blogspot.com/2014/02/in-which-pain-is-thing-and-fear-is.html" target="_blank">a post talking about fear</a>. I think the overlap between our blogs is pretty complete, but if you don't already read her blog, go give her a virtual hug, ok? Anyway, as she so often does, she got me thinking.<br />
<br />
I'm so scared that I don't have it in me to finish a hundred. Sunriver was overwhelming and weird and new, and getting that "we didn't know you were still out here!" comment from management was incredibly discouraging, but VC was all on me. Yeah, I fell, but people finish Tevis with broken bones duct taped to sticks, you know? <i>I want to be that kind of person.</i> Preferably without actually breaking and duct-taping a bone, but I want to know that I can keep going through adversity. Which is what I haven't done, twice.<br />
<br />
And I'm scared to talk about it. Almost everybody who comments here is really incredibly supportive, and I love you all, but I harbor no illusions that I'm universally popular. Maybe if I just don't say anything, no one will have any future ammo to point out how badly I suck / how I've mistreated my horse / how I did something stupid that led up to another failure!<br />
<br />
The thing is, that kind of thinking leads to a sunshine and roses blog, and when I started out on this bizarre quest to Do Endurance, I promised myself that this wouldn't be a sunshine and roses blog. Endurance is doable, but it's hard and scary! (It seems to get less hard and scary after a couple thousand miles, but I'll have to report back when I get to that point.)<br />
<br />
So I'm scared. I'm extra-scared now, actually, that I'll cash in my favors to get to this stupid ride and then not even finish it <i>again</i> argh. But I'm also John Wayne Brave: “Courage is being scared to death, but saddling up anyway.”<br />
<br />
Let's do this, Dixie. \m/Funderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358687366401205336noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773599297895528113.post-14849041918103554112014-02-11T07:31:00.002-08:002014-02-11T07:31:59.044-08:00... so maybe Rides of March.I'm not going to 20 Mule Team. The truck is making a Mysterious Noise, and despite four visits to two mechanics, copious Internet Detecting, and asking my mechanically inclined friends, it's still making the Mysterious Noise. I have airbags, so what the fuck ever if it dies while I'm driving it, but I can't tow with it like this... and now I've spent all my ride money on trying to get it tow-worthy.<br />
<br />
It sucks. It sucks <i>so fucking much</i>. I spent the last six months focused on this ride. I even set a conditioning schedule and stuck to it 100%. But this is just a hobby, and it's the price of being a grownup, and it happens to everybody at some point.<br />
<br />
Please don't suggest that I check (or have the mechanic check) X or possibly Y. It doesn't matter anymore. But please feel free to share your tales of terrible disappointment!<br />
<br />
And I suppose if I'm not going to Ridgecrest, I can get back to posting about random stuff. (Everybody has weird pre-ride superstitions; mine is that I get too nervous to blog. Not that it helped this time!)Funderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358687366401205336noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773599297895528113.post-21969428517869453682014-01-31T16:41:00.000-08:002014-01-31T16:41:16.921-08:00How often / how far: January 2014January is a wrap, and here's my completed calendar:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgevrImmVl1NT_pvOUKBmeDzZdLy-4dGYZQqHZCUxVBqLy0cARLJgKC3mcu149iqg7dPjrgi9-hPypcu4mb_dUWxcmqHaBC5Ht96NeDbLFWXCslmy1mMOtBNtDOC2_n0LxwHgWPWQg6El8/s1600/IMG_1217.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgevrImmVl1NT_pvOUKBmeDzZdLy-4dGYZQqHZCUxVBqLy0cARLJgKC3mcu149iqg7dPjrgi9-hPypcu4mb_dUWxcmqHaBC5Ht96NeDbLFWXCslmy1mMOtBNtDOC2_n0LxwHgWPWQg6El8/s1600/IMG_1217.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
It's about 80 miles total for Miss D. There's a couple of rides with no mileage listed that were just at a walk, or were just a few miles, or I don't know I forgot to write it down and now I've forgotten, but 80 miles is pretty close to accurate.<br />
<br />
My goals were: four long rides, three hill gallop sets, and that 10k people-race. I pretty much nailed 'em.<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>On the 6th we did Briones solo at a pretty good pace. I like to amble peacefully for the first four miles of very pretty singletrack, then freak out about how we're going to be out til midnight and kick it into high(er) gear for the last 10. <b>14/2:53.</b></li>
<li>On the 11th, we picked up K and Gino and did Briones at a green-horse pace. Gino's fitness is coming along very nicely, but he hasn't seen much of the world and we let him have all the time he needed to process trailer loading, new trails, and playing leapfrog with a horse he hasn't known his entire life. He did great. <b>About 4:00.</b></li>
<li>The ride on the 13th was when I realized Dixie really <i>is</i> fitter than this time last year - she marched straight up Orchard without stopping, hit the ridge trail at the top, and cantered for home. Good girl!</li>
<li>We went back to Briones on the 16th. The first four miles went <i>even slower</i> than usual, because Dixie was in heat like I've never seen her before. I alternated between "she's just in heat," "she's colicking and about to die," and "ok maybe not colicking but she's definitely tying up and about to die" before I settled on "just in heat" and insisted that she trot without stopping, peeing, or waiting for Mister Right Now to appear. Somehow, despite taking like 1:15 to go the first four miles, we put the pedal down and did the whole thing in <b>3:10.</b></li>
<li>We went out again that weekend and plonked along at our usual 5.5 mph. </li>
<li>On the 25th, I hauled to Auburn and rode 22 miles of the Tevis trail (Overlook to River Crossing and back). I was with Lucy and ~C, and we were moving at a solid "never hurry, never tarry" moving pace of <b>just over 4:00.</b> (Doesn't include stops for tiny children, dogs, bikes, and loose boots.)</li>
<li>Yesterday, I "cheated" at running by making Dixie canter to the top of the ridge, then trot a couple miles along the ridge, before I finally got off and ran back home with her. </li>
</ul>
<div>
That's it. That's all I did. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
While I am funemployed in sunny, drought-dry California and free to ride whenever, I just want to point out that getting those miles in would be entirely doable with a 40 hour workweek. I'm not saying that to criticize anybody for <i>not</i> riding that much! Especially with the weather most of yall have been suffering through! My point is that <b>training for endurance doesn't take a tremendous time commitment.</b> If you have one day totally free for your long ride, and one or two days where you can spare two hours before or after work, you can get 80 miles a month easily. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
Dixie's attitude is as surly as ever (see above re: Mister Right Now). Her weight is exactly where it was a month ago, despite dumping like 2 lbs of LMF Gold into her 5 days a week. I dewormed her with ivermectin a couple days ago. She's in a low-risk situation (not pastured with many other horses) but it's been a while. She is now going downhill correctly, moving straight down instead of zigzagging. Her tendons and joints have been cold and tight the day after every ride. Of course I let her hooves go to pot over the dead of "winter" but now I'm back on it, keeping her toes back and working those heels down again. I've added a Woolback and a pair of <a href="http://americantrailgear.com/horsecare.html" target="_blank">ATG ice boots</a> to her mountain of gear. She's just starting to shed. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Side note: Somehow, I managed to run 20 miles in January. I think I ran 20 miles in the last six months of 2013, so this is an impressively large figure for me. Yes, it's extremely embarrassing to "run" under a 4mph pace, but whatever - I'm plodding out the miles on some really hilly trails, and I'm getting faster, and I remain injury-free. </div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>The runs on the 9th and 14th were identical lollipops, one with the "pop" going clockwise and one counterclockwise, if that makes sense? Running counterclockwise, I go down a set of very steep trail-steps, run some little hills/flats, and then climb a moderately steep half-mile of trail. When I tried it the other way - running down the moderately steep trail, then panting and gasping my way <i>up</i> the steps, I was surprised to see that my times were about the same. </li>
<li>The "E hike" note on the 20th was me setting out on a run that turned into a hike. My legs felt <i>very tired</i>, so after the first half-mile of relatively flat trail, I turned and hiked up the ridge. I was hoping that if I just stayed out, pushing myself past the first 20 minutes of "ugh I hate running," I'd find some new energy. But my legs still felt like lead, so <b>I listened to my body</b>, which is my new First Commandment. "Running through the pain" makes for some great, great, triple-word-score-great motivational images, but it also leads to injury. Running is my sideline hobby, and that means I'd rather suck a lot at it than risk hurting myself.</li>
<li>On the 17th I put on a hoodie and did some heat conditioning. It sucked like you'd think it'd suck. I shall do it again, more often, but I can't get truly motivated about the heat of summer in January. </li>
<li>Yesterday I stretched out and ran quite a bit faster than usual. This meant I had to take more frequent/longer walk breaks, but overall, my pace was way faster. I <i>am</i> getting fitter, wow! :)</li>
</ul>
<div>
<b>Next month's plan:</b> taper for 20 Mule Team, ride 100 miles in one day, rest and heal. Bonus goals: a 5 mile people-race on the 8th. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
K and I are planning on going back out next weekend, the 8th or 9th, to Briones or Mt. Diablo. We'll let Gino set the pace again, working on Facing Our Fears of Random Objects and playing leapfrog. If we ride on Sunday, I'll run a 5 mile race at Golden Gate Park on Saturday; if we ride on Saturday that means I don't have to get up early and pay $40 to embarrass myself. ;) </div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
After I haul out next weekend, I'll keep riding, but we'll just amble about smelling (and eating) the daisies. When we come back from Ridgecrest, she'll get the last week of February off again - when my legs function right, I'll start taking her for easy hikes to keep us moving around. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I should say something about how March is conditioning for the Nevada Derby in early April but that's entirely too far away for me to think about. There's a <a href="http://www.coastaltrailruns.com/cm_wntr_canyon_meadow.html" target="_blank">trail run in my home park</a> that I might as well do on the 22nd, so that's going on the calendar. 13 miles sounds about a million times farther than I want to run so I'll shoot for the 5 mile distance - maybe park at the barn and jog over to the start and make it closer to 8 miles total. </div>
Funderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358687366401205336noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773599297895528113.post-64260537481573117082014-01-29T08:42:00.002-08:002014-01-29T08:42:37.281-08:00I don't usually just repost stuff but this is too good<a href="http://pieceofheaven1951.blogspot.com/2014/01/thrift-shop-parody-poppin-tags-at-tack.html" target="_blank">Macklemore's Tack Shop</a> by JenJ<br />
(and if you need the soundtrack, here's <a href="http://youtu.be/QK8mJJJvaes" target="_blank">the original video</a>)Funderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358687366401205336noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773599297895528113.post-15779527344176536002014-01-27T10:07:00.001-08:002014-01-27T10:08:28.597-08:00Same old same old!<div class="p1">
We’re less than one month out from 20 Mule Team.</div>
<div class="p1">
Traditionally (based on my <i>vast</i> experience) this is the time of year when I feel like a) everything we did the previous year was a fluke and b) there’s just no way I can ever get Dixie legged back up and c) even if I do it’ll all go wrong and I’ll break her. This year, finally, I’m only worried about breaking my horse, and that’s a fear no horse owner ever manages to completely lose. You just have to accept that they’re equal parts tough as nails and fragile as glass and go on with things.</div>
<div class="p1">
This time last year, I was legging back up for Rides of March, and I did that by riding a steep hill loop over and over again. (Last year it actually rained, and a lot of the trails were too slick for trotting, so I worked steep hills at a walk rather than risk a slip injury.) </div>
<div class="p1">
I went out for one of our little having-fun rides and ended up doing the loop I did so many times last spring. Last year, Dixie would ask to stop a couple times on the hill climb - fewer times as she got back in shape, but still, she’d usually take a breather at one spot. This year, she just marched right up that hill, hit the ridge, and started trotting and cantering for home. Project Keep The Horse Fit is a success!</div>
<div class="p2" style="text-align: center;">
~*~</div>
<div class="p1">
One of the reasons I’ve been quiet is that I haven’t had any good story-rides. I’ve noticed, especially among aspiring endurance bloggers, that we usually start off blogging <i>every damn ride</i>, because it’s all very exciting and new and we’ve got all these fears and problems and worries. It’s exciting to have a place to talk, and it’s really nice to get comments from people who’ve already been through the process… but after a while, you start to feel like you’ve told this story before. Because you have. Many, many times. </div>
<div class="p1">
So at this point, I try to only tell stories about stuff that’s unusual, and of course, to only tell <i>my</i> story. A couple weeks back, I took a new friend to Briones, on her adorable green Arab. He rocked it, with only a little green-horse-brain — but that’s <i>her</i> story to tell or not tell. My only part was letting Dixie hang back, being calm, while Gino thought about a few scary things and decided he could get past them on his own. We played walk-trot leapfrog, but I think he’s going to be ready for more advanced “games” before we know it!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixHSEavKe_uFood2hDvfaWtNZPbFTtgrPXf3RrgcrekEHjMgHk4t4ezaA0SuMN4ZwhvUfwKVjlMlXXsIThD2mzAKsueXalQXgB0mB1Hfmgra-AFNrNT-dmp3ENVcPe5wx2FBKtHad1sGM/s1600/IMG_1125.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixHSEavKe_uFood2hDvfaWtNZPbFTtgrPXf3RrgcrekEHjMgHk4t4ezaA0SuMN4ZwhvUfwKVjlMlXXsIThD2mzAKsueXalQXgB0mB1Hfmgra-AFNrNT-dmp3ENVcPe5wx2FBKtHad1sGM/s1600/IMG_1125.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="p1">
<i>Isn't he adorable? Gonna be a tiny dynamo.</i></div>
<div class="p2" style="text-align: center;">
~*~</div>
<div class="p1">
