Washoe Valley pre-ride

Ok, let's get to it!

Apparently this waiting-to-do-a-50-and-getting-ready-to-move thing is stressful. It's kind of like slowly boiling a frog. I was vaguely aware that I was wound way too tight, and I knew I should relax, but I didn't really realize just how tight I was wound.

Washoe is a two-day ride - you can ride the 25 or 50 on Saturday, Sunday, or both days. I planned to go out Friday, hang out in camp and volunteer on Saturday, and ride the Sunday ride. With a two or three day ride, the Sunday ride is usually a little easier, plus the Sunday ride was co-sanctioned with my local NEDA organization - so I could do a not-quite-so-hard 50 AND get NEDA points. Sign me up! I packed 99% of what I'd need, dumped a bunch of food for the goat and cats, loaded the dog and horse, and drove down to Washoe Lake early Friday afternoon.

(Stuff I didn't pack: my good Camelbak. I left it in a friend's horse trailer a month ago, and I haven't caught up with her to get it back, and I'm sure it's full of Death Mold anyway, so I picked up a $20 knockoff at Walmart. I hate knockoff Camelbaks, but Walmart is seductive that way. I didn't pack the GPS, but I remembered a mile from the house and turned around and got it. I didn't pack people-hand-gloves, but I was pretty sure there were two or three somewhere in the truck or trailer.)

Mainly I wanted to get away from the house and boxes and piles of to-do lists, but I was also hoping that a day in camp would do Dixie some good. And it did! She is inclined to stare at the horses coming and going instead of concentrating on eating like she's supposed to. I left her pretty much alone on Friday and Saturday, and she eventually quit staring and started eating. She ate and drank great, and I started electrolyting her on Saturday evening.

I drank four beers (Corona, happy Cinco de Mayo!) and decided it would be a great idea to ride bareback through camp. I did put the bridle on, and of course I wore a helmet, and even though it took me four tries to leap on my tall-ass horse from the top of the ice chest, it was a great idea. The way I see it, Dixie has only three advantages over the Arabs in the sport: she's got a great walk, she's got an amazing brain, and she's always the most beautiful horse in attendance. And how else to show off one's horse's great brain and walk and beauty than by drunkenly meandering through camp? ;)

The weather was absolutely perfect for the horses: high in the low 60s, no precipitation, no humidity, and breezy but not incredibly windy. Sadly, the drawback was that it got COLD at night - down near freezing. I survived better than at Rides of March - I put up the truck tent, put the broken-zipper sleeping bag under my cot, wrapped my cold toes in one of those silver emergency blankets, snuggled up in all my clothes and the good sleeping bag, and turned the buddy heater on a couple of times. (Yes, I have a CO detector.)

It was the weekend of the Supermoon, and they're not kidding. I kept waking up thinking I'd massively overslept and it was 7 am, but no, the moon was just THAT bright.

I woke up Saturday feeling extremely peculiar. My throat hurt and my head was completely emptied of any thoughts at all. They had plenty of volunteers, and I ended up reading my Kindle and napping all day. I took two naps and almost fell asleep again about 4, but I decided that was a terrible idea and started getting ready for Sunday instead.

"Don't do anything new at a ride" is more of a suggestion than a commandment, so I tried Easyboot Gloves at the ride. I know, I've been a longtime fan of Renegades, and I feel oddly guilty for "cheating" on them. But Dixie has such a low daisy-clipping way of going, and as she gets tired, she goes even lower. Gloves have much less bulk at the front of the boot, so there's less plastic skimming the ground ready to catch her hoof on a rock. I didn't want Epics or original Easyboots - gloves or nothing, thanks. I tried on C and S's boots two weeks ago and decided that 0.5's might work, then I measured her after a fresh trim and decided that yes, 0.5's were the right choice. I ordered two, because I was planning on doing Renegades on the backs.

