Hit the road at 4:20 a.m. on Wednesday after a mostly sleepless night. Rich got up with me and fed the boys while I showered AND he found me some cash (forgot to stop at the bank) so all I had to do was load Ace and go.
Despite some road work, I got to my client’s compressor station right on time at 9:30 to do their safety meeting. They all enjoyed visiting with Ace, who stood patiently in the trailer for nearly three hours, eating and enjoying peppermint Lifesavers the guys fed him during the break in training.
Arrived at GMHA (VT) at about 6 p.m. to find I had no stall assignment and no one around to give me one. So I just parked Ace in the vacant stall next to my friend Gene, settled him in, parked, unhitched and leveled the rig all by myself and headed off to the Rojek’s Welcome Party, a fun affair with the bar located in the middle of their pond, such that you had to walk over rocks to get a glass of Merlot. I braved the trip once in high heeled mules, slugged down the red wine (I was wearing a white blouse) and made my way back to the dining tables. Sent the kids over for my drinks after that, only imagining the stories to be told about me falling in the pond, and knowing that I would never live it down.
Didn’t last long at the party, given the need for some ZZZZs, but got to catch up with folks and could tell it was going to be a good time by the folks at the party. I was warned by folks that the calcium chloride that the Vermonters use on the roads in great volumes was hell on the horses’ skin, and that horses often ended up with severely irritated pasterns and armpits from the salt/sweat/moving skin. Note to self: lots of sponging off of salt.
Thursday was vet-in day, and I should note here that this was a CTR (competitive trail ride), not an endurance ride. While an endurance ride is essentially a vet-controlled race over a measured course, a CTR is a judged competition with scoring pre- and post-ride (a measured distance with minimum and maximum times). This course is a three day 100, with 40 miles ridden the first two days at about 7 mph, and the third day of 20 miles ridden at just over 8 mph.
So the vetting takes a bit of time, with the judges noting every scrape, bump, bruise, and interference mark, so that at the end of the ride, they can compare the horse to how it started, thus determining scores and a winner. It also involves a trot out with circles in each direction, and the trick here is to have your horse do the vet-in trot out calmly, and then look energized and fresh AFTER the ride.
Ace has the unique gift of being slightly crazy. He’s twitchy and “up” and wide-eyed and looky, and ALWAYS has his ears up. This makes it tough to have a calm initial trot out, but he did okay.
Robin Groves, the lay judge, and I had a good laugh over the fact that National Show Horses (Arabian/Saddlebred crosses) are not bred for their brains. Art King, a vet from Canada that I’ve known forever, was the vet judge.
Spent the early evening prepping for the first 40 miles, packing up a crew bag, checking tack, gossiping and laughing with my barnmates Gene and Mel, then headed out to the Banquet, where Larry Geoghegan was honored (he’s been riding the VT 100 CTR since the 60s), and Denny Emerson kept us in stitches with his stories.
Ace was pretty “up” for the start the next morning. We left toward the end of the pack, with horses going out in pairs every 2 minutes or so. We had 6:50 to 7:20 to ride the 40 miles, including a 20 minute hold mid-way.
The course on Day One was especially gorgeous, which is notable, because Vermont is the most gorgeous place I’ve ridden, hands-down. This trail took us through Woodstock and a river, and a park with the most lovely pine needle covered trails, and a huge pond with the trees reflected in it in the morning light, which is where Ace and I parted ways briefly.
I’d made it my plan to do my best to ride Ace solo. He gets amped up in company, especially high-energy company, and pays little attention to where he puts his feet, whether or not he is hungry/thirsty/needs a walk break, and so, while I rode with several people for a brief mile or two, we did 90% of the 100 miles all by our lonesome.
As we left the pond to head through a field, there was a pile of freshly cut logs hidden in tall grass on the right. Spook left with rider slightly discombobulated. Pile of freshly cut logs on the left. Spook right. Exit rider, off to the left. Since Ace has been known to abandon me (the two times previous I came off him), I held onto the reins as I fell on my ample center of gravity (aka ass), scrambled right up and used the evil log piles as a mounting block. Since Ace hates being syringed, I considered giving him electrolytes to punish him for his insolence, but decided against it, as I am a kind and gentle horsewoman.