Saturday Dixie and I headed over to Auburn to ride with Lucy and ~C. We went from the Overlook (the finish line for Tevis) up to the American River crossing and back. We’re not the kind of riders who ever manage to follow the advice of “train faster than you compete,” so it took about 4 hours (moving speed) to do 22 miles. There were a lot of other trail users below Lower Quarry, on the narrower trails, and everybody had some boot issues after the Black Hole.</div>
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The Black Hole is a creek crossing a couple miles from the finish. If you’re riding Tevis — even if you’re top-tenning, I think? — you go through it at night, and it’s very, very dark under those trees. Down a steep rocky bit of trail, through a rocky one-stride creek, then up an equally steep bit of trail. If your boots are at all iffy, you’re going to lose one there. </div>
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<i>I love No Hands. <a href="http://horsetrailriders.com/" target="_blank">Tammy</a> asked if this was the bridge that burned — that's Swinging Bridge, and it's about 50 miles up the trail. The area is still closed from the fire last summer. </i></div>
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I have been running Dixie in the same pair of 0.5 Gloves for almost two years now. They’re stretched out, the gaiters are disintegrating, and the tread’s almost gone, but any time it’s not going to matter if I lose one, I pop them on her hinds. If I’m at a ride, I break out one of the slightly better pairs, but if I’m conditioning, I always end up grabbing the shittiest pair. Somehow these thousand-mile loose-ass half-destroyed boots survived the Black Hole. I did lose one a couple miles further along, when I led her down to the road crossing at the Quarry, but I popped it back on and it didn’t come off again. </div>
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Once we made it past the quarry, the trail traffic cleared out a lot and we had some really nice trot/canter sets. None of our horses is really a born leader, but Lucy’s Roo seems to have decided that he wants Dixie behind him at all times, and if that means he has to lead the way, he’ll do it. When he’d get tired or his nerve would falter, I’d let Dixie march on past him and he’d make terrible faces and surge back in front. Brave, bold Roo!</div>
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<i>She did not want to drink at the river. She did want to drink two miles later, out of a half-inch mud puddle that all the horses decided was the best water they've ever tasted. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hjCHD41I7ok" target="_blank">Whatever, she do what she want!</a></i></div>
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Dixie has been exceptionally moody for the last week or so. She was in extra-slutty heat on the 16<span class="s1"><sup>th</sup></span> and she’s been pissy every since, but she felt really good under me. Still ragingly PMS-y, but forward, sound, and offering a canter on both leads. I can only hope her attitude improves, but I can’t complain. I’ll take “keeps boots on with a pissy attitude” over the alternatives.</div>
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<i>Stole this one from Lucy!</i></div>
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On the way back, we ran into more endurance riders, with a horse Dixie knew from my barn in Oakland. Karl is a Rushcreek gelding who used to live at my barn, but he wasn’t a very good fit for that human so he ended up back with his former owner, and she’s getting him back out on the trails. They definitely remembered each other! They went nostril-to-nostril and “said hello,” no squealing or pawing. My grinchy little heart grew two sizes. </div>
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<i>I don't really know why I took this one. I was probably wondering about the concrete block. But it's a good illustration of just how <b>dry</b> it is. We're going to have some terrible fires this year.</i></div>
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I had to leave immediately — I didn’t even take the time to hose her down. A quick trip by Echo Valley to buy a few things (including the Woolback I’ve been meaning to buy since, oh, October?) and we headed home. I didn’t do anything special for her at all — no ice boots, no diabeetus socks — and the next day she looked great. Perky attitude, not sore, cold tight legs all around. It’s on: we’re going to 20 Mule Team! </div>
Funderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358687366401205336noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773599297895528113.post-31880708476644827792014-01-09T12:38:00.001-08:002014-01-09T12:38:10.579-08:00AERC isn't FEISo y'all know that I'm from the south, and that Dixie was a former show horse. To be a padded show TWH in the South is to suffer, pretty much all the time until your career is over. Here's a World Grand Champion at work:<br />
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<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />I don't know anything about this horse, he's just the first result for "wgc twh" on youtube. I'm not saying he was sored. In fact, I'm assuming he's totally clean and all that action is <i>only</i> from the shoes. Just watching him move gives me the heebie jeebies.<br />
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All that action comes from the enormous, heavy shoes on his feet. Padded horses can't be turned out in anything bigger than a stall-sized paddock, and they can't be ridden on trails that are the slightest bit muddy or trappy. They live in their stalls, only getting out to be ridden. It's a tragic, shitty life and they break down fast. </div>
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By the time I got Dixie, I knew without a doubt that I didn't want to show. I'd done a few local shows, on my gelding Champ and on other people's (plantation shod) horses, and while it was a fun way to spend an evening, it brought out the worst in people. The judging is political and it's a clusterfuck of drama. So I started looking through all the things you could do to have fun with a TWH. </div>
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Trails are fun, but they're not really a goal. Dressage is inherently worthwhile, but you have to have a trainer, and <i>showing</i> dressage is just as political and bitchy (although arguably less cruel). Trail trials sounded cool, but there wasn't a big base of support for it in Memphis. Jumping stuff was right out; you need a trainer <i>and</i> money to burn. Dixie's not at all suited to compete in western games - she's just not catty or fast.</div>
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But endurance - hmm. Ride the horse you've got? Ride all day on trails? Vet checks to make sure your horse was absolutely sound and metabolically stable? T-shirt prizes for everyone, "to finish is to win," awards for Best Conditioned Horse? A bunch of really, really knowledgeable and fearless women? <b>Sign me up!</b></div>
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That's what caught my eye about endurance. Sound horses, going out to have fun all day. That's what I wanted to do. It took me a couple years of wishing before I ever started conditioning (which might be why I'm so absurdly passionate about the sport - I dreamed about this for <i>so long</i>, yall.) </div>
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But that's AERC endurance. We're just the bush league amateurs. There's also FEI endurance, which is the international level of competition, and at this point FEI endurance doesn't look much like AERC endurance. FEI endurance's motto is more like "to win is to win and nobody likes a loser." It's flat-track 50-100 mile Arab racing. </div>
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I've been hesitant to write this because I know -- and like! -- quite a few endurance racers. They're good people. They train hard and race to win, but they put their horses first. </div>
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But any time you get people competing for high stakes, bad things happen. Bad things have been happening particularly often in <a href="http://www.horseandhound.co.uk/?s=fei+endurance&submit=Search"><span class="s1">international FEI racing</span></a>. (Link to Horse and Hound search results for "fei endurance", which has pretty good coverage of the drugging and injuries occurring overseas right now.) </div>
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<b>If you read my blog because you think maybe one day you'd like to try endurance, just as soon as you get all the bits of your life in order, I want you to know that AERC is not FEI.</b> I've seen a tiny handful of possibly-sketchy behaviors in ridecamps. I've seen a few people override their horses, and a lot of vets pulling those horses. Most of us have 1-3 horses that we've spent countless hours conditioning, and we don't want to hurt them - we want to <i>keep riding them</i> more than we want that one win or top-ten. </div>
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But I'm also writing this for my AERC readers. There's a motion up for debate at the January BOD meeting. In December of last year, AERC sent a letter to FEI Endurance, outlining AERC’s proposed changes to FEI rules. Now the BOD is voting on a motion to de-sanction FEI rides* if FEI doesn’t accept and work toward our rules. </div>
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AERC wants, among other things, a change of leadership in FEI Endurance; disclosure of fatalities and injuries; increased penalties for individuals who break FEI rules; more drug testing; and more disciplinary activity during rides. If the motion passes, AERC will no longer co-sanction FEI rides until they make those changes. The full motion is currently <a href="http://www.aerc.org/Temp/DraftAgenda011314.pdf" target="_blank">located here</a> (pdf link). </div>
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I support this, and if you’re an AERC member, I think you should consider supporting it too. Email your BOD reps if you agree. I’m open to debate on this, but I really think distancing ourselves from the rampant corruption and abuse happening in international-level endurance rides is for the best.</div>
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This shit is putting us in a bad light, y’all. People who haven’t been to a ride (or even watched the videos of happy, healthy, full-of-piss-and-vinegar horses finishing AERC hundred-mile rides) already think asking a horse to travel that far is inhumane. Racing so fast and so hard that your horses kill themselves, doping your horses up to mask their pain - this is all bullshit, and everybody knows it. FEI’s corruption is making us all look bad, and distancing ourselves from them is a good thing. I'm sorry if this wrecks your plans to go international with the world's best horse, but if it'll help preserve our sport, I'm all for it.<br />
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Here's a happier video. This is what it's supposed to look like! (thanks for putting this together, LCT!)</div>
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*AERC sanctions rides. Currently, they also co-sanction some rides as AERC/FEI rides, allowing riders to pay the normal fees and ride for AERC points/miles, or pay the extra FEI fees and ride for both AERC points/miles and FEI placings. There are only a handful of co-sanctioned AERC/FEI rides, which makes our international riders Very Unhappy, but for better or worse they’re a minority. The proposed change will shut down the international riders’ options to qualify for FEI rides, but it won't affect AERC-only rides. </div>
<br />Funderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358687366401205336noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773599297895528113.post-3977574314401305242014-01-06T20:44:00.000-08:002014-01-06T20:44:14.651-08:00Thoughts on moving upThis one goes out to Andrea, who <a href="http://uncatchablenumber257.blogspot.com/2014/01/high-roller-i-endurance-ride-1414-part-i.html" target="_blank">just did her first LD</a> (on the first Selle Francais in the database, no less!) I'm <i>super </i>happy for her! She hasn't finished posting her ride story, so no spoilers, but let's just say O kicked ass at the LD. <br />
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This is going to be an American-centric post. Most of the rest of the world requires horses to move up through the levels in some sort of organized fashion, but not us! As usual, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hjCHD41I7ok" target="_blank">we do what we want</a>, so you can in fact start out with 50s (or even hundreds, other than Tevis.) <br />
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The first question I'd ask is <i>Is that enough for you?</i> Like it or not, LD is getting more popular and competitive on its own merits, so some horse and rider teams are going to be perfectly happy riding LD for their entire careers. Endurance riders love to get online and argue about stuff just as much as any other subsection of the population, and there's a hornet's nest of debate about whether or not LDs are "real" endurance. You're welcome to have at it in the comments, but I'm not gonna get into the absolute merits of riding 25 miles competitively. If the answer is <i>no, I'd like to go further! </i>then...<br />
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<i>How's your tack working out</i>? If your horse can eat and drink well enough with your choice of headgear, and you're not seeing tack rubs, and you're getting good back scores, awesome! Keep going, you won't know if it works at 50s until you try it at 50s.<br />
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<i>How's your comfort level?</i> Did you fall down when you got off your horse at the finish? Can you trot her out for the vets, or do you need to beg a volunteer for help? Do <i>you</i> have any "tack rubs or galls"? Is your saddle raping you? Did you heatstroke out? No? Awesome! Did you drink a lot of water, and did you eat? Yes? Yay!<br />
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<i>Is the horse drinking well by the end of your ride? </i>Dixie doesn't usually drink until she's been out for 12-18 miles. I start worrying at 12 miles and I worry for an hour and a half until we hit the water stop somewhere in the 18 mile range. But she always starts tanking up before 20 miles, and she always drinks well. If she's not, we pull (or we will be pulled!) I don't care how good your horse looks at the finish, if she's still not drinking you've got a problem. <br />
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<i>Is the horse eating?</i> If your horse is too amped up to eat, or too tired to eat, you've got a problem brewing. A lot of experienced horses seem to like a power nap during their holds, so it's ok if your horse isn't eating <i>literally nonstop</i>, but she should have a generally good appetite most of the day.<br />
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<i>How's the horse feel?</i> That's something I couldn't answer before I started conditioning Dixie, and honestly, I wasn't entirely sure about until we'd finished a 50. If I'd volunteered at more rides, and watched more horses finish, I might have had a better idea about it. If your horse is very tired after 25-30 miles, you should consider doing more LDs (or more conditioning, but actual rides are very different from training.) If she's more perky than tired, but not maniacally obsessed with the other horses leaving camp, you're probably ok to keep going. <br />
