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No Frills 30/55 Endurance Ride
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Trailer parking at ridecamp. We arranged 75 "lots" 30' wide by 75' long in 4 lanes each having a 35' road frontage. It gave everyone plenty of space for their horses, was quite orderly ... and quite picture perfect!
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My Welsh/Arab pony "Itchy" and I, fresh from obtaining the final 100 miles needed for our 1,000 mile mark at last week’s Cranberry ride, were in the 55 mile division. I did the parking plan for John and Ann in their middle pasture which was selected as the ride camp. If Ann hadn’t jinxed the whole thing by remarking earlier to me “you know – the only way out of the field is uphill and if it rains we’re going to have to tow everyone out” I think we would have been fine. The forecast was for a brief shower with clearing, and sunny and cool on ride day.
But… nooooooo. Old Man Winter got his back up… and while the ride briefing was in progress a massive thunderstorm blew up just over the mountain ridge. In a matter of seconds after the lightening started flashing, riders were racing back to the campsite to batten down the hatches. I got back in time to grab Itchy out of his pen and race into the little run in shed next to my parked trailer. Just as we got under cover… the storm hit.
And what a doozy of a storm!!
Rain came down in blinding sheets, blown sideways by furious winds. The trees waved and danced furiously as the skies blazed overhead with violent lightening right above us, and the ground shook with the tremendous crashing of thunder. Safe inside the shed my pony and I stood silently and watched the carnage as the fierce winds took out several of the pitched tents and (I later learned) the main tent at the briefing site where the staff had been busy putting together sandwiches for the riders the next day.
The view when the weather is clear
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But Old Man Winter still had a last trick up his sleeve. A warm persistent drizzle began tapping the roof on my trailer in the wee hours. By the time the 55 mile riders were on the trail at 6:30 AM ride start, the drizzle abruptly changed to a slightly steadier rain. The temps were still warm, however, so many riders left rump rugs and warmer clothing behind. Hours before the crew bags had been loaded by ride management and set for the trip to the away vet check.
The smarter riders knew better than to trust the weather, however, and despite the warm morning a number of horses left base camp with rump rugs in place. They would turn out to be the lucky ones as temperatures began to drop and the rain to increase. The scenery in the first leg was lovely lowland trees and logging trails. Itchy was in just his riding halter, being a perfect gentleman so that I had the luxury of enjoying the scattering of woodland cherry trees displaying their newly opened blossoms. They were as beautiful as those on the Washington DC tidal basin, yet not quite as advanced in the blooming cycle. Far too short a time to enjoy the views since the first vet check came up quickly at 9 miles. With a 45 minute hold to wait out, the horses had barely warmed up to the task. During the hold the weather started to take a very rapid downward plunge. By the time the first 55 milers were back out on trail the temps had dropped 10 degrees into the low 40’s, and the rain had picked up intensity.
One could hardly imagine things could get worse.
But then it happened. Ride management’s worst nightmare. Trail vandalism.
Just up from the vet check the critical turn for the trail to the 2nd loop of 25 miles had been stripped of all ribbons. Without those ribbons all the 55 miler riders continued down the fire road miles off course. As they came upon several downed trees across the trail, and no ribbons for too long a period of time, they knew something was wrong. All turned and came racing back to warn others, but then someone spotted a small piece of ribbon in the tree that said everyone was going the right direction.
Unfortunately, that piece of ribbon was from a previous year, and when word of the confusion finally got back to the management at the vet check the staff raced out to find, to their horror, all traces of the turn ribbons gone. A quick replacement of ribbons helped the returning lost riders, and those still left at the vet check, to find the correct trail, but changed the placing of the riders as the end result.
The rain soaked, rocky trail was next to exact a toll. This mountainous loop was a constant “shoe check” type of trail with many varieties and types of shoes being discarded along the way, and countless riders wandering back unhappily looking for lost easyboots. It also proved to have a dangerous side -- while ascending the first climb to the ridge a group of us came upon two riders in the middle of the trail, both down on foot, the 2nd rider leaning insteadily against her horse, trying to stand upright by herself but not quite succeeding. We called out asking if everything was OK, but got back a "No!" response. As a group we pulled up and were told the rider had been kicked in the head. She looked up at us, dizzy and not focused, alarming us all. I told her to just sit down and take it easy for a few minutes, which she did.
I didn't have my cell phone with me, nor did anyone else in the group -- a first hand learning experience to always bring some kind of communication. I'm not sure, but believe the two finally rode back down the mountain to the check. Later I overheard first rider describing the situation later to another person. The one rider had gotten off to put an easyboot on her gelding and was kicked right in the head by the horse in front. Apparently that mare objected when gelding tried to rub his head on her butt. The rider's helmet took the full force of the impact, but the situation could well have been fatal. Scary.