Before the hold, we had to ride through a paved area with cows in a pasture alongside the road (Billings Farm, I believe). Ace was especially not fond of the cows who chased him along the fence. I reminded him that cows were herbivores, but that did little to comfort him.
At the hold, I was reminded how unfamiliar I’ve become with CTR rules, mostly riding endurance the last few years. There is a 10 minute pulse check, and a brief vetting (metabolic and an out and back trot); you must stay at the hold for 20 minutes (which is not a long rest/eat period on a 40 mile trail). I’d made such good time on the first half of the trail that I planned to stay several extra minutes to make sure Ace got plenty to eat. I got my little time slip, asked where the line was (for pulse/respiration), got directed to the vet line, and managed to completely skip getting his pulse taken waiting for the vet.
When I realized my error (“Hmm, do the vets take pulses here?” I asked someone standing in line near me), I found a P/R person pronto immediamente at exactly the same time that Ace realized he could see the horses LEAVING the hold and heading back out on trail. Just as they tried to take his pulse, he started whirling and twirling and dancing, inconsolable about all of these BRAND NEW BEST FRIENDS FOREVER leaving him. Armed with just a lead line, I had little to no leverage to get his attention and ended up shanking him two handed as firmly as I could while snarling “KNOCK IT OFF!” from between clenched teeth.
Say goodbye to the horsemanship/sportsmanship awards, dope.
I got some meager semblance of control, his pulse was taken (40, astoundingly) and Robin and Art, the judges, laughed at the fact that I’d decided to ride the Saddlebred half of Ace that day.
Hahahaha. What fun.
Did I mention I was wearing a pinnie with my number on it? I do so love the fashion statement that a pinnie makes. <rolling eyes>
I stayed several extra minutes while Ace alternately danced about and slung slurpies hither and thither, managing to gulp down a V-8 before heading back out.
Oddly, none of the volunteers seemed anxious to hold Ace while I took a potty break. <laughing>
The most notable section of trail on the way back to camp involved a massive covered bridge which took you directly to Route 4, the main drag in Woodstock, where traffic flew past.
Ace, solo of course, marched right over the bridge, all pie-eyed and hooky ears, no doubt, and we were wildly grateful to find a crossing guard there, who stopped traffic to get us over the main road. He couldn’t help us with the brick-colored cross walk, or the sewer manhole, or the storm water drain, or the bright shop signs. Ace couldn’t decide in which direction to spook so simply sproinged across the intersection while I said Hail Marys, sat up, drove my heels down, and wondered why I hadn’t taken up a safer sport, like skydiving.
Several times on the trail, we were met by volunteers with water, or fruit, or snacks of some sort. This was a super treat, and something we don’t get in endurance!
Got back to camp without incident, on time, and when I got my little in time slip from the timer, I started to dismount. “No, no, you need to ride through the ring!” Um, okay, so I started to walk Ace on the buckle through the ring. “No, no, please trot!” I looked around to see absolutely zero spectators, but dutifully, I gathered up the reins, asked Ace to jog a few steps, then headed back to his stall where we could cool him out for the 20 minute pulse.
Pulse was right on, trotted out just fine, and tucked Ace in, searching for alcohol and a shower, not necessarily in that order. Gene had had a good ride too, and we talked about how tough the trail was the following day. (Gene has ridden the 100 mile CTR at Vermont a number of times.) My Albion saddle had slid back a little back during the last few miles of the ride (should have fixed it), leaving a couple of small areas of fill under the stirrup bars, so I opted to ride in my treeless saddle the next day, which Ace loves, but I’d barely ridden in more than two miles in the previous year. Got it all together, cleaned up the dusty saddle, repacked the pommel packs, etc.
We spent lots of time hand-grazing the horses and keeping them loose and limber between rest time in the stalls. Since we couldn’t use any medication or shampoos, we simply made sure we had them as clean of salt as possible. I was tickled to find that my farrier had done a bang-up job and that Ace had not interfered at all on a tough 40 mile trail.