So Friday I put on the Gloves on front and rode Dixie on the beach. We walked in the deep sand while Cers played in the waves, then I coaxed Dixie into riding on the wet sand and letting the waves lick her feet. We went a couple miles up the beach, then turned back for camp and flew down the flat hard sand roads. The Gloves stayed put, with no sand in the boots or gaiters, but I didn't think they looked right. You're supposed to get a tiny bit of spread in the V at the front of the boot, and with a fresh trim, she had no spread. I bought Powerstraps too, but I wasn't sure how to install them / if I should install them.

Saturday afternoon, I went and found Lucy, who's one of the helpful Team Easyboot people. She brought a couple sizes of boots over to my camp and we tried them on - yes, 0.5's were the right size, and yes, they weren't fitting quite right. Dixie has close to perfect rear feet, a little flaring on the outside walls but not bad. Her front feet have persistently contracted heels, even when I keep them totally thrush-free and trimmed weekly. They're just never going to round out like they should, because of the shoes and pads when she was so young.

So Lucy gave me some athletic tape, loaned me a pair of 0.5's with powerstraps already installed, and showed me how to tape hooves. Let me tell you, it's just as much trouble as I thought it would be - and it WORKS. It's not something I'd want to do for every training ride, but it's definitely worth it for competitions. Dixie was EXTREMELY UNAMUSED by all this attention to her feet, and by the time I was taping the fourth hoof I was clinging to it for dear life, yelling "NOOOOO hold still" while she flapped it around like I was a troublesome sagebrush attached to her back leg. But I didn't let her put it down (and get sand on the tape, ruining the tape job), and she eventually gave up and let me finish. The new 0.5's fit picture-perfect on her back hooves, and the powerstrapped 0.5's went very snugly on her front feet.

I bought a cantle bag from Henry and shoved two Renegades in it as insurance. So if you're keeping count at home: four new boots, one new piece of gear on the saddle, a new knockoff Camelbak, and new half chaps. Like I said, it's a suggestion.

I have this irrational aversion to really long posts, so I'll quit here and start working on the Ride Post right now.

Another 50 in the bag :fistpump:

Just got home from my thrilling yet relaxing weekend. We finished the Sunday 50 at Washoe Valley - 22nd place, IIRC, total time of about 9:40, ride time of 8:25. I was shooting for about 10 hours total, so that's exactly where I wanted to be. Dixie is tired and sound. I am tired, with a bunged up knee from when I got off to lead her down a steep road and slipped on the sand. Cers is just delighted to be home.

I keep alternating between crying and giggling. We did it! She's so amazing. My horse rules. More later.

Already sporadic posting is on hold

A couple days ago, I wrote half a post about how incredibly busy I've been, but even I got bored reading it, and there wasn't anything very funny in it, so I deleted it. Just take my word for it: I've been really busy.

Now, having accomplished almost everything I wanted to get done this week, I am going on vacation. Cers and Dixie and I are going to Washoe for the whole weekend - I will volunteer on Saturday and ride the 50 on Sunday. Whee!

New post Sunday or Monday. I'll try to catch up on yall's blogs then too.

Acceptable food is acceptable

She dove right in to a pan of beet pulp from the new bag. :headdesk: Lesson learned, yet again: if the not usually picky horse gets picky, don't assume it's the horse's fault.

My humblest apologies, princess

As I was scooping out a tiny handful of BP tonight, what to my wondering hands should appear but a cat turd. :headdesk: I strongly suspect that if I buy a new bag of beet pulp and put the lid on it so the cats can't get in she'll go back to eating it. Why, cats? There's a whole acre of delightful sand. Why?

Weekend Update

(Doesn't that title just bring you back to the days of your youth when SNL was funny? Or at least when you were young and THOUGHT SNL was funny?)