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<i>But it's twice as far!</i> No! It's not! Stop thinking like that or you'll scare yourself silly. It's <i>one more vet check</i>. It's <i>two or three more hours in the saddle.</i> (Or thereabouts. Look, it's ok to lie to yourself sometimes. Two more hours, you can do it.)<br />
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<i>Why shouldn't I take it slow, so to speak, and keep doing LDs til we're top-tenning them? I want to build a good base, right? </i>Yeah, you want a good base, but there's a drawback to doing LD after LD. Horses aren't dumb - wait, they kinda are. Let's try this: horses are extremely good at recognizing patterns and performing to meet those patterns. Your horse will figure out this new game! And if she thinks the game is "eat a lot, trot for 10 miles, do that stupid vet thing for that stupid human, trot for 15 more, do the stupid vet thing again, done," the horse is gonna be unhappy when you ask her to go back out. She's done her job! <br />
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A lot of experienced riders who've been in the sport decades longer than me don't start new horses in LD; they just go straight to 50s. The thing is, they've got the experience to know when a horse is ready. Me, I'll probably do a few LDs on my next horse, but not nearly as many as I did with Dixie. <br />
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Bottom line: use your LD miles to get your tack right, your rider care and nutrition sorted, and to teach your horse that endurance is fun even if she can't pass everybody on the trail. But when the horse looks good and you feel good, move on up! <br />
<br />Funderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358687366401205336noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773599297895528113.post-18929053318790878732014-01-02T20:06:00.000-08:002014-01-02T20:06:17.002-08:00"But how often/far do you ride?" - December 2013One of the things I was really obsessed about as an aspiring endurance rider, and as a total newbie, was "but how far should I be riding?" I asked everybody I knew, and I got answers all over the board - from set-in-stone monthly mileage plans to "I don't know, on the weekends when I'm not at rides I'll get the horse out sometimes?" The answer, like the answer to <i>all </i>endurance questions, is an infinitely frustrating "it varies." <br />
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I've got pretty meticulous records of my 2010-2012 ride statistics - in 2010 and 2011, I GPS'd 95% of my saddle time. (I'm truly, deeply impressed by the <a href="http://distancederby2013.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Distance Derby</a> year-end totals!) But then I kinda quit caring enough to take the Garmin every ride, and the Garmin (a truly ancient 205) started to lose battery life, and I just quit tracking miles. I haven't even brought the Garmin to my last couple of endurance rides!<br />
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This year I got a big desk calendar and hung it in the bedroom. (There wasn't anything else on that particular wall, and I like to wake up, sit up, see the calendar, and have a panic attack about my next ride in X weeks.) I marked off all the rides I <i>might</i> do, and when I committed to one I'd do a weekly countdown (the better to have early-morning hysterics - my husband is not the world's biggest fan of the Bedroom Calendar idea). And since it was there, I started writing down rides again. <br />
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This month, I remembered to snap a picture. Here's all the work I did with Dixie in December. You should be able to click to embiggen it.<br />
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The times/distances are approximate - I use the park's trail maps to add up my mileage, and if I thought to look at my watch at the start and finish I added the time. <br />
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As always: I'm not a very experienced rider, on an off-breed mare, bringing up the rear of the pack. I'm not saying this kind of conditioning schedule will work for you - lots of people ride more miles than I do, some people ride fewer. But here's what I rode in December (we did a lot of jogging together, but I didn't mark much of it down.)<br />
<br />Funderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358687366401205336noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773599297895528113.post-30723556302098458652014-01-01T20:20:00.000-08:002014-01-01T20:20:25.159-08:00Starting 2014 off with a bangSo back in, like, September, the WSTF (the Tevis foundation) had a <a href="http://www.active.com/auburn-ca/running/trail-heads/western-states-trail-fund-run-2013" target="_blank">fundraiser race</a> to bank some money to help rebuild the trail after the American Fire this summer. I decided I should put my money where my mouth is re: the awesomeness of the Tevis trail, so I signed up for the 5k. <a href="http://bootsandsaddles4mel.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Mel</a> came down too, and we ended up walking the whole thing talking nonstop, yet for some reason I decided it just wasn't all that far and I could've run it. <br />
<br />
I ran a little more often / a little further in October, and my legs didn't fall off. I have historically gotten up to where I could run 5k and injured myself, so this was fairly impressive for me. When Mel suggested that perhaps we could sign up (and actually <i>run</i>) the New Years run at the same location, I immediately slapped down my money and signed up for the 10k <a href="http://jandjsportsproductions.com/events/resolution-run-2014/" target="_blank">Resolution Run</a>. (Mel wanted to run the 10k, but I convinced her that she can run 10 miles in the time it takes me to run 10k.) <br />
<br />
So then I started really running. Dixie's always been my running partner, but I started running solo too, doing HIIT hill sprints and slowly increasing my mileage. December rolled around, and the week before Christmas I freaked out because I was either going to forfeit my twenty-five dollar investment or completely disgrace myself, and I went out for a short run and just kept going. I managed about 5.5 hilly miles in two hours, but I didn't hurt myself or heatstroke out or realize that none of this is worth a tee-shirt, so I decided I was probably ready. <br />
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The weather was perfect. It sure looks like California is headed into a bad drought, but since I can't do anything to make it rain, I'm just enjoying the sunshine. It was about 60, and I ended up taking off my long-sleeved shirt and soaking up a little sun. <br />
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The run had at least 250 in the 5k, and I was 112th in the 10k - it was packed! It started from the Overlook, which is one of the Five Places Where Things Happen in Auburn (along with Echo Valley feed store, In'n'Out, and the two Starbucks - if you can find all those places you're good.) We went down toward the river, then wound our way up the side of the canyon to Hwy 49, then back along some of the Tevis trail to the finish. <br />
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I sulked through the first hour, then somehow magically perked up and started "trotting." I made it to the big climb back to the finish in a pretty good mood, but the last mile and a half was all uphill and my legs were like "fuck you we quit" so I ended up walking most of the last mile. I do march uphill really quickly, at least. Mel ran quite cheerfully past me on the long uphill to the finish, so I knew she'd be waiting at the water tank. I passed my phone off to her and she played with it...<br />
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And got a really awesome finish pic! <br />
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I ended up running 6.2 miles in 1:46. I know, that's really, really awful compared to serious 10k trail runners, much less road runners, but I couldn't be happier. It's the furthest I've ever run, and nothing's injured and I didn't even fall, and it's not <i>endurance riding </i>but the runner's high is pretty fulfilling! <br />
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Oh, and Mel's been doing a lot of HIIT, and she went out there and <i>owned </i>her distance. She did 10 miles about 15 minutes faster than I did 6.2 miles, and it ended up being both a PR and third in her age class! WOOOOO!<br />
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PS Happy birthday, Dad. :)Funderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358687366401205336noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773599297895528113.post-55068974214574718132013-12-22T15:09:00.001-08:002013-12-22T15:21:49.836-08:00In which Dixie gets three new legs for ChristmasThis is a hard post for me to write. Most of what I do is either a) clearly stupid or b) uncontroversial within my discipline, but joint injections are a little more contentious.<br />
<br />
Like most endurance riders, I'm pretty deeply paranoid and I plan out every option I can think of ahead of time. I know my "hard limits" for treating most equine health problems, and I've got a bunch of little checklists and flowcharts constantly running in my head. Earlier this week, I pieced together some possible symptoms I'd been seeing this fall and decided that Dixie's hocks were maybe sore. <br />
<ul>
<li>Dixie's been reluctant to go downhill a few times - alone in the dark at VC, in the slippery mud at Briones two weeks ago, and intermittently on the local trails for the last few months.</li>
<li>She's started picking her way downhill, zigzagging across the trail instead of walking straight down. </li>
<li>She (<i>infuriatingly</i>) refused to hold her back feet up long enough for me to trim them earlier this week.</li>
</ul>
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Additionally, she'll be 12 next year, she's gaited, and she was padded in her misspent youth - <a href="http://www.walkerswest.com/images/Champs/ThePusherBobMcQuerryUp.gif" target="_blank">that ridiculous action</a> cannot be easy on baby joints. Any one of the above symptoms could be Mare Attitude or random variation, but all three points in such a short period of time set off an internal alarm.</div>
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So I called the vet. My usual guy doesn't do joint injections in the field*, so he recommended I haul out to <a href="http://www.pioneerequine.com/index.php" target="_blank">Pioneer Equine</a> in the Central Valley. Friday we headed over for a workup. </div>
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Dr. Lefkowitz got our history and watched D trot out straight and in circles on a hard surface and in a softer arena. She palpated all her joints, flexed her and had her trotted out again, went at her with the hoof testers, and looked at the rads I got <a href="http://fundersgoodidea.blogspot.com/2013/11/a-flurry-of-updates-3-trimming-thoughts.html" target="_blank">last month</a>. (I was rather proud that D didn't even wiggle an ear for the hoof testers.) The vet thought there were some arthritic changes in her front left fetlock, which I hadn't expected but wasn't surprised by. They blocked her LF and lunged her again and she was much improved, but still not really moving under herself like she should and has in the past. <br />
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Flexing.<br />
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Twitched for the block.</div>
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So she recommended injecting Dixie's hocks <i>and </i>her fetlock. We could've done more rads, but like flex tests, they're not dispositive. (That's a real word, but it's also a legal term of art - probative evidence means something probably happened, and dispositive evidence decides the issue. "You're my husband so you're the father of my child" is probative, but a DNA test on the baby is dispositive.) Anyway, sometimes you can't see the changes on x-rays, and sometimes a horse flexes horribly but stays sound or vice versa, so it's not always easy to say for sure what's going on in those joints. <br />
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"Have you ever looked at a dollar bill... <i>on xylazine, maaaan?</i>"<br />
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Good girl.</div>
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We headed back into the exam room, sedated Dixie (she's a very cheap drunk), and did the injections. The tech (who was great, but I don't remember her name and it's not written on my paperwork) Betadine scrubbed the everloving shit out of D's joints* while the vet prepped the injections. <br />
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*Of course, in the two days between deciding that Something Was Going On and actually seeing the vet, I researched the <i>shit</i> out of equine joint problems. I am in no way a vet, but I can slog through google results with the best of 'em. The major risk with joint injections is infection, which is rare but Very Bad Indeed. Current best practices that I read about were to: scrub really well, don't clip or shave, use the smallest gauge needle possible, and pop the needle in and let the joint fluid drip out to clear any debris in the needle - Pioneer did all that. They also bandaged her ankle (but not her hocks - they're so hard to wrap, and they're higher up so they're probably not going to get foreign matter in them).<br />
<br />
Anyway, they loaded her up with some IV bute, wrote some really nice case notes/discharge instructions, took a vast but not unexpected amount of money from me, and sent us on our way.<br />
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I kept D inside for the rest of the day and unwrapped her bandage on Saturday. She's back outside, but on "stall rest" with 15 minutes of handwalking til Monday or Tuesday, then I'll slowly resume our regular schedule. None of her joints are warm or puffy, so I think we're in the clear. And she's definitely moving better (straight, free action, no hesitation) downhill already - I don't know if it's just the bute or if her hocks are feeling better from the shots already, but yeah, there was something going on. <br />
<br />
The real question isn't "will you treat something that's treatable," it's "what's next?" And for us, it's more of the same. If her fetlock bothers her again too soon, or if it's been a couple years of biennial hock injections and they're not pain-free and finished fusing, we'll try to find some other sport that we both enjoy this much. But Dixie really does enjoy endurance rides, and many successful high-mileage horses go through this (even if not everybody confesses it on their blog!), so yeah, I'll give her a chance to keep doing endurance. <br />