On Day Two, I also drew a high number, meaning that I would start dead last on the trail. I’d been told repeatedly that this was the toughest day of trail, and right from the get-go, tough it was. Climbs and climbs and steep descents and rocky, washed out trail, then slimy, slippery stuff, and all what I consider to be WALKING trail. So we walked. Where we had good trail, no kidding, we galloped. As we passed the markers indicating each five miles of trail covered (“35 miles to go”, “30 miles to go”, etc.) I calculated that we were going 5 mph, not fast enough to make time. I kept repeating to myself that it was better to be over time than to come back with a lame horse.
We did almost all of this trail all on our own, which was wonderful.
Did I mention how much I hate riding in that treeless saddle? Ace was happy as a lark, and I was struggling to ride in balance, using muscles I hadn’t used in a very long time. I might have cursed under my breath a lot. (Good thing we were alone.)
Did I mention that I love wearing a pinnie?
At a water stop, we were assured that the second half of the trail had about 9 miles of road, which meant we could boogie. Phew.
Ace was angelic at this halfway hold. I think he knew that I’d stashed a chain shank in my gear bag. No need. Not only did he stand quietly
and eat, but he behaved perfectly, such that I could not only drink a V-8 but also grab a sandwich.
We utilized the roads on the way back to camp, making time, but I was still averse to trotting downhill, and took special care to keep Ace out of groups of horses so that I could rate him sensibly. He got better and better about getting electrolyted, and seemed to resign himself to suffering through it. I always rinse his mouth with water or give him peppermints or granola bars after the salty stuff, so I think he forgave me. Kind of.
I am pretty sure that the mileage between “10 miles to go” and “5 miles to go” was a wee bit short, so when we hit the 5 miles to go, I checked my watch and went from hustling in to make time, to slowing down to a walk to avoid coming in under the minimum time. Someone gave me a popsicle on this leg of the trail, and it was one of those terrific berry frozen treats – it tasted fantastic, and was super refreshing on what was turning out to be a pretty warm afternoon.
The last few miles of trail took us up Reeves Hill, where the GMHA cross country course used to be. I actually stopped Ace to turn 360 degrees and check out the absolutely breathtaking view. You could see Mount Washington in the distance, and gorgeous vistas all the way around. Hard to do it justice verbally.
At that moment, I remembered that the treeless saddle’s pommel pack carried precious cargo indeed.
A small portion of my friend Zoe’s Mom’s ashes, in a tiny gin bottle, appropriately enough, and I just knew at this moment that this was a lovely place for her to spend a piece of eternity. So I opened to top and, stunningly, Ace stood still as I scattered Molly’s Mum’s Mum to the winds in Vermont, so she could watch over the Vermont countryside.
A peaceful and soulful walk into camp from there, another trip through the riding ring with my time slip, and back to sponge Ace off.
As I sponged water over Ace’s withers, he shivered away from me. Damn. His armpits, the right one especially, inflamed and read and angry and sore. The salty water from his sweat must have stung horribly! There is nothing worse than having your partner hurting, and I felt awful, so sponged everywhere else, asking people what I could do, legally, to make him more comfortable. Just cool water sponging, I was told.
Ace’s pulse didn’t quite come down to parameter that day, no doubt due to the stinging armpits. He trotted out just fine, however, and I vowed to do my best to make him as comfortable as I could.
The girth had nothing to do with the soreness. In fact, Ace’s treeless saddle has a centerfire rigging, which means the girth is about 10 inches from his elbow. I learned later, from talking to the judges, that the higher stepping horses, like Ace, tend to fling the salt right up into their armpits, and if they’re thin-skinned, the salt, and the action of the opening/closing of the leg, along with the sweat, work into the skin and leave them tender. Ow.
We drank some wine at the stalls that night, enhanced by Pro-CMC, a nice Pepto Bismol pink supplement that Mel accidentally shot out of a syringe all over us. I did my best to keep Ace’s armpits comfortable, but mostly he wanted me to leave them alone.