As the mountain trail climbed upward the terrain changed to mountain laurel and small hardwoods and pines. It was extremely lovely as well as challenging. Up on the ridge top the flatter trail, although very rocky and more subject to the freezing rain and wind, was a welcome respite from the long sections of climbs and descents.
It was indeed lucky that it was raining, however freezing cold and miserable, since it provided water where there normally is none. Itchy was grateful for every puddle, and drank like a fish the entire ride much to my delight. He also ate like a pig at the next check as well, inhaling everything in sight, further delighting me since he used to be such a picky eater. I think reaching the 1,000 mile mark threw a mental switch in his brain. He finally figured out that endurance riding meant you better eat and drink when you can because you never know when the next chance might arrive!
I had started out riding with an acquaintance and we had both planned on riding just for the miles and in the back of the pack, but the trail vandalism ended up throwing us out front. For the first two legs of the ride her horse had been disinclined to either eat or drink, and wanted to move out much faster than I wished to go. We had enjoyed riding and chatting for the prior legs but our horses were not in sync and it was time to part. She moved on midway through the 2nd loop while I stopped to let Itchy drink. My pony was unbothered to see the other horse go; he was too busy tanking up. As my companion disappeared from sight I throttled back to enjoy a more leisurely, solitary ride.
By the time I got into the 2nd vet check at the 35 mile point the relentless rain had dissolved the whole site into an endless sea of thick, googy mud. The temperatures were continuing to drop at an alarming rate. It had plummeted a full 20 degrees in the last 6 hours, and by now all the riders where doing their level best to keep both themselves and their shivering horses warm.
Itchy drops his pulse faster if his saddle is off, so I stripped him down and threw on his wool cooler. He passed the vet check easily, although it required great skill and technique for me to negotiate the muddy trot-out. We got back to our spot and he dove hungrily into his food. My acquaintance was there, much happier since her horse had finally become interested in eating and drinking. His tummy was full and he closed his eyes for a nap, snoozing with nodding head while Itchy munched down with gusto.
I was beyond grateful for Itchy eating so well, and busied myself getting his 2-bag carrot supply ready for the final leg.
While I had packed Itchy's lovely wool show cooler for the checks, I silently regretted having left behind at base camp my lovely dressage warm-up wool quarter sheet (that comes up to attach around my waist and also covers my legs), and the waterproof rump rug as well. Fortunately, however, I had packed along my polyester waterproof saddle carry bag to protect my saddle from rain during the holds. I pressed it into service as a rump rug for Itchy, overlaid with a lovely (but technically useless in the freezing rain and cold) silk windbreaker for additional coverage. The arrangement looked quite fetching, and the saddle bag was perfectly proportioned to cover Itchy’s rump. Everything was secured in place with the large stable blanket pins I always carry on my saddle for emergency use.
With my pony’s rump now protected, and him snug under his wool cooler, still eating everything in sight, my acquaintance and I started counting down the cold rainy minutes until we could hit the trail for the third and final time. Her out-time was 10 minutes before mine. I waved her off, and busied myself packing up, keeping as warm as I could before my out time was at hand. As I removed and packed away Itchy's cooler, mounting up a minute before my out time, he was still chowing down on hay, wasting not one precious moment to keep fueling. What a good boy! I patted him and we left the check on time anxious to finish the final 18 miles before the weather got any worse.
That was not to be… but at least it was a plan.
Taking one’s time was very important on this last section of trail, if the fistfulls of lost shoes on the prior loops was any indication. One gentleman on a lovely chestnut passed me three times, and each time a short bit later I re-passed him walking back down the trail in search of his easyboot. Once I even stopped and hung a lost easyboot on a tree branch – he told me later he’d seen it but it was someone else’s boot. Not his! By the time I’d passed him for the third and final time, he was down to two shoes and one boot and was just trying to take it easy with his horse’s one unprotected hoof in order to complete.
I kept a close watch on my own pony’s shoes – being my own farrier I can’t blame anyone else other than myself if I’d lost a shoe. But Itchy’s aluminum Eventers stayed on tight as a tick despite the heavy, sloppy going and churned up, rocky trails. So all I had to worry about was how to keep my freezing hands from turning into solid blocks of ice.
The 18 mile final loop was probably was the hardest loop with a severe, almost 90 degrees upwards climb within the 1st mile. Let me tell you – I was very grateful my pony had on his leather hunting breast collar as we hit that vertical slope. I watched with awe, and a bit of concern, as the leather strained to keep my saddle from sliding back onto my pony’s tail. Normally I would have gotten off and walked up the slope myself, but the rains had made the trail as slick as ice and I would have been more of a detriment to my pony by trying to walk up that slope when he could dig in so much easier and better. Even so, he had to stop twice for a break, and I stopped him close to the stop in order to take off and reposition my saddle.