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It's basically the same thing I said after her tendon pull in 2011 - if she re-injures herself in the same spot, I'll reconsider our sport, but I'm going to give her a chance again. How soon is "too soon" w/r/t the fetlock? I'm not sure; I kinda hate the thought of needles in joint capsules. But shit, if I had a bum joint, I'd probably get cortisone shots if they let me keep doing what I love to do. <br />
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After paying the vet bill, I had enough money left to buy Dixie a big candy cane. And I'd already bought my own horse-related presents - memberships to <a href="http://nastr.org/" target="_blank">NASTR</a>, <a href="http://calstar.org/" target="_blank">CALSTAR</a>, and <a href="http://www.worldwha.com/" target="_blank">WWHA</a> for 2014, whee! Merry Christmas, if that's your thing, and happy solstice to everyone in the Northern Hemisphere! We're over the worst of it and the sun is coming back - whew!Funderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358687366401205336noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773599297895528113.post-829436855285799702013-12-07T08:00:00.000-08:002013-12-07T08:28:26.481-08:00Happy Gotcha DayOn December 7, 2007, I bought a five year old horse.<br />
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She was very pretty, and quite skittish, and she clunked around on some of the worst feet I've ever seen IRL, but something in her eyes said she just wouldn't ever give up. She looked me in the eye and very clearly said "You. Get me out of here." I already had <i>three other horses</i>, but I didn't even haggle.<br />
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I could catch her, and I could even climb on board if I had two people to hold her head, but that was about it. She had no brakes, and her steering was pretty iffy, and she had only one speed: rack as fast as possible. I don't even have pictures of how bad her feet were, because she'd fall down if you asked her to hold them up. But I'd been reading about endurance, and I decided that a horse that only ever wanted to go and didn't want to stop would be perfect - hey, at least she's not lazy!<br />
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My life went to shit in various ways over the next couple of years, but I held on to Dixie. I put my old mare down, and I sold my Percheron. I had to live three states away from my husband for a year, and I spent most of a winter in a house with no heat. We moved to Ohio, which was mediocre at best until my good gelding Champ died there. I could still barely ride Dixie, but at that point, she was all I had left. <br />
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Then we moved again, to Reno Nevada, and I finally started to get my shit together. I met Crysta, who was like "horse has four legs? you can do endurance, let's go!" and dragged us out on the trails with her. And she <i>kept</i> dragging me along, patiently answering all my ridiculous questions, reassuring me, and hauling us out to local rides. <br />
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(Yall, I really don't mind answering all your stupid questions and reassuring you. I love it, actually! I'm paying forward the gifts I got from Crysta, and I'm helping to drag new people into the best horse sport on the planet.)<br />
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Dixie and I slowly started to work out our individual and conjoined issues and get our shit together. I still had a nightmarish time mounting up, and she would spook and spin any time a rock or sagebrush looked at her funny, and she'd still bolt sometimes, but at least she doesn't buck and there was enough room to ride it out. I learned to <i>sit down and relax</i> - fake it til you make it! <br />
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I got her feet from "disastrous" to "decent pasture trim" before we left Memphis. In Ohio, I let the barn farrier trim her, but I wasn't very happy with how her feet looked. I found a really good trimmer in Reno, but I gradually moved back to doing more and more of my own hoofcare. I started slowly upgrading all my leather tack to biothane. I gave up on modesty in favor of comfort and learned to ride in yoga pants and sneakers instead of jeans and cowboy boots. <br />
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We rode in the blazing high-altitude summer sun and I turned the color of a lobster, numerous times. We rode in the wind - Nevada wind is <i>not fucking around</i>. We rode in the snow - I've been snowed on in every month except July and August at this point. We've ridden past the usual trail shit - dead cars and mattresses - and weird shit, like that boat tied to the mailbox in Silver Springs. And the radio-controlled model airplane airport in Hungry Valley. Hunters weren't any scarier than dead TVs, so we rode past them too. I've ridden that horse over bridges, under interstates, and beside freight trains. <br />
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Every little victory was usually preceded and followed by disastrous little setbacks, so it was hard for me to tell we were making any progress. Take the Trailer Saga for instance:<br />
<br />
We got a trailer! It was a dream come true! But then I had to win the battle of wills to get her to load in the damn thing - she really, really didn't want to load. Or unload. We went off and did some trail trials, then we got ready to go to Washoe Valley, and she <a href="http://fundersgoodidea.blogspot.com/2010/05/suicidal-horse.html" target="_blank">tried to kill herself</a>. I never asked her to step foot in that trailer again, and it took a year before I could upgrade to Adventure The Trailer. One step forward, seventeen steps back.<br />
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But it's been the journey of a lifetime, learning how to communicate with that horse and forcing us to both become better individuals in the process. I still cuss her a lot, and I'm quite sure she cusses me in horse language, but we are a team. <br />
<br />
It takes a whole community to do endurance - almost everyone I've interacted with has helped me in some major way at some point - but Dixie's the one individual without whom I couldn't have done this. Thank you for choosing me, pretty girl.<br />
<br />
2013 Tahoe Rim Ride 50<br />
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2013 Virginia City 100<br />
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<br />
<br />
(And last but most importantly - <b>thank you</b> to my husband. You make it all possible. I love you <i>more than Dixie.</i>)Funderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358687366401205336noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773599297895528113.post-28678320672838830072013-12-06T10:53:00.002-08:002013-12-06T10:53:26.271-08:00Year-end wrapup, and on to the next!I know, it's not the end of 2013 yet, but it's the end of the AERC ride year. <br />
<br />
So! In 2013, Dixie and I started seven rides and finished four of them. The best part of that awful record? All three pulls were rider option, not injuries. <br />
<br />
I started off the season with yet another pull at my nemesis, the <a href="http://fundersgoodidea.blogspot.com/2013/03/rides-of-march-2013-curses-foiled-again.html" target="_blank">Rides of March 50</a> miler. I've finished the 30 there twice and pulled twice at the 50, and 2013 just wasn't my year. I had enough horse, but I was sick and only getting sicker, and the trustworthy old National Bridle saddle was starting to pinch her shoulders. I made it 35 miles before I could go no further, and she was starting to show some back soreness.<br />
<br />
So we went home, bought a Specialized saddle, did some training miles in it, and got ready for the Washoe Valley two-day in May. <a href="http://fundersgoodidea.blogspot.com/2013/05/2013-washoe-valley-i-50.html" target="_blank">The first day</a> started off beautifully, and even the rain that moved in that afternoon didn't phase me. I was pretty beat up after a long day in a new-to-me saddle, but I got up and <a href="http://fundersgoodidea.blogspot.com/2013/05/2013-washoe-valley-ii-50.html" target="_blank">did it again</a> on Sunday (with bonus sleet!). Dixie was extremely unamused, especially when it started sleeting on us that afternoon, but we got it done.<br />
<br />
Washoe was also the first ride where I really ran a lot. I wanted to help Dixie get through her first two-day, and I'm familiar enough with the trails to know where to get off, so I ran a lot of the downhills. I remember getting off her at the top of Jumbo and slowly jogging down the whole thing, thinking the whole time that I'd run out of steam and have to get back on any minute. But I didn't - I realized I <i>could</i> run, in certain circumstances.<br />
<br />
In June, we headed to Auburn for the Tevis Educational ride. It was hot as all get out, and I got a touch of heatstroke on <a href="http://fundersgoodidea.blogspot.com/2013/06/2013-tevis-educational-ride-foresthill.html" target="_blank">the first day</a> and didn't ride the second. But the <a href="http://fundersgoodidea.blogspot.com/2013/06/2013-tevis-educational-ride-talks.html" target="_blank">educational talks</a> were well worth the price of entry. <br />
<br />
Getting too hot was really disappointing, but not unexpected. Heat is my kryptonite; always has been. I think this is the point where I started running on a more regular basis - I wanted to do some self-heat-conditioning, and just running fit the bill. <br />
<br />
Two weeks after TevEd, we headed up to Oregon to try our first hundred, at <a href="http://fundersgoodidea.blogspot.com/2013/06/2013-sunriver-100-babes-in-woods.html" target="_blank">Sunriver</a>. My friends <a href="http://bootsandsaddles4mel.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Mel</a> and Amanda made the trip just fly by and took great care of me and Dixie, but we didn't finish. I was disappointed in myself (and the ride), but I was so thrilled that Dixie finished her 80 miles sound and happy that it almost didn't matter. <br />
<br />
I licked my metaphorical wounds and did some endurance non-riding in July, with a trip to Washington where I got to volunteer at <a href="http://fundersgoodidea.blogspot.com/2013/07/2013-renegade-rendezvous-volunteer-story.html" target="_blank">Renegade Rendezvous.</a> Then I returned the favor by crewing for <a href="http://fundersgoodidea.blogspot.com/2013/07/2013-tevis-crew-story.html" target="_blank">Mel at Tevis</a> (who also didn't finish - I seem to have more fun than success at this sport!) <br />
<br />
August was the much-anticipated second <a href="http://fundersgoodidea.blogspot.com/2013/08/2013-tahoe-rim-ride-50.html" target="_blank">Tahoe Rim Ride</a>. It's so beautiful up there! It's a hard ride, I'm not going to lie, but it's entirely doable if you ride smart. I'd been running more over the summer, and I ran a lot of TRR. Not fast by any stretch of the imagination, but I was off the horse moving forward with impulsion, and that counts, right? Dixie clearly remembered the ride, and I got this great picture of her right before the start. <br />
<br />
"Why are you doing the camera thing already? Get on! Get on, it's time to go!"<br />
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You'll see this shot again!<br />
<br />
And then we geared up to try Virginia City. We made two trips over to Reno to preride the parts of the trail I'd never seen before, then headed back at the end of September for the <a href="http://fundersgoodidea.blogspot.com/2013/09/2013-virginia-city-100-most-fun.html" target="_blank">Virginia City 100</a>. <br />
<br />
It was simultaneously the most fun I've ever had and the worst experience of my life. Everything was amazing up until the point where I "hit the wall," then it was the lowest low point of a life that's had its fair share of low points. That two hours walking in the dark, when I thought I was all alone, that was <i style="font-weight: bold;">hard.</i> <br />
<br />
But then I got back on my good horse, and she followed the glowsticks out to the road, and my friends were waiting to rescue me, and I was already plotting next year's ride as I passed out with Lucy's hot water bottle clutched to my chest like a baby. That's really The Thing about endurance for me. It can be the hardest thing I've ever tried, and it can be the worst decision I ever made, and it can be the stupidest excuse for a hobby in the universe - while I'm on the trail. But when I get back to camp I can't stop thinking about how <i>awesome</i> it is. <br />
<br />
Not finishing VC is 100% on me. All of my pulls are my fault to some degree or another, but I should've had VC. The ride is really well run, and the trail is difficult but doable. Dixie didn't quite have the reserves to keep up with our friends, but I'm the one who didn't eat and drink enough to keep my head straight. I took a pretty hard fall at 50 miles, and by 70 miles everything that wasn't numb from cold was hurting, and I just didn't have it in me to keep going. NEXT YEAR, baby.<br />
<br />
In October, I volunteered at <a href="http://fundersgoodidea.blogspot.com/2013/10/2013-red-rock-rumble-volunteer.html" target="_blank">Red Rock Rumble</a>, then I got my <a href="http://fundersgoodidea.blogspot.com/2013/11/a-flurry-of-updates-part-1-tattoo-is.html" target="_blank">tattoo</a>. <br />
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<br />
The artist (Jonah at <a href="http://templeoakland.com/" target="_blank">Temple</a>) and I decided on that headshot from TRR as the basis of the piece, and I really couldn't be happier with it. It's objectively beautiful, and it's a tribute to my best friend Dixie. Some people with tattoos get really pissy about strangers gawking/touching/asking about their art, but me? Well, don't touch me, that's weird, but I dare you to ask! Do you have anywhere to be for the next hour? Let me tell you <i>all about my horse.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I kept at it with the running thing, too. I wanted to give Dixie some down time, but I also wanted to be out with her on the trails, and that ended up as a lot of short (5-10 mile) rides where I hiked/ran a quarter or a half of the distance. <br />
<br />
Some time in November, I signed up for a 10k (people!) race on New Years Day. I mean, what with all the running, surely I can finish a 6 mile trail run inside two hours, right? Right?? Anyway, that got me to shift my focus a bit. I've finally got enough long slow distance base to do <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/High-intensity_interval_training" target="_blank">interval training</a>, so I've been doing hill sprints a couple times a week, with longer slow runs mixed in there. My focus is still on riding, not running - if I had to pick, I'd absolutely ride instead of running - but if I can do both, I will. <br />
<i><br /></i>
And then we finished out our year with the single best ride I've ever had, at <a href="http://fundersgoodidea.blogspot.com/2013/12/2013-gold-rush-shuffle-50.html" target="_blank">GRS</a>. I religiously did all my self-care stuff, and Dixie was just a perfect joy to ride. She never got tired, and I never got tired of being out on that trail, and we had no mishaps of any kind. It feels like it was the most boring ride story ever, because good stories require drama, but dude. So much fun.<br />
<br />
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***</div>
<br />
On to 2014!<br />
<br />