Eighty miles down, 20 to go, and these were the fastest miles of the week. No hold, and 2:45-3:00 hours to complete the course.
With Ace’s back in fine form, I switched back to the Albion, only to find that one of the holes in my Webbers had ripped through, meaning I’d need to ride with my stirrups either one hole shorter, or one hole longer. I mentioned this to my barnmates, and within minutes, Team Rojek had rounded me up a spare stirrup leather so I could ride with them at the normal length. Hooray!
Shockingly, I had picked a high number again for the order of go, so was leaving out amongst the last of the 100 milers. De rigeur, I did my best to keep Ace solo, somewhat harder with the smaller time window and the faster course, but we mostly managed well. Midway through the course was Cookie Hill, where you were offered a home baked cookie at the top of the climb. I declined, but what an incredibly cool thing to do for the riders!
Some fairly rough trail and keeping Ace out of a pack left me scrambling to make time a bit on the second half, and when we hit the open road, I just let Ace trot. It was stunning to me that never once had I had to ASK the horse to go. He just offered and offered and offered and was as fresh on the third day as he’d been on the first. He flew down the road for miles at this enormous trot and I could hear a horse cantering behind us, unable to keep pace.
Boogeying along allowed us to walk in the last mile, where I got a little verklempt and told Ace he was almost done, he’d done it, he was amazing, he made me proud, thankyouthankyouthankyou. We arrived at the timer again, got our slip, and Ace threw in a tremendous spook at some papers rustling on a chair. Somehow I managed to get him in the ring’s gate, where he saw the announcer’s booth for the first time, skittering to the center of the ring, just to hear his name announced, which sent him into a wide-eyed passage. This time there were spectators. I mumbled to someone at the out gate about putting on some weighted shoes and heading back in for the Road Hack class, and giggled back to his stall.
This time as I sponged him to cool him I carefully avoided his armpits, and put him in his stall to pee.
Phew. Made the final pulse. 44. Would lose no points on that one.
Up to the judges for hands-on vetting.
Art found absolutely no change in Ace. Metabolics were all perfect, no change in the legs. No fill, no windpuffs, no interference marks, no heat. Remarkable for a horse traveling 100 miles over terrain like that.
Robin found only the armpits, knocked off two points for each pit, and reassured me that there was absolutely nothing to do to prevent them.
So far, Ace was doing pretty well.
Brief break to grab some of the delicious brunch they served, then time to limber the horses back up for the final trot out.
Picture this. Day one, 40 miles. Day two, 40 miles. Day three, 20 miles. All at a decent clip. Then an hour or two break and now the horse is supposed to trot out, all animated and sound and looking as though they hadn’t done a thing.
Ace’s biggest problem was getting his armpits restretched after a break of standing in his stall eating. Don’t think it didn’t just wreck me to watch him step carefully down out of him stall, knowing that it had to feel like ripping open a brush burn. Sigh.
I asked him to jog once or twice and watched as other riders razzed up their horses, trotting them hither and thither and tuned them up to trot out in an animated fashion.
I knew that wasn’t necessary with Ace. I am privileged to own a twitchy, amped up, and have I mentioned, slightly crazy?, horse, so I mostly just kept him walking and waited in line.
Our turn.
Art, having seen Ace all weekend, said to me, “show us how well your horse handled this.”
Gulp.
Cluck, cluck.
Ace leaps into a trot beside me, never missing a beat. Circle left, faster and more animated every stride, sound as can be. I give a low <brilllllll> and he stops, I switch the lead line to my right hand and raise my left, and he rolls back in the other direction – and don’t for a minute think that I drill this into this horse, or that I’m some fantabulous in-hand trainer, but he is so smart and so earnest that I practice this every once in a while and he just tunes right in, he gets it, this is his job, and he’s GOOD at it – and trots right, huge and animated. I stop him, turn him back to the judges and back he trots, <brillllll> to halt squarely on his butt square in front of the judges.
“Great!” Robin says, and adds “and thank you for not holding on to his face!”