In no particular order:

1. Dixie is on strike from beet pulp.  I am refusing to negotiate with terrorists.  Well, ok, I'm negotiating to the extent that she gets a much higher % of hay pellets and a much lower % of beet pulp... for now.  :ominous glare at horse:
2. G has rented a fabulous house for us in Daly City.  It's huger than we need, it costs a bazillion dollars, but most importantly:  pets ok.  Yahoo!  Move in on the 19th.
3. I have someone coming to look at renting this house on Tuesday.  Fingers crossed!
4. My unspeakably fabulous purple and blue fringed half chaps have arrived.  No, you may not see pictures now.  You must wait for ride pics.
5. I have been doing yard work pretty much nonstop since Friday and I filled up 21 bags.  Dead tumbleweeds, dead weeds, live baby sagebrush.  Now the yard looks like a barren rockpile instead of a weedy rockpile.  Improvement?  
6. I haven't ridden my beast since last Saturday.  Que sera, sera.  I think she'll be ok.  Hoping to get out for a pleasure cruise with the Cersei-dog tomorrow afternoon.  
7. I am oddly zen about Washoe.  It appears that I am focusing all my worrying on moving instead.  Hopefully this means we'll have a delightfully fun 10-hour ride.  
8. The Former Dr. Seuss room is entirely full of packed boxes, except for enough room to open the door.  The garage is de-junked.  The cat room needs sweeping and scrubbing, and the blue room is now the Other Room of Boxes, but the rest of the house is clean and airy.

That is all.

The Sword of Darwin

I haven't posted in a while, because everything here alternates between ennui and icky gross ~feelings~ about moving that I don't want to talk about. But today I killed a spider, and I thought, well, people blog about even sillier stuff than this, why not? Also, there's precedent.

I am in the minority about spiders in the house. Most people, I think, kill all spiders on sight. But I try to live in peace with spiders. Unlike yellowjackets or cockroaches, spiders have a place in the world. That place is outside, or up in the rafters of a barn, and preferably not inside my house. But if they do come in, they are welcome to stay if they follow a few simple rules.

1. The spider must be no larger than a quarter (preferably, no larger than a nickel) with all its creepy bitey arms outstretched.
2. The spider, if it is a web-builder, must create and maintain a web at ceiling level.  Corners are best.  Corners near lights are ideal, so the spider can eat the little bugs that fly in and buzz around the light.
3. If it is a wolf spider, it must FFFFF STAY THE HELL OFF OF ME.  Nothing makes me scream and do the Spider Dance like a damn nickel-sized wolf spider running across me on the couch.  

The Tub Spider this morning broke all the rules. I first noticed Tub Spider when it was behaving properly - up in the corner of the bathroom ceiling, not too large, chilling out. It seems paradoxical to approve of a spider in the corner of the bathroom ceiling, considering one is often naked in there and the spider could snap and leap upon you at any moment, but think about it: you've got all your weapons at hand. If you're in the shower, the water protects you. If not, you've got the makings of a protective Toilet Paper Mitt at hand. And if all else fails and it does go all rabid-dog on you and you panic, there's something you can squirt at it from the cabinet under the sink. Bathroom spiders are safe spiders.

But this morning the Bathroom Spider had molted, grown to the maximum permissible size of a quarter, and had moved house to spin a web in the tub. No sir.

It should be obvious that I don't like to kill things, even large uppity spiders. But I consider myself to be acting as the Sword of Darwin. Nature is red in tooth and venomous-fang. Creatures that are evolutionarily unsuited to where they end up get killed. If I kill every spider that migrates from the ceiling corners to the bathtub, eventually over many spider generations I will help create a less-than-quarter-sized species that ONLY lives in the corners of the ceilings. They will eat gnats and mosquitos, thus allowing me - and YOU! - to sleep better at night. I am doing a service for the world.

So I calmly grabbed a dustpan, dispatched the spider, made a small toilet paper glove, and threw it away. I didn't scream even once.

Now, if I can just keep it together when I have to crawl under the house and turn the swamp cooler water line back on...