Well, first up is that 10k. It's going to be awful, but I'll get a t-shirt and some Auburn In'n'Out, and I've already paid my money, so I have to do it. ;)<br />
<br />
I've been telling people that I was going to try Tevis in 2014 for about five years now, and it feels strange to say this, but I don't think I'm going to enter Tevis next year. It's <i>really hard</i>, and it's really hard for reasons that are entirely out of my control. I have a hard time keeping my shit together at the easier rides, and I don't think I have it in me to aggressively jockey for position on the Tevis trail, and aggressively cool down and trot my horse at eight - yes, <i>eight</i> - pulse and vet stops. It's unbelievably hot in the canyons, and the American Fire took out some much-needed shade. (It also took out two bridges, but that's not a deciding factor for me.) Maybe 2015, or maybe never with this horse. <br />
<br />
What I <i>am</i> going to do in 2014 is head down to Ridgecrest, CA in February and try another hundred at <a href="http://doublejoy.com/erol/Calendar/RideDetails.asp?rideID=6065" target="_blank">Twenty Mule Team</a>. Dixie's doing great, and I'm getting better at this stupidly complicated sport, and maybe we'll get it this time! Then off to the <a href="http://doublejoy.com/erol/Calendar/RideDetails.asp?rideID=6188" target="_blank">Nevada Derby</a> in April, back to <a href="http://doublejoy.com/erol/Calendar/RideDetails.asp?rideID=6126" target="_blank">Washoe</a> in May, and maybe the <a href="http://doublejoy.com/erol/Calendar/RideDetails.asp?rideID=6187" target="_blank">NASTR</a> 75 at the end of May. The Derby is well-timed after 20MT, and I'm definitely planning on <a href="http://doublejoy.com/erol/Calendar/RideDetails.asp?rideID=6186" target="_blank">Virginia City</a> again, and that's two legs of the <a href="http://nastr.org/TCBrochure.pdf" target="_blank">Triple Crown</a> (pdf). Go big or go home, amirite?<br />
<br />
My friend Crysta is putting on <a href="http://www.doublejoy.com/erol/Calendar/RideDetails.asp?rideID=6201" target="_blank">Nevada Moonshine</a> again after a couple years' hiatus, as a 30/50/100 this time. Riding Dixie in it is more than I'd be comfortable asking her to do, but hopefully I can sneak over to Reno and volunteer it. I didn't even enter the lottery for Tahoe Rim next year, but I'll be there anyway - Adventure will be the pull trailer again, and I'll hang out in base camp and get dinner ready for the riders, and Sunday we'll ride one of the loops and pull ribbons. <br />
<br />
December is the month of "fantasy football" for my region's endurance riders, and I'm having a lot of fun plotting out my imaginary perfect year. Things will probably change, but I have high hopes that this is the year we get our first hundred and finish dead last in the Triple Crown. Anything else is just bonus. Funderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358687366401205336noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773599297895528113.post-69064272307543447832013-12-02T10:34:00.000-08:002013-12-02T10:46:55.198-08:002013 Gold Rush Shuffle 50Everything went right!<br />
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<br />
Yall know that I've had a rough year - 2012 went absolutely perfectly, then 2013 has been a seemingly neverending series of "learning experiences." I don't regret a single attempt this year, but I really wanted one nice smooth successful ride before the end of the year!<br />
<br />
When I first started thinking about endurance, I was living in Memphis with no plans to ever leave. I remember seeing the Desert Gold Thanksgiving ride on the AERC calendar, and thinking it would be pretty cool to ride endurance over Thanksgiving weekend, especially in California where, I don't know, it's sunny or something. When we came west to Reno and then to SF, I kept meaning to go... and then they quit having it. Sadness!<br />
<br />
Shawn Bowling and the Chappells stepped up and took over the Thanksgiving slot, and I wasn't going to miss out again. I'm planning on taking Dixie down to Ridgecrest in February to <s>bang my head against the wall again</s> finally finish a hundred, and I wanted to get one last ride in before "winter break." Aaaand I really wanted to get to 500 miles. <br />
<br />
So I sent in my entry and watched the weather and headed up to Camp Far West. It's a reservoir outside of Wheatland, north of Sacramento. The reservoir land runs beside Beale Air Force Base, and there's a shooting range (infamous among endurance riders) and an archery range. Most of the Central Valley is as flat as Kansas, but the lake is nestled in some gently rolling hills that make for surprisingly gorgeous views. <br />
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The lake property is grazing area and there were a lot of cows with calves out.<br />
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We vetted in (42 pulse!) and got settled. This is Dixie's cleaner side so this is the picture you get of camp.</div>
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It was a big ride! I don't have any idea what kind of attendance they had for Friday and Sunday, but Saturday's ride had almost seventy riders on the 50 and over thirty on the LD. <br />
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Looks like Rob Lydon's hat, so it must be the vet criteria part of the meeting.<br />
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Morning came early, as they always do, and I got ready to ride. I planned to stick with Lucy and Patrick all day, and we plonked out of camp together about ten minutes after the start. <br />
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The weather was gorgeous. I really can't overemphasize that - it was one of the nicest November days I've ever ridden in, and I got to ride in it <i>all day</i>. This is the best sport. <br />
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UNO is the spotted fellow, and Fergus is the buckskin. They're both half-Arab (unless UNO's saddlebred?) and they're both hundred-mile horses - exalted company! ;) <br />
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Dixie and Fergus alternated leading the way. Dixie was quite happy to walk big or gait big, and Fergus is a half-TWH with a big walk, so I don't think UNO got to walk more than a couple miles total. UNO didn't seem to mind, but poor Lucy had ridden on Friday too, and she got quite tired of trotting!<br />
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I was talking to Mel and Aurora earlier this month, and I whined how depressingly grey-brown California is in the fall. They disagreed, and Mel said something rather poetic about how the land is poised to explode into green when the winter rains come. So this ride, I tried to appreciate the scenery.<br />
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PFT and Fergus, who really didn't appreciate Dixie's disrespectful attitude. Whenever he was in front and she'd pass him at a walk, he'd make the most ridiculous grumpy faces. She completely ignored him, too. Poor disrespected Tevis pony.<br />
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Anyway, you can barely see it in the photos, but there's a faint haze of green on the ground. A couple weeks ago we got a little rain, and all the fall grass germinated. It <i>is</i> pretty!<br />
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The worst thing I can say about the ride is that there are a lot of low-hanging branches. There were tons of gates, but we only had to close a couple of them behind us - and Patrick was a long-legged gentleman and took care of them for us. There's loose barbed wire in the grass beside some of the fencelines, but if you know that, you will stay on trail and be fine. And of course we rode by the infamous shooting range!<br />
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Dixie was good about it, but I thought perhaps I shouldn't tempt fate by taking pictures until we'd gotten past it. There were a lot of guys shooting pistols and a few bigger shotguns, and even the calmest horses were a little anxious about all the banging. <br />
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The maps were really terrible, but the trail marking was so good I never once doubted we were on trail. Seriously, bravo on the trail marking, guys! We rode out for a while, then went under the road and did a loop, picked up a token to prove we'd been out there, went back under the road, and continued down the trail to a trot-by. Dixie didn't want to drink, but she ate hay while we hung out for a few minutes, then we looped on back to camp.<br />
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Back at camp, she finally decided she was thirsty. I'd been somewhat concerned because she hadn't really drunk yet, but she marched right up the main tank in camp and started slurping it down - I lost count of her swallows in the mid-thirties. We vetted through with a B- for gut sounds and A's for everything else and a 48 CRI. <br />
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One of the things I've been working on this year is consciously trusting my horse to take care of herself. I mean, horses are idiots, and she'd happily gallop ten miles and then graze for the rest of the day, so I have to set the pace. But she drinks when she's thirsty, and she eats when she's hungry, and she rests when she's tired, and I'm trying to respect that. I wish she'd drink at every puddle, and I wish she'd graze the unappetizing dead grey grass along the trail, but I can't make her do those things. All I do is worry needlessly and irritate her if I try to force her to drink. <br />
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So once she started drinking, the last little worry I had subsided. At the hold, she scarfed down some mash, then napped and watched the horses headed out of camp. I wandered around eating and filling up my camelbak and whatever else it is that I do that takes me an hour - I don't even know, really. <br />
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We were back out on the trail before 1. The last loop ran along the shore of the lake, which was quite low, so it's "below water level." I think the piles of rocks are probably fish habitat - they seemed deliberately piled up in areas.<br />
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Trail marking is hard with such flat terrain. They'd done a good job spray-painting green arrows on boulders and putting ribbons on stumps, but I can see why people were unhappy on Friday. Friday's ride was a 55, so the slower riders were headed mostly west, at sunset, looking for green markers that were hidden by sharp shadows. But Saturday was a 50, so we were coming through much earlier and had an easy time. <br />
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Dixie actually marched out of camp on her own. No coaxing or kicking or leading the angry horse required - she powerwalked away briskly, leaving UNO and Fergus far behind for a couple minutes. I was like, Dixie, we're ditching our friends! But I couldn't bear to shut down her post-lunch impulsion, and the boys caught up soon. <br />
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So we plonked on through the last loop quite cheerfully and vetted out with all A's. Woo!<br />
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Saturday was the last day of the 2013 ride season, so that's a wrap, folks: we completed four of seven rides, bringing us to 500 lifetime miles. I'll get a mileage patch and my name in the AERC magazine (wooo!), but it felt like more of a milestone for Dixie than for me. <br />
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Horses don't get a shout-out in the magazine til 1,000 miles. A thousand miles is a truly huge accomplishment, and I think Dixie's got a good shot at getting there, but I'm still quite proud of her for making it to 500. I felt like our first fifty was a total fluke, and I've felt like every fifty since then has <i>also </i>been a total fluke, but maybe not. It's just another part of the "trusting the horse" lesson I've been learning: she really is an endurance horse. <br />
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I didn't run at all; I wanted to see how Dixie would do if she really had to carry me the entire day. My knees were killing me by the end of the ride - in the future I am going to get off and jog for at least five minutes every hour. Since I wasn't running, I didn't wear my compression socks, and my legs are actually MORE sore than they were after the 25 at Briones. I ate a lot, I drank a lot of water, and I took my electrolytes - I'm stiff today, but it's the least sore I've ever been after a 50. <br />
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My feet were numb/tingly off and on all day, which is a sign that I'm not riding correctly, but I'm not sure what I'm doing wrong. Dixie goes with great impulsion when she's out with other endurance horses, but she's a lazy-ass slug when we're alone, and I only get the tingly feet when she's motoring along. I must be bracing somehow. <br />
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I put Dixie in properly-fitted 0 Gloves on the front and too-loose very old 0.5 Gloves in the back, and once I'd pounded them on I never touched them again all day. Mostly the trail was dry, but there were a few creek crossings followed immediately by hill climbs, and I was pleased that I didn't lose boots there. Boots that don't fit are <i>nightmares,</i> but boots that do fit are a thousand times better than shoes. I put her compression socks on her fronts after the ride, and the next morning she had no fill in either the wrapped fronts or the unwrapped hinds. <br />
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I rode with a crupper for the first loop, but it rucked up her hair pretty good and I started to worry about rubbing, so I pulled it at lunch. I have an interesting bruise on my inner thigh, because I started the ride with a carabiner flapping around the pommel and I slammed into it for an hour straight before I really <i>noticed</i>, but once I got my pommel bag properly secured all was well. Dixie started flipping her head on the way into camp at lunch, so I put the running martingale on and that put an end to <i>that</i> nonsense. <br />
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Also, very early Sunday morning, that horrible monster stepped on my foot, PIVOTED, and froze there. Sorry if I woke you up yelling "fuck, ow, <i>get off my foot!</i>" at 6:35. But after I got my foot back she let me hang on her neck and sniffle into her mane - we have the most beautiful abusive relationship :)<br />
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Next: Year-end wrap up and goals for next year! Or maybe a story about my Souvenir Tumbleweed I brought home when I was 12. <br />
<br />Funderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358687366401205336noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773599297895528113.post-63296871670000023622013-11-24T15:51:00.000-08:002013-11-24T15:51:05.965-08:00An extra-long ride at Briones ReservoirI'm one week out from our next 50, this coming Saturday at <a href="http://www.aerc.org/Calendar/2013GoldRushShuffle.pdf" target="_blank">Gold Rush Shuffle</a> (pdf link). I'd wanted to do one last 10-15 mile ride, just to check that all systems are still go. What I ended up riding was a full LD, all alone, racing the clock as always. But it was a beautiful day on a lovely trail with my best girl, and - bonus! - I didn't even wreck the trailer!! Woohoo!<br />