The trail in the fog
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With that severe climb out of the way the trail eased up… but not by much. We were on the crest of the mountain ridge again. The weather had dropped another several degrees. It was now into the 30’s, and still heading downward. It was getting beyond cold with the increased wind and I started to hear the gentle pinging of sleet on my helmet along with the driving rain on the trees and underbrush around me. A deep fog developed over the ridge of the mountain, erasing the beautiful valley views in a thick shroud of soft white. The rain, sleet, and fog closed around me and my pony as we trotted along, always obscuring the long view of the trail as we slowed to a careful walk among the rocky stretches.
At one point I got off and walked with much slipping and sliding along the most difficult section of the trail, grateful for the chance to get my blood warm and moving into my hands. I'd chosen to wear lightweight summer gloves that were now soaked completely through, frigid cold, and utterly useless. Fortunately, I had worn the cozy polar fleece jacket I'd gotten as a Top Ten award at one of the past Michaux rides. Under my breathable raincoat it kept my upper body toasty warm. The plastic I'd ducttaped to the front my stirrups to prevent the rain from getting on my running shoes were also a bonus in keeping my feet warm and protected. My pony was warm in his improvised rump rug, so all I had to worry about was my hands. Having been an avid skier and on the ski patrol in my early youth, I figured I could deal with that.
The trail was almost ethereal in the freezing rain and fog, and I found myself reflecting on how soldiers in the war must have felt much the same way as I currently did, hiking along with my pony trailing behind. There had been a moment, during the several miles of off trail at the beginning of the 2nd loop, where my companion and I debated just pulling due to the weather and the extra miles from being misdirected. But I had thought of my son, who was captain of his cross country team and who had run countless races in horrendous weather conditions of heat and cold. I knew he would have been appalled had his mom wimped out because of some mere freezing cold and rain. That is why I, coming back from the lost trail to find the turn ribbons now in place, had turned immediately to follow the re-marked trail. My companion had done likewise, but told me later she would have pulled with no regrets.
Yet here I was, several hours and 35 miles later, walking in the driving sleet and relentless freezing rain atop a bitterly cold fog-shrouded mountain ridge with 18 miles still in front of me, thinking deep thoughts to myself. A glutton for punishment you may ask? Probably. Glad I was there? Absolutely. At that moment there was no place else I’d rather be ... other than in a hot tub. That, however, was due later.
The temperature continued to drop lower, dipping below the freezing mark, the sleet and winds making the cold even worse. Once the trail descended off the mountain I caught up with another rider who tagged along with Itchy and I for a few miles. She was very sweet, and very concerned about her horse because the poor mare had no rump cover. I hadn’t the heart to tell the rider the rain and sleet was now mixed with snow – I figured she’d discover it herself soon enough. Itchy was still drinking well, stopping at every puddle whenever he felt the slightest urge. Thankfully the rain had given us uncountable opportunities for water – a situation that would have been drastically different only a day ago in this drought stricken area. I was coming to the end of my two bags of carrots, but at one water stop offered the other rider’s mare two carrots which it accepted eagerly, looking for more. Sadly, I needed what I had left for Itchy so there were no more treats forthcoming for the sweet horse. The rider and I trotted up a long, tiring uphill grade, stopping twice more for the horses to drink deep from the roadside puddles.
After an eternity of trotting that uphill road the trail turned down into the woods, heading for a gate and go at the bottom of the mountain. The rocks and churned up ground made it difficult to negotiate at much other than a walk. It was beyond freezing then, and when I saw the vet check at the bottom, I got off Itchy and just began to walk. The third check for the 55 milers (2nd check for the 30s) was a “gate and go” with a 20 minute hold. Due to the freezing weather, however, the ride management just changed it to a pulse and trot-out. Itchy was pulsed down as we walked in, but when I handed the P&R person my card and she asked my rider number I gave her some odd number that just floated into my head. Frankly, I don’t even remember what I said. She looked at me puzzled, and said there was no such number. It took a moment for my brain to function again, and I remembered my correct number. A few minutes talking with the staff woke me back up mentally, and I began to focus on the final miles. At that point there was only 8 miles left to go, and Itchy was grabbing at the extra hay left for horses that had to be held at the check. I let him grab a few more mouthfuls, but then suggested we move on before the weather got even worse.
We trotted off, leaving the nice lady behind. I suspect that Itchy knew we were close to home. His ears pricked and his pace increased as the gravel roads and woodland trails leading back began to look familiar. He and I had ridden this part of the trail last year, and he knew where it led. We passed three riders enroute, one of them increasing pace to tag along when he’d found out I knew the trails. But we left him behind once we hit the gravel since he was missing a front shoe and needed to go slower.