We’d nailed it and I knew it, and patted Ace on the neck repeatedly. Goodboy, goodboy, goodboy, you’redonegoodboy. The person keeping everyone in order as they came in to trot out stopped me and said “best trot out of the day.” Marched Ace right down to the trailer, all finished with his vetting, gave him a gram of tube bute, as we still had one more hurdle to jump.
Mounted awards.
Sigh.
Yes. After 100 miles, and the hands on and the trot out, at Vermont they stand on a 74 year old 100 mile CTR tradition and do mounted awards in the ring.
It was the least I could do to medicate my guy a bit before he got tacked up. Again.
We had a bit of a break, so I fiddled with hooking up my trailer and ran to a spot with a cell signal to update Rich on how we were doing, and came back just in time to grab a clean dressage pad, Ace’s snaffle bridle (with ABO’s blingy blue browband displayed for all to see), and tack him up. Um, yeah, I had changed into jeans. So, um yeah, blingy browband and um, a rider in jeans. And trail running sneakers.
I apologized repeatedly to Ace as I put the saddle on his back, and slipped the bit in his mouth, and especially when I mounted up.
I asked my friend Mel – “they call us in to the rings as we get our placing, right?”
“Um, no, we all stand in there, lined up.”
!*(!#)@
“Ace is not going to STAND there.”
Stand there? The horse who we fondly call “Twitchy?”
And he didn’t.
We lined up by weight division, and they started calling out awards. For all 50 some horses. One at a time. Ace did another 4 or 5 miles in teeny tiny circles as they did this. Now, he was nicely round and not at all naughty. He just could NOT stand still. He did yaw his mouth (his tension move), but he did the best he could for a horse with a constant case of ants-in-his-pants. I feared that if I got on his case to stay in one place that he would start to piaffe, another favorite trick. I figured the walking circles were less distracting. Though dizzying. And yes, there was a crowd watching. (I was more than a little mortified.)
Finally, our division. Completions, 6th, 5th, 4th, 3rd, still, our number not called. I watched as riders and horses WAAAAY more experienced than us collected their ribbons. Finally, it was just us. We won our division. Ace jigged up, the judge laughed and made NO move to hook the ribbon on his browband, held up the huge perpetual trophy to show us, and we circled back into line.
“Wait. Come back here.”
They announced that he won the Rookie Horse Award.
I started to get verklempt. They held up the big silver plate, I said “lovely” and started to head back into line.
“Wait.”
And they announced that we’d won the Woodstock Inn award, given to the horse judged to be the best trail horse, based on gaits, conformation and MANNERS. I started choking when they said “manners” and the crowd laughed, as, um, they kind of noticed he hadn’t stood still for more than seven nanoseconds thus far, and I hugged and kissed Ace and scratched his forehead and then circled quietly for the rest of the awards ceremony.
As we exited afterwards, the woman who had picked Ace for the Woodstock award stopped me, and told me how she’d watched us on trail all weekend (there were volunteers out on trail all over the place, giving out drinks, at the holds, etc.) and how I’d carefully kept Ace by himself and how he seemed so happy going down the trail, doing his thing, and how we were such terrific partners, obviously having fun together. That made me all kinds of teary-eyed, and I thanked her for sharing that with me, and told her how lovely a horse he really was.
Packing up, and sharing champagne, and telling stories, and my friend Gene and his partner insisted that I come have dinner and stay at their farm that evening, stripping Ace’s stall so that I couldn’t say no. They helped me get all packed up and hitched up and I had the distinct pleasure of a relaxing evening at their farm with their horses and dogs. Two beers, a delicious dinner, much laughter and gossip, and in bed at 10 p.m.
On the road at 6 a.m. and back home at 2 p.m. or so, and I didn’t hit anything with the truck.
Ace’s armpits are all scaly and awful and slathered with Vaseline, but he looks bright and chipper and I told him as I led him into the barn to tell them all about the big trophies he won.
I’m pretty sure he told Ned. Ace grabbed a big drink of water out of the trough, stretched out to pee, and Ned chased him around mid-tinkle. Poor boy. May be a rock star in CTR, but he’s still at the bottom of our herd’s totem pole.