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I got a late start on Friday, because <a href="http://www.sfgate.com/bayarea/article/No-BART-service-until-further-notice-5001191.php" target="_blank">BART wasn't running</a>. I knew traffic would be even more horrendously fucked than usual, so I hung out at home til 10 am. By the time I picked up the trailer, then the horse, then drove out to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Briones_Reservoir" target="_blank">Briones Reservoir</a> and got saddled up, it was noon. There's a 13 or 14 mile loop around the lake, which was just perfect for my plans, and I figured I'd be back at the trailer by 3 at the latest. <br />
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We'd had a <a href="http://www.sfgate.com/bayarea/article/2-killed-in-windstorm-thousands-without-power-5001276.php" target="_blank">huge windstorm</a> over Thursday night. I commented to G that it was "Reno windy" outside, but our power didn't go out so I didn't really pay much attention. It was still windy on Friday, but two and a half years in Nevada means that I don't pay much attention to wind anymore. If it's gusting more than 60 mph, I won't ride, because that's hard enough to knock you out of the saddle if you're off balance, but any less wind than that is just "windy." <br />
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Priorities!<br />
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The sign-in sheet warned that the reservoir closes at sundown, and that they'd ticket your dumb ass if you were there after dark. Fair enough! I signed us out, mounted, and rode down to where <a href="https://www.ebmud.com/sites/default/files/pdfs/north%5B1%5D.pdf" target="_blank">the loop trail</a> (another pdf) T'd off. I looked left, looked right, shrugged, and turned left. We'd go counterclockwise, keeping the lake on our right, and in about three hours we'd be back at the trailer. <br />
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It was really, really pretty. <br />
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There's a few hills, but it's less than 1,500' of total climbing in the 14 mile loop, so I'd call it "fast and flat." <br />
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It's pretty dead looking in November. But the sun was shining! I rode most of the day in a <i>tank top, </i>yall. <br />
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So we plinked on around the lake at a pretty good clip. We'd started at the Overlook staging area, and we worked around the whole reservoir, past the Bear Creek staging area. The trail was open and wide for the most part, but the last couple miles of Bear Creek Trail are single-track, with a very steep wooded hill on one side and a sheer drop down to the lake on the other. At 2 pm, we trotted around a corner, just a couple miles from the end of the trail, and came to a sudden halt. A tree was down, and I mean <i>a whole tree </i>was down completely blocking the trail. </div>
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We'd walked over or through several large limbs on the trail so far, but this was the entire crown of an oak tree, blocking the whole trail. I looked at that damn tree for about thirty seconds, running through all my options: Dismount, tie the horse, and try to hack a path through with my Leatherman. Go back up to Bear Creek staging, cut onto the road, and ride 3-4 miles down the road to Overlook staging. Call for help. Or just go back the way we came.</div>
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We went back. It wasn't much of a choice, really. The sun sets about 5 at this time of year, so we had three hours to get 12 miles back to the trailer - more than enough time, even if we walked most of the way. <br />
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Dixie will go off-road just fine, but there just wasn't anywhere to take her on that section of trail. It was too steep and wooded on the left, and too steep and lake-y on the right. I haven't driven all of Bear Creek Road, but what I had seen was twisty two-lane road with no shoulder, and that's entirely too dangerous for the situation we were in. Calling anyone for help would've left us standing around til after dark, and leaving her tied or in a cattle pen and hiking to the trailer would've also left her standing around (alone, poor thing) until after dark. So the best choice was heading back the way we came!<br />
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Dixie thought it was all bullshit. It wasn't an endurance ride, because there were no other horses or hay or carrots. This was clearly all my fault, but she sighed and carried me back the way we'd come. <br />
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I was pretty disgusted by the day's turn of events, too, and I quit taking pictures on the way home. Except this one - if you click to embiggen, you can see the Bay between the closer (East Bay) hills and the further-away (North Bay) hills. <br />
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The footing was perfect. I'd booted all around, but really, it's entirely doable barefoot. It's a low-traffic area, and we only saw one hiker and one coyote all day - just me, my horse, and a billion birds. I hiked and jogged quite a bit, and at one point I got tired of actually leading my horse, so I just took off without her. <br />
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We've been talking about jogging with horses in the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/426382264147982/" target="_blank">Rider Fit Facebook group</a>, and one of the members said that she's jogged with her horse loose behind her. "Damn," I thought, "I bet Dixie would probably just trail along with me, but it's entirely too busy at our park." And then two days later I found myself in a deserted park, with fences and gates keeping her from running <i>seriously</i> away from me, and I just did it. I hooked the reins to the pommel, hollered "ok let's go!" and took off without her. Dixie trailed along behind me as I slogged up and down the hills, doing about like I expected her to do: she didn't run off without me, because she's inherently lazy, and she didn't let me run away without her, because she likes me ok. It was just fine. <br />
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(If you're a rider who's trying to get more fit, and you're on Facebook, you should join us.) <br />
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I insisted on constant forward motion on the way back. We walked the steep bits and "trotted" (gaited) everything else, and the miles actually flew by pretty fast. Neither of us was very excited about our bonus miles, but we got it done and made it back to the trailer at 4:33. <br />
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Dixie was like, "thank god, there's food." And, honestly, I was also like, "thank god, there's food." I'd actually bought a powerbar and a gatorade that morning, just on the off chance I'd be slightly peckish after an easy three hour ride. I brought water on the trail, of course, but I'd left the food at the trailer and I was very, <i>very</i> glad to see it that afternoon. <br />
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Such a cutie.<br />
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We'll do easy walking rides or hikes for the rest of this week, but that's it, we're as ready for Gold Rush as we're going to get. Sorry about the bonus miles, Miss D. You're a champion.Funderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358687366401205336noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773599297895528113.post-64760347223097846242013-11-12T19:15:00.002-08:002013-11-12T19:15:36.543-08:00Gearing back up <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
So last week I got to pick up Adventure The Trailer from the repair shop. They welded in a new "stud" and remounted the hi-tie on it - it's quite good work up close. Yay! Let's never do that again, Funder!</div>
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And Evelyn, <a href="http://thetightslady.com/" target="_blank">the Tights Lady</a>, made me new tights! After VC, I'd emailed her to see about getting the silver-stripe tights patched and getting some fleece tights for my next inevitable "and then it started snowing" ride story. <br />
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"Oooh!" she said. "I've got just the pair in mind for you. They're <i>really crazy</i>, but they'll be perfect for you!"<br />
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"Aiight," I said. After you've spent two years in neon smiley face tights, "really crazy" is no longer a scary term. <br />
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They showed up today and they are incredibly comfortable, warm, and <i>really crazy. </i><br />
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Yellow full-seat. (I am sparing you the butt pic.)<br />
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Blue stripe on the left.<br />
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Purple stripe on the right. <br />
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It's gonna look awesome with my blue-and-purple gear! BRING IT, SNOW, I'M READY NOW!<br />
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(Please, please, gods of snow, stop tormenting me now that I have the right gear?)<br />
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Anyway, if all goes well and I don't crash the trailer or lame the horse, I'm off to a day or two at <span id="goog_93840219"></span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/Goldrushsuffle" target="_blank">Gold Rush Shuffle</a> over Thanksgiving<span id="goog_93840220"></span>. If I manage to avoid frostbite and not inexplicably chicken out and quit, I should get Dixie's and my 500 miles there. Fingers crossed, please!</div>
Funderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358687366401205336noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773599297895528113.post-54893427819435903382013-11-11T13:01:00.002-08:002013-11-11T13:02:12.827-08:00A flurry of updates 3: trimming thoughtsI've gotten a lot of barefoot trimming questions over the years, and I've been meaning to put up a megapost about trimming for quite a while. But I'm the queen of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Impostor_syndrome" target="_blank">Impostor Syndrome</a> - I can't possibly be <i>doing it right</i>, so how can I explain to anyone else how to do it right?<br />
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One of the things I'm being forced to work on this year is, uh, owning my accomplishments? I still feel like a fat, uncoordinated, clumsy nerd. I'm a redneck who wasted a bunch of money on a pretty horse, and any minute now someone's going to show up, demand that Dixie sidepass on command, and confiscate my equestrian card. I can't run, I always hurt myself. I'm not a <i>trimmer</i>, I just bumble along trying not to fuck up Dixie's hooves. <br />
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But I have accomplished a lot. I don't want to act like I'm a BAMF, but I also don't want to act coy and self-deprecating - that's really irritating too. <br />
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I got X-rays of Dixie's front feet last week, and you know what? I'm not ruining her. They're pretty healthy. I'm proud of myself! There's a good deal to argue about if I were out drinking with a bunch of pro trimmers, but in general, these are Good Feet.<br />
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Of course I didn't take pictures before the xrays. I trimmed in mid-October and got the rads at the beginning of November, but here's basically what they look like, inside and out.<br />
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Mid-October trim. The black stuff is glue from the glue-ons at VC, not some weird fungal infection or something.<br />
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Probably the right front.<br />
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Early November rads:<br />
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I think, from talking to people who have a lot more experience than me, that they're pretty good. She has a LOT of sole, and a LOT of wall. Her digital cushion is really nice, especially after her rough start in life. The outside of the right is a little high. I can keep wailing away at her toes without worrying about taking too much off. <br />
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(You know what else is pretty cool? That horse is pretty cool. She just sighed, deeply, and stood patiently on the little blocks like a circus horse. "You want to do what? And I just have to stand here? Ok, fine.")<br />
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Anyway, I've put up a page on trimming, and I'm not sure what else I should say. Go <a href="http://fundersgoodidea.blogspot.com/p/hoof-care.html" target="_blank">take a look</a>, please, and tell me if there's something else you'd like to see addressed? Funderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358687366401205336noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773599297895528113.post-33443639436666396352013-11-09T19:42:00.002-08:002013-11-09T19:42:28.543-08:00A flurry of updates, part 2: I went back to MemphisG and I hadn't been home at all since 2009, and that was a two-day pit stop as we moved west. We hadn't visited our friends in Memphis since <i>2008!</i> It was long overdue, but we finally flew home for a week at the end of October. <br />
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I took a<i> ~few~</i> pictures. There's a little bit of riding in here, but mainly it's vacationing, so skip it if you're only here to absorb my endurance knowledge ;)<br />
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So I've been gone from "home" long enough that everything is confusing. I didn't feel like Oakland was home, and I didn't feel like Memphis / The South was home, and I haven't lived in Reno (my true home) for a year and a half, and I was rootless. <br />
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We wandered through the Oakland airport, checking out the consumer electronics stores and burner* kiosks. Our flight was delayed FIVE HOURS, so we had a lot of time to look at all the goods and services for sale in Oakland.<br />
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*You know, pay-as-you-go "burner" cell phones. You watch Breaking Bad, right? Don't make me explain it to you. ;)<br />
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Eventually, our plane showed up and we flew to Nashville. (Much, much cheaper than flying direct to Memphis.) We deplaned at 11 pm or 2 am or something, I don't know, time zones are confusing. The airport was mostly shut down at that hour but one of the first things I saw was this:<br />
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That's a makeup kiosk. From burner kiosks and vending machines that dispense iPads to MAKEUP KIOSKS.<br />