The rain/sleet/snow and wind began to disappear about 2 miles from the finish, just about the time we saw a fourth rider in the distance. But the roads had once again taken a long, endless stretch uphill. Itchy was still going strong and kept asking to canter to catch up to the other rider, but uphill is not his forte and it was taking more out of him than I wanted. I asked him to bide his time and we slowed up to a relaxed trot, still keeping the distant figure of the rider in view. I knew that the last ½ mile was all downhill, and that Itchy is unbeatable downhiller with a natural athletic ability to rocket down slopes like an Olympic level slalom skier. As the road began to crest I let Itchy close the distance between the other rider until we reached her. She was surprised to see us and for a few moments we rode together amiably.
But we both knew the finish line was closing in fast, and we both gradually increased pace until we were flying along at a fast trot, neck and neck, both vying to be in the lead. As the road angled upwards she pulled ahead, but then it dropped downwards and we closed the gap. She was in the center of the road and I could see her horse’s back hooves slipping on the hard-packed slick surface as the road took on a greater slant downhill.
I angled Itchy to the side of the road where the ground was softer and afforded a “grab”, sat back in my saddle and gave him the signal to go. He opened stride, launched into that incredibly high-speed gaited “running trot” of his, and we shot past the other rider at blinding speed on the inside of a 90 degree bend in the road.
Her horse couldn’t keep up with Itchy’s pace, which I figured would happen. She tried but her horse kept slipping on the road and she had to pull him back, calling out a warning to me the road was slick. I didn’t reply – I was on the edge where the ground was perfect. She figured that out suddenly, and moved in behind me, right on Itchy’s tail.
Together we raced around the final bend, taking the 90 degree turn into the level driveway at top trotting speed. I saw out of the corner of my eye the other rider might have been thinking about going across the grass corner at the edge of the drive to get in front of me again, but a car was in the way and she had to follow my turn into the driveway.
I knew then she wasn’t giving up, and it was now or never.
I leaned forward and threw Itchy the reins. He responded by launching into a dead out gallop, ears flat, running full bore towards the finish. That grand pony of mine loves to beat out other horses at a racing finish, so he was in his element! The driveway had one more 90 degree bend and we rounded that last turn on two wheels, bearing down at a dead gallop to the finish line only yards away, the other rider at full gallop less than a stride behind.
That’s when I saw, with absolute horror, a car backing up across the finish line, blocking it almost completely! The people standing around started screaming at the driver to stop, as the two horses were racing in too fast to turn.
My brain went into instant high alert. I looked frantically for an escape route. To the left of the car the road was blocked completely by a high enbankment. To the right, however, was a small space between the car's rear bumper and the in-timer tent. It was enough to get past safely ...barely. I was thinking I was going to have to dive under the in-timer’s tent if the car kept backing up but thank goodness the driver heard the people screaming for him to stop his car. He did, completely blocking 90% of the finish line.
I angled my galloping pony to that tiny space on the right, avoiding both the car, the tent, and Henry, the ride in-timer, who was sitting just a few feet away. My pony flew across the edge of the finish line with the other rider right behind us.
Itchy thinks the grandest fun in endurance riding is beating other horses at the finish line, and this type of finish just makes his day. I was so pleased and proud for him, and I know he was pleased with himself as well.
I had no idea where we’d placed until I heard the crew person for the other rider say to her she’d come in 11th place. As I handed my card to Henry I asked if I was 10th, and he said “yes”. I was tickled pink! I thought Itch and I were somewhere in the middle of the pack, so this was a delightful surprise. Another “top ten” for our record! What a team!
It was a grand end to a very cold, very rainy, very long day.
Being only an hour and a half from our farm meant I could quickly get Itchy home in time to sleep with his own herd-mates in the comfort and security of his own familiar surroundings. I was certainly glad I didn’t stay overnight – it was near 20 degrees that night at the ride site and I heard from one of my friends that there was a heavy frost on the ground the next morning, and her trailer door and windows were all frozen shut!
Itchy is now off work and enjoying some well deserved R&R while I spend the next few weeks playing with the driving ponies. Next ride is end of May at Michaux, a lovely mountain ride in PA that I positively adore. We’re going for our first 75 mile distance. I tried twice last year to do the 75’s, but something else always intervened and I never made it to the rides. Hopefully, this year we’ll be on the trail, extending the distance and moving closer to our goal of obtaining our 2,000 mile mark.
John and Ann Crandall, who host the ride at their lovely farm in Star Tannery, VA – which, coincidentally, is right next to the border of West Virginia – have the most extensive trail system right at their fingertips. The mid section of the massive 1 million acre George Washington National Forest is directly across the main road from the Crandall’s, and offers the most challenging trails for the 30 and 55 mile ride.