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Anyway, it was very late at night and the rental car people were like "you can have a free upgrade, what would you like?" G looked speculatively at the SUVs, but I focused on the only appropriate car for one's birthday vacation: the Ford Mustang.<br />
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That's right, I was rollin' in my 5.0 with the ragtop down so my hair could blow.<br />
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Except we couldn't roll very fast, because the fascist racist cops of Middle Tennessee were out in <i>full fucking force.</i> It's just under 200 miles from Nashville to Memphis, and we counted <i>sixteen </i>cop cars. Maybe four of them were state troopers; all the rest were local cops out to harass people. Only two drivers were pulled over with all their shit strewn all over the side of the road getting bullshit drug-searched, though.<br />
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I do love Bucksnort.<br />
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Just after Bucksnort, I picked up my very own asshole cop! My shiny new sports car rental had Colorado plates, so I was driving extra-carefully, but I wasn't surprised when a black SUV with a cop spotlight fell in behind me. He followed me for a couple miles, running the plates. Then he got in the left lane and followed me in my blind spot for a couple more miles. <br />
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Another cop, in a cruiser, came up behind him and he got behind me. The other cop passed us and the SUV-cop got back in my blind spot. I had fucking <i>had it</i> with him, so at the next exit I got off. <br />
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I carefully stopped at the sign, signalled, turned down the random road, and found a driveway (at a junkyard) to turn around. I pulled in, stopped, and waited. Would you like to speak to me, officer? Why are you <i>still following me?</i> <br />
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The cop - who'd exited behind me - drove very slowly over the overpass. G and I smiled and waved at him. He turned off on a side road and disappeared, never to be seen again. I signaled carefully, got back on the interstate, and continued my little road trip.<br />
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I really, really hate the local southern militia. They <i>all </i>need <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Allen_v._City_of_Oakland" target="_blank">consent decrees</a>.<br />
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I'm a law-abiding white woman, no longer poor, accompanied by my white male spouse, so I'm not all that intimated by unmarked cop cars. But if it was night and I was alone? I'd have called 911 to tell them that some car on I-40 was fucking stalking me. If I was poor? Or brown? Or traveling with my same-sex partner? That's a nightmare scenario. <br />
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Anyway, look, cotton! Hadn't seen that in a minute.<br />
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We ate a lot of barbecue. <br />
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I thought about trying out some other joints, but <a href="http://www.cbqmemphis.com/" target="_blank">Central BBQ</a> has never done me wrong. They might not have the best 'cue in Memphis metro area, but they have consistently excellent product. We ate there five times in seven days: the perfect ratio.<br />
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So my mom - who has been a painter for like 40+ years - has taken up sculpting. She's got a lot to learn, but it's all technical stuff - what kind of clay to buy, how to fire it, what does a particular glaze really look like. She's got the artistic part of sculpture nailed, I think.<br />
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Here's some elves.<br />
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More sculpture. I really liked this one, even though it's a work in progress - Mom hadn't done the arms or head yet, but I just loved the unfinished fluid quality of it. I tried to convince her to fire it just like that but I think she finished it off.<br />
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One of Dad's bottle trees.<br />
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Dad's barn. This started life as a pole barn, where the pony we briefly owned lived. (I was 8, and my parents didn't have a clue about training or keeping a pony, so he moved to another home pretty fast. He lived there til he died at 30+ years.) Anyway, after its short-lived horsekeeping purpose, it became my Dad's shop.<br />
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I stole this sign from Mary Baldwin College when I was like 16. Surely the statue of limitations is up and I can post my crime on the internet?<br />
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Dad makes awesome birdhouses. He sells them at regional craft shows.<br />
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Six foot long shed skin from a king snake that lives on the property.<br />
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The little water garden, between Dad's barn and Dad's new little workshop.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdY6Oqqd0Lyd2D9Mwc3GioLXffS3HF1rQf9B8CGVFyR1Qu2xSKVU0qaz1UgD0Vs3u8VMnANno4TMxb5RdGS8QrziPxamPPftV-2lCezoq-Qc4KInPF0ZFRtw53H4xii7Yvd-WaihixjNg/s1600/IMG_0667.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdY6Oqqd0Lyd2D9Mwc3GioLXffS3HF1rQf9B8CGVFyR1Qu2xSKVU0qaz1UgD0Vs3u8VMnANno4TMxb5RdGS8QrziPxamPPftV-2lCezoq-Qc4KInPF0ZFRtw53H4xii7Yvd-WaihixjNg/s320/IMG_0667.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaqeBh9I8ErmU7-uG-PLXQboTws-_20cVoR0ysUKMe9c6KesAWFdlOssY3G496CiKkIy20yLgqvZWUZgbCWg6_q6iPXKtlrLxOqxIa_47O80QsoEjx6PhoZDPQqXNSgpI6O21bMplT3Bk/s1600/IMG_0668.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaqeBh9I8ErmU7-uG-PLXQboTws-_20cVoR0ysUKMe9c6KesAWFdlOssY3G496CiKkIy20yLgqvZWUZgbCWg6_q6iPXKtlrLxOqxIa_47O80QsoEjx6PhoZDPQqXNSgpI6O21bMplT3Bk/s320/IMG_0668.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
It's like a suit of armor, but it's made from tin cans and it's mounted on a stake below a bird feeder/house.<br />
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I don't even know; my parents' house is strange and wonderful.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNoq2n6ILU5TW9-GEDpdpuDXlZPXRBxOQA9FL1NAtEj8hm0oh2fkk3fOGZpjoF15BOcR4r0SeXwqkRvCVa3lJzb-geVdVkIIzxCJevI5_LsvZicyKp1twDIgqEa6W9N1fCVw0_Djo0hLs/s1600/IMG_0669.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNoq2n6ILU5TW9-GEDpdpuDXlZPXRBxOQA9FL1NAtEj8hm0oh2fkk3fOGZpjoF15BOcR4r0SeXwqkRvCVa3lJzb-geVdVkIIzxCJevI5_LsvZicyKp1twDIgqEa6W9N1fCVw0_Djo0hLs/s320/IMG_0669.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
View of the barn from the house. Yep, that's a Red Wings neon sign that says Funderburks - my dad used to own a clothing store.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwzKr7a908IjyvcKI5o9pkMUHIjDJRBvykeFXruwxzro5ahJUch6j6tquQDWPwOJRU9MO3FRH9Asvn-q39ogGXSR5-mOSmwPtXf7jEjzuGE0UwilZ_0sYCeJaTCdH8sgiIJQ4MzhVWioE/s1600/IMG_0671.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwzKr7a908IjyvcKI5o9pkMUHIjDJRBvykeFXruwxzro5ahJUch6j6tquQDWPwOJRU9MO3FRH9Asvn-q39ogGXSR5-mOSmwPtXf7jEjzuGE0UwilZ_0sYCeJaTCdH8sgiIJQ4MzhVWioE/s320/IMG_0671.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
The house from the barn.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6OevjrVe7txtkRPJHV0eSjEJ7OC5QqNhy2Tu_YUbBRhe75QA2Ln3phX3SY_7HIDv9wKDHUlVI_-vAZxV_3wD1ev4OWKwqdbq7vcQ6Bs9qKSRfDw3hiWM8kFoLQZz588NXWL2zTLEq-6s/s1600/IMG_0672.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6OevjrVe7txtkRPJHV0eSjEJ7OC5QqNhy2Tu_YUbBRhe75QA2Ln3phX3SY_7HIDv9wKDHUlVI_-vAZxV_3wD1ev4OWKwqdbq7vcQ6Bs9qKSRfDw3hiWM8kFoLQZz588NXWL2zTLEq-6s/s320/IMG_0672.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
The big water garden has seventeen goldfish and a couple frogs and a ton of plants.<br />
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Hey, I stitched those! <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir6ILHfJ2GU69k6DoHuqa0mIDnhyiy-UNeg0tMwVcP-MsO0_BwcdxL41n9ltrno-4pkDXqajg4tt9Ykbs4nt5A3N5RNYefq1GT8cw7PWsIcFTzPI5HGemNQ2oLMOmiEns-1W2ZGR5ldv4/s1600/IMG_0674.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir6ILHfJ2GU69k6DoHuqa0mIDnhyiy-UNeg0tMwVcP-MsO0_BwcdxL41n9ltrno-4pkDXqajg4tt9Ykbs4nt5A3N5RNYefq1GT8cw7PWsIcFTzPI5HGemNQ2oLMOmiEns-1W2ZGR5ldv4/s320/IMG_0674.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
Paintings by my mom. Metal tree by unknown; metal horse over mirror by <a href="http://www.theequestrianvagabond.com/" target="_blank">Merri Melde</a>. <br />
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<a href="http://fundersgoodidea.blogspot.com/2013/08/barns-burnt-down-now-i-can-see-moon.html" target="_blank"> Barn's burnt down / now / I can see the moon.</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG0PQYMYdf1pFqFZjHQ-yoMy5-hWYWfTsGGKVFiDU9-82VGKh0yrUZI1S7cIw0trdamoKRfBtZv9u5t0-nWXu9jF1rZAWMGYR3RmlSqQbFePJXTNUAb2V7MfwKZ_092VREBEm792RzlNQ/s1600/IMG_0677.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG0PQYMYdf1pFqFZjHQ-yoMy5-hWYWfTsGGKVFiDU9-82VGKh0yrUZI1S7cIw0trdamoKRfBtZv9u5t0-nWXu9jF1rZAWMGYR3RmlSqQbFePJXTNUAb2V7MfwKZ_092VREBEm792RzlNQ/s320/IMG_0677.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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They're pretty cool, those vintage 60s cool kids.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOxOXTuWpn85_9Bi7xSL04DqKBJwweL8mrsqWYAMes9Jgl2GqXZV9rzTbiIar_FB7fxFF9PRjJ8Czkx_hzlmWAtBkIZnY-FjItRrwWJ4LgnjYaJwbTsAR9C8D1EFTGGZozNR0fQ3JkAAQ/s1600/IMG_0707.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOxOXTuWpn85_9Bi7xSL04DqKBJwweL8mrsqWYAMes9Jgl2GqXZV9rzTbiIar_FB7fxFF9PRjJ8Czkx_hzlmWAtBkIZnY-FjItRrwWJ4LgnjYaJwbTsAR9C8D1EFTGGZozNR0fQ3JkAAQ/s320/IMG_0707.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw1OpICX9FLjhJMZwR4H2wsHVio77mJMZ-8wfZupdMuCP8w2EMmmWvfLr2w9gZyiHSLkWxXa2NzjsJz8wp6S9YvQ7TZ7Y7RLKbVOAXsgbuvUTQe8ze_TMrA04zqcOPdJpCH7uDb2StOZ0/s1600/IMG_0712.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw1OpICX9FLjhJMZwR4H2wsHVio77mJMZ-8wfZupdMuCP8w2EMmmWvfLr2w9gZyiHSLkWxXa2NzjsJz8wp6S9YvQ7TZ7Y7RLKbVOAXsgbuvUTQe8ze_TMrA04zqcOPdJpCH7uDb2StOZ0/s320/IMG_0712.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Mom did a copy of <i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Vincent_van_Gogh_-_Boats_at_Saintes-Marie_watercolour.jpg" target="_blank">Fishing Boats on the Beach at Saintes-Maries</a> </i>by Van Gogh. Unfortunately, she really likes it, and I haven't been able to convince her to give it to me yet. One day she'll get bored with it.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVElvrB6EBMn2bhJKUTzPjo3_iakbTTXTrxk9FPRDaTYYsfgryNjR6agybcWInNrBn-dzDuBxtePJZIb9ee89C6ghVLTnSiiA-ZHWmGybM1zWakLKt5Zi1jDGA_o3qdNRW3L33f39Tayc/s1600/IMG_0713.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVElvrB6EBMn2bhJKUTzPjo3_iakbTTXTrxk9FPRDaTYYsfgryNjR6agybcWInNrBn-dzDuBxtePJZIb9ee89C6ghVLTnSiiA-ZHWmGybM1zWakLKt5Zi1jDGA_o3qdNRW3L33f39Tayc/s320/IMG_0713.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
Most of my ride pics languish in dirty ziplock baggies, but a few of them find nice frames in my parents' house.<br />
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I did manage to ride twice - non inconsequential, in a week-long vacation! <br />
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James was my partner when I first got into horses - we boarded together and he was the only dude I ever met who wanted to ride as long as I wanted to ride, right up until 2009 when I moved to Nevada and really got into endurance. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1GAsHDw1h72iZ3xWyZsSQPvRZJRLrHj5fcgBBzsNVk5KOJL72g8nOHhFT0kZkF83V_qGQ0NYoPuWrVoETfZgT5hB69ZtzWVQ9kK2pSIgFJ1jeCQa-g1-CVnvi0ohyphenhyphenywLuKlUZ0VS2-68/s1600/IMG_0700.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1GAsHDw1h72iZ3xWyZsSQPvRZJRLrHj5fcgBBzsNVk5KOJL72g8nOHhFT0kZkF83V_qGQ0NYoPuWrVoETfZgT5hB69ZtzWVQ9kK2pSIgFJ1jeCQa-g1-CVnvi0ohyphenhyphenywLuKlUZ0VS2-68/s320/IMG_0700.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />James is awesome. He's 31 years older than me, a Vietnam vet, and a great guy. I learned all of my basic (and basically cowboy) horse skills from him - he's heavier-handed than I am, but his horses are affectionate toward him, obedient, and <i>broke broke broke.</i> <br />
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The spotted horse on the right is SSB. She's a couple inches shorter than Dixie and a year younger, but when I'd just bought (and was completely overwhelmed by) Dixie, he'd just bought SSB. He was working on getting SSB broke as I tried to, you know, <i>mount </i>my horse. (Getting Dixie broke took me <i>so long</i>, argh.) <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlXEBIjqDfuCCVb7g2df0liM4m48UB41ok592Cu1s7B_IJGOx9Dwnd4c3ld3ag32h_zqx5zNp6Y6DYwlydMJLRHAytFQ3d_6THxzES5k5GLc_iFMU9OwkO0dDxcCOOHsFvVzAv1hPZLR4/s1600/IMG_0680.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlXEBIjqDfuCCVb7g2df0liM4m48UB41ok592Cu1s7B_IJGOx9Dwnd4c3ld3ag32h_zqx5zNp6Y6DYwlydMJLRHAytFQ3d_6THxzES5k5GLc_iFMU9OwkO0dDxcCOOHsFvVzAv1hPZLR4/s320/IMG_0680.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Anyway, these days, SSB is as much of a good citizen as Dixie is. I rode SSB and James rode the black on the right. The first day, we just went out in a cotton field and hauled ass around the edge of it for two hours. <br />
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A couple days later, I made it back and we went out again. We rode down the road, cut across the highway, and headed back up into the trails we used to ride together, back in 2008. It was awesome. Very, very cool to ride the same trails, with the same guy, on one of the same horses, five years later. Four hours later, we made it back to the barn - it was James' birthday, and I had more people to see. <br />
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<span style="text-align: center;">Highway 51. Rode across here, across the field, and back up to the left toward the river.</span><br />
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<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />I promised James that it won't be five more years til I see him again! <br />
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I saw more friends and ate more smoked pork products, but we were out of time too soon and away we went.<br />
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The makeup kiosk was doing a brisk trade when I made it back to the Nashville airport. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTpQ02qcrUwBQbSR9QzsbKGK6d6rTCCuphtV4cIHYPm8793DLr_tQe_Zqbr_1MwW17wBzcxig062nLHE-ExLITaxRp3Bik6uRBb0-urMsqYHWEAnyCRZSwY1Bd2KjFAq0-ydeioUfEpa8/s1600/IMG_0724.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTpQ02qcrUwBQbSR9QzsbKGK6d6rTCCuphtV4cIHYPm8793DLr_tQe_Zqbr_1MwW17wBzcxig062nLHE-ExLITaxRp3Bik6uRBb0-urMsqYHWEAnyCRZSwY1Bd2KjFAq0-ydeioUfEpa8/s320/IMG_0724.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
And I think that's the moment when I realized I was in the airport to go home. Oakland's a fine home. It suits me. Nobody expects me to wear makeup, but nobody bats an eye at my half-shaved head and big arm tattoo. I can bail out of this stupid 8 million person metro area and go ride the Central Valley for the day, or the Sierras or the Great Basin for a weekend. Oakland's all right with me.<br />
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Next post - back to endurance with some in-depth horse stuff.Funderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358687366401205336noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773599297895528113.post-63742829557899803612013-11-09T17:08:00.001-08:002013-11-09T17:08:06.848-08:00A flurry of updates, part 1: The tattoo is finished<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
So I got the color finished on my tattoo a couple weeks ago. It was super-bright at first, then it peeled and looked extra-gross, and now it's pretty much fully healed. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQN7yNw55M3MvJ3SzBf9Gbu88HFraP1ir_UUPW3Z416Wa4qxrWXlpSSXReMJKHFK_RUYhyq53XVM3Er0DdRo4BGTRyKRvhEABXoFt2dXUuaa_rMJsxN2QkXjJn-vw7_ENDXZmY-imY0fQ/s1600/IMG_0751.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQN7yNw55M3MvJ3SzBf9Gbu88HFraP1ir_UUPW3Z416Wa4qxrWXlpSSXReMJKHFK_RUYhyq53XVM3Er0DdRo4BGTRyKRvhEABXoFt2dXUuaa_rMJsxN2QkXjJn-vw7_ENDXZmY-imY0fQ/s320/IMG_0751.JPG" width="238" /></a></div>
I really love the colors. I love her eye. I love the white, and how as my tan is fading the white pops more and more. I think the shading on the flowers and leaves is brilliant, and I'm really happy with the dotwork type shading on the horse. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghuxuftXBk1ee2s4mV-ps2xJHLe0Q-tGI_k6mZtcxPuNkSJY5-9n-GYueI9nHeCz426RWNgFABPXrqzzc2kxwT2acUkWZQQXYopLPO50vHUKxkQwe2BAlIrS_QAABHI7qkM1eBrhcG6pQ/s1600/IMG_0752.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghuxuftXBk1ee2s4mV-ps2xJHLe0Q-tGI_k6mZtcxPuNkSJY5-9n-GYueI9nHeCz426RWNgFABPXrqzzc2kxwT2acUkWZQQXYopLPO50vHUKxkQwe2BAlIrS_QAABHI7qkM1eBrhcG6pQ/s320/IMG_0752.JPG" width="175" /></a></div>
I spend quite a bit of time looking at my arm and going "awww yeah, that's badass." And I suppose that's the highest compliment one can pay a tattoo artist?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaQeyIkYMv3_x3oqHUFUpRashv_yNm03xLsLzIHpcbUuTr0r7jVfK06Xd4GKShq98hcEuJpdBvDzM-BalZDJ3FC_5KQCTqf7nqrVuIm9EoqLcJw9zkCcvI40cQhImtMIJYkZhRxlpnpTE/s1600/IMG_0753.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaQeyIkYMv3_x3oqHUFUpRashv_yNm03xLsLzIHpcbUuTr0r7jVfK06Xd4GKShq98hcEuJpdBvDzM-BalZDJ3FC_5KQCTqf7nqrVuIm9EoqLcJw9zkCcvI40cQhImtMIJYkZhRxlpnpTE/s320/IMG_0753.JPG" width="196" /></a></div>
Awww yeah.<br />
<br />Funderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358687366401205336noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773599297895528113.post-8973495001066516962013-10-22T19:53:00.001-07:002013-10-22T19:53:17.114-07:00Broke horse, broke trailerThis weekend I got out to another regional park, Tilden, to ride with a new friend K and her friend E. K is an elegant, classy, former dressage rider who is interested in possibly slumming with us grimy colorful endurance folks, and she's bringing a green little Arab along on the trails. E was riding another green Arab, not her usual mount, so we had a long slow afternoon ride.<br />
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I'd been planning on meeting them in the park's parking lot (man, that sentence looks really funny, but I can't think of any other way to say it without it being really clunky), but it was absolutely packed with cars. There were like three major kid-and-dog birthday parties and a bunch of random people. I drove into one lot looking for an exit, realized it dead-ended, and backed out of there like it ain't no thang. <br />
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Side note: California drivers are just as idiotic as you've heard, guys. I had people DRIVING AROUND ME as I was backing up. Pugs biting my tires. Dads leading toddlers straight behind me. Ugh.<br />
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But eventually I got turned around, and down the twisty road to the even twisty-er private driveway, and I found a nice pulloff and unloaded my phenomenal horse and got her ready to ride. I accomplished all of this without any drama. Because we're <i>pros.</i><br />
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Isn't Gino <i>cute?</i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxxnTd8NfWjwaf9D7OtuJQ8_WUz3VGtCFuW3Lxnoypu2vlNOa6iT0QQ_lFuYjYrNdJcrmxSd-Fndpmx9pj9t-ZGl64AGkc8kaPaqvAjzz_Z2GKChdej54obUTdc8qUKblE3Axeim5kbj0/s1600/IMG_0609.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxxnTd8NfWjwaf9D7OtuJQ8_WUz3VGtCFuW3Lxnoypu2vlNOa6iT0QQ_lFuYjYrNdJcrmxSd-Fndpmx9pj9t-ZGl64AGkc8kaPaqvAjzz_Z2GKChdej54obUTdc8qUKblE3Axeim5kbj0/s320/IMG_0609.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
We headed up to the park, past the miniature steam train and the birthday parties and the dog-walkers. Dixie was all "ain't no thang" about everything except the horse trough, which she refused to approach. Keepin' it classy, mare. We wound our way up into the park, across a few roads and up and down hills, over a little spillway bridge and down the side of a dam. I finally remembered to take some pics after that.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGxVHakQO2Wew60y_C-NaqoELAWvIrGu1o6tFv9ayxEG8hrbTAMkKka1yR4ZdvtN8CijRDZb4A8TThfEPK6RCU2vwKEoC28y0AkvmHuAYKK2rZ_Npj7xg-nyqc8Kz4n3eOvzKgK86236Q/s1600/IMG_0588.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGxVHakQO2Wew60y_C-NaqoELAWvIrGu1o6tFv9ayxEG8hrbTAMkKka1yR4ZdvtN8CijRDZb4A8TThfEPK6RCU2vwKEoC28y0AkvmHuAYKK2rZ_Npj7xg-nyqc8Kz4n3eOvzKgK86236Q/s320/IMG_0588.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
Dixie was such a good girl all day. The green geldings were silly and green, and Dixie didn't pick up on it at all. She was just unflappable. I'm so, so glad I put in the time on her. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH-eVpUAirqPq0lHWXe1I0mmQwC_8PyLNBAOxIGdWOMWm8mRDQOZtg3WmaTvmMgC8_vPPX2xrsvLWY3kbYM_KR4hXn5mRIO5HWQNqJVyHanLICqBjdHSvy_m-H-4NH_1souNYevVeoKd0/s1600/IMG_0590.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH-eVpUAirqPq0lHWXe1I0mmQwC_8PyLNBAOxIGdWOMWm8mRDQOZtg3WmaTvmMgC8_vPPX2xrsvLWY3kbYM_KR4hXn5mRIO5HWQNqJVyHanLICqBjdHSvy_m-H-4NH_1souNYevVeoKd0/s320/IMG_0590.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjclSJLKyrSiHyjgabxMUHrG9sVBGv3-SNhu2U-JK2WKw6L-15cXHIG0ZbF46CP0ftO5A2VQVlX8eyFUtmeLvgpPJiQyjXV7qqgpNJXWfYqYndGdsC5_Z24F7AXCzLczrh-XVEDpEGr_i0/s1600/IMG_0591.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjclSJLKyrSiHyjgabxMUHrG9sVBGv3-SNhu2U-JK2WKw6L-15cXHIG0ZbF46CP0ftO5A2VQVlX8eyFUtmeLvgpPJiQyjXV7qqgpNJXWfYqYndGdsC5_Z24F7AXCzLczrh-XVEDpEGr_i0/s320/IMG_0591.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
Eventually we curved east and started climbing up onto the ridge to head south to the barn. The footing got a little worse - I hadn't booted Dixie, and I should have, but we weren't going fast. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1TAkPsMRe-fQ5h3oRdJVJw9k__aG2l8cgig_qwAjYfjR4Iwkm_5OyNv9e1pG8kJ1J-755azhjIaeFhEtstVs0Bn-SsGKdpl60mCX7RriwVXePmYvYUe1NdkWHBGDffXwukRWD0Iihx7I/s1600/IMG_0596.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1TAkPsMRe-fQ5h3oRdJVJw9k__aG2l8cgig_qwAjYfjR4Iwkm_5OyNv9e1pG8kJ1J-755azhjIaeFhEtstVs0Bn-SsGKdpl60mCX7RriwVXePmYvYUe1NdkWHBGDffXwukRWD0Iihx7I/s320/IMG_0596.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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It was a really gorgeous day, maybe in the 70s and sunny. I know, literally everyone who doesn't live on the California coast is really jealous, but them's the breaks - the weather here is awesome. </div>
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We climbed a hardened fire-road for at least a couple of miles. K, when you can trot up that and have horse left, you're more than ready! </div>
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There were <i>views</i> from the ridge. Mt. Diablo to the east:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguOSrcoY5nNig3JgInsAhnaymh8yXm3126QniQqGU5MyxyoApAj502f-yvEVU4zXVcVMUI7AB8I7_gjuVbbDZhDnb-wZghxTt-DTYp05VEQ3OWhhiMV2JOwrPT8qnCDBQiOS5ocSWPer8/s1600/IMG_0604.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguOSrcoY5nNig3JgInsAhnaymh8yXm3126QniQqGU5MyxyoApAj502f-yvEVU4zXVcVMUI7AB8I7_gjuVbbDZhDnb-wZghxTt-DTYp05VEQ3OWhhiMV2JOwrPT8qnCDBQiOS5ocSWPer8/s320/IMG_0604.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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And San Francisco to the west:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj62c_7Qq3S9BXYh5s2UlSoQL3fG2meVNfP4YtxoGrfcRClWEY5LcziY0pTWcmuBQuhBtLXxLF45jupnzdokbpZnFndzTggZxkvQ4L-DcuR37K1yz8yglF7aEJYMMOt8nmuwyZ02CDcSDw/s1600/IMG_0602.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj62c_7Qq3S9BXYh5s2UlSoQL3fG2meVNfP4YtxoGrfcRClWEY5LcziY0pTWcmuBQuhBtLXxLF45jupnzdokbpZnFndzTggZxkvQ4L-DcuR37K1yz8yglF7aEJYMMOt8nmuwyZ02CDcSDw/s320/IMG_0602.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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You can't see the Golden Gate Bridge through the fog in the strait, but you can see the city, Yerba Buena Island, Treasure Island, and the pretty new span of the Bay Bridge. Yerba Buena is the hill in the Bay; Treasure Island is the flat bit of land just to the right. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJvbl78v7Pd95uaEwkvjvmDm85g3AQzW2yy0pfK1oDtihDk5kHF44910psbTwuoqtU5V57Dy0QclyaYfZYymWXuzUUoaUDTHdLlPZHA5p5KLUEQMVxFtykhN3ttCnPJBIaqeoKMkhzf-U/s1600/IMG_0605.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJvbl78v7Pd95uaEwkvjvmDm85g3AQzW2yy0pfK1oDtihDk5kHF44910psbTwuoqtU5V57Dy0QclyaYfZYymWXuzUUoaUDTHdLlPZHA5p5KLUEQMVxFtykhN3ttCnPJBIaqeoKMkhzf-U/s320/IMG_0605.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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I like that one too.</div>
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We looped on back to the barn and I left Dixie at the trailer with a bucket of EGM pellets. I chatted with K and E as they groomed their horses for a while, then realized that I had to hurry to get home and feed Cersei and the cats. I trotted back to the trailer, stowed the buckets, yanked the rope off the hi-tie, and loaded Dixie. Then I threw the stool and lead in the tack room, locked up, and drove away. </div>
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(You probably know where this is going.)</div>
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I got up the drive to the road and started for home. A woman on a horse yelled "your hi-tie is out!" as I passed her. I yelled "Thanks!", muttered "fuck," and pulled over. </div>
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Yeah, I crunched the <i>shit</i> out of the hi-tie. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRZfFvwLua63oT_SmT43HJ1a54e58j8QQ-qT6msvXy0Za8BG4aupc6ANuFZrwODcTAOtblgnB-QPoAThK2romCpGLjlSzFFqO7xOudnG3qfNuTt7TW7GpfnhSTx9faGaOoI-3P7n63hgc/s1600/IMG_0621.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRZfFvwLua63oT_SmT43HJ1a54e58j8QQ-qT6msvXy0Za8BG4aupc6ANuFZrwODcTAOtblgnB-QPoAThK2romCpGLjlSzFFqO7xOudnG3qfNuTt7TW7GpfnhSTx9faGaOoI-3P7n63hgc/s320/IMG_0621.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<br />The pool noodle betrayed me. It's supposed to be nice and visible so I notice the hi-tie's out before I hit a tree. However, I will say that it sacrificed itself to save the precious fiberglass. The hi-tie isn't even scratched. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYEuYlDj6uODo4JRKalreOAx1SRvQhQ2E1K_agLIyGTTCJi1AIfcWzL9oBH6tE9jc5tRB_H333o1NLHkSEwEWk-KJ0bnmoOxKrOemfknADi4CNvZLAX1ppXjUCyOzPCJeRGAwNCkd0tZQ/s1600/IMG_0611.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYEuYlDj6uODo4JRKalreOAx1SRvQhQ2E1K_agLIyGTTCJi1AIfcWzL9oBH6tE9jc5tRB_H333o1NLHkSEwEWk-KJ0bnmoOxKrOemfknADi4CNvZLAX1ppXjUCyOzPCJeRGAwNCkd0tZQ/s320/IMG_0611.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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The guys at Barstad & Donitch are gonna fix it for me. </div>
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I'm not embarrassing myself by telling you this just out of some sense of masochism. (Although I'd love to hear your biggest facepalm I-can't-believe-I-did-that trailer mishaps!) I want to talk about the actual stupid mistake I made. </div>
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It wasn't "driving away with the hi-tie open." It was "not having the right mental checklist ready." </div>
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It's really important to have an unbreakable routine for a lot of things. I have a really good one for actually hitching up the trailer, and I won't let anyone disturb me while I'm running through the steps of hooking up every bit of the trailer to the corresponding bits of the truck. I have a pretty good one for checking my tack before I untie and mount up. But I don't - or I <i>didn't</i> - have a good one for packing-loading-leaving. </div>
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Everybody seems to have an irrational or quasi-rational phobia about trailering - I can't back this thing up, or what if the hitch comes off the ball, or what if the safety chains break - something that's unlikely to happen that you can't help but double and triple-check. Mine is that the horse door will come open. Since Dixie rides loose and backwards (and she rides <i>so well </i>that way I just can't change it), this would be epically bad. I triple check the door latch. Sometimes I don't make it out of the driveway before I jump out and check it again. I get <i>fixated</i> on that latch.</div>
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And that's what I did wrong on Sunday. I made 100% sure that the door was latched, and I wasn't thinking about <i>anything </i>else, and I didn't have a mental checklist to run. </div>
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I think it should go like this, every single time no exceptions:</div>
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<ul>
<li>stow the tack</li>
<li>stow the loose junk, like hoofpicks</li>
<li>stow the buckets and haybag</li>
<li>tie the horse to the trailer</li>
<li>stow the hi-tie</li>
<li>stow the stool</li>
<li>load the horse</li>
<li>stow the lead, lock the tack room</li>
<li>check the horse door one last time</li>
<li>drive</li>
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If I always do that in that order, I won't have to visit the trailer mechanics nearly so often. </div>
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Funderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358687366401205336noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773599297895528113.post-6131461300553914512013-10-07T20:09:00.001-07:002013-10-07T20:09:26.146-07:00Dixie 4 eva<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I got my Dixie-tattoo started today. He drew up some art...</div>
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Transferred it...<br />
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Whanged away at me for an hour<br />
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And in another hour, the blackwork was done. I'll go back in two weeks for color. I'm absolutely thrilled with it :)<br />
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I can't wait to bore people with stories of the Great Dixie when I'm 80 and wrinkly and tattooed.</div>
Funderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06358687366401205336noreply@blogger.com9