I’ve said more than once that getting to the ride is really the hardest part. Not just for all of the horse and rider preparation, but perhaps because we have a truck that one could kindly call “Old Unreliable.”
Arriving at Gene and Dale’s in what I hope is soon to be our EX hauling vehicle
The tale of the truck breaking down in Vermont is one that is best told over a cold cocktail, so that you can hear me sigh, and commiserate by shaking your own head in frustration, so I’ll just save that away and reserve this report for the fun part — the actual ride itself.
On Wednesday evening, Sarge, Ned and I arrived at my friend Dale and Gene’s place. It was HOT. Like me, Gene was entered in the three day 100 mile ride with his mare, Grace.
As the boys settled in (which equates to running around in their paddock, flirting with mares, and rolling repeatedly to disguise any evidence of the bath I’d given them the day prior) I walked around and got to meet this year’s foals, and to catch up with the mares and stallions I’d met the prior year. I also got to renew my friendship with the four farm dogs — Bart, Sadie, Cinch and Bullseye. Bullseye, a cocker spaniel with soulful eyes, a mouthful of teeth in desperate need of a canine orthodontist, and a closed mouth grin that allowed the tip of his tongue to peek out, is my absolute favorite; there’s nothing I love more than a special-needs child.
Bullseye and Sadie snuggle on the kitchen floor while I cook dinner
Gene and Dale had recently adopted an adolescent peacock with a limp (he’d been hit by a car) who shocked me with his blue plumage as he trotted around shyly with the guinea hens. (They like special needs children too.)
We caught up with friends at Rojeks’ lovely Welcome Party, enjoying cocktails, a great meal, and a video from the 50th anniversary ride (twenty five years ago). It was amazing to hear the locals tell tales of riders who’d come and gone, and to see familiar riders looking a couple of decades younger and less wise. No endurance tack per se (lots of hunt seat saddles and tall boots), very few helmets, lots of stylish fedoras, and a much wider variety of breeds populated the video.
On Thursday morning I had an eventful drive to GMHA, but in short, we made it there safe and sound and HOT (again) minus one functioning hauling vehicle.
Denny was there to greet us upon arrival, and helped me settle the horses in and unpack. It was nearly a two hour wait, in the sun, to get the horses vetted in, so we caught up and swapped tales while I filled Denny in on what it is like to ride Ned. I was concerned about the heat and humidity and hoping there would be a break in the weather overnight.
Thursday night was the banquet, held this year in the Youth Center, right at GMHA. I was a little disappointed that there were not any guest speakers from years past, given that this was the 75th anniversary and there were at least a dozen riders at the banquet who’d ridden the ride in decades past. It would have been inspiring to hear their stories.
No sign of a cold front coming through, so we set off on Friday morning in a serious fog of heat and humidity. Ned is a big horse, and heat is his nemesis, so I knew we’d have to ‘ride smart’ in order to get Ned through the 40 miles in good shape. I shared my thoughts with Denny and he agreed, checking Ned’s skin temperature regularly and working hard to keep Ned’s core temperature cool.
Denny learns about the joy that is cooling a half-warmblood on a hot, muggy day
Denny and Ned coming out of the river
Refreshed, Sarge and I follow …
Riding with Denny was a treat. As we rode along, I heard tales of the farmer who lived in that house, or the time he rode from there to here, or the history of a house or the trail. We rode through the Rockefeller’s former property, where the horses sipped from stone springwater basins, originally designed for cattle, I imagine. Denny told me jokes in his Maine accent, and I laughed and laughed and laughed.
At one point, he shared some excerpts from a book called “Games for Morons” and I had a difficult time staying upright in the saddle. “Bobbing for water” was my personal favorite.
At the trail’s midpoint, we discovered that Denny’s left stirrup had rubbed Ned’s side, so managed to borrow a different stirrup from a rider who had been pulled (thank you Patty!). In retrospect, in the heat, we’d have likely spent more time cooling Ned had we not had to scramble for the tack change, but as it is so often in endurance and life in general, a case of 20/20 hindsight.
Sarge and I heading through town
In some ways, ECTRA CTR is more difficult than endurance. In endurance, we’d have spent more time in the hold, taken more time getting back to camp and lingered longer at water stops. But since you have only a 6:50 to 7:20 window in which to complete the 40 miles (including the 20 minute hold plus another mandatory 10 minute stop), hustling ends up a part of the game. Especially in the heat.
We managed to finish at almost exactly our maximum time, with both boys feeling good. Ned, however, was hot. Our muck tubs of water were now as warm as bath water. I made the mistake of not switching them out for cooler water from the spigot, and Ned failed to make the 20 minute pulse. We took both boys up for a post-ride safety check, where they checked out sound and okay to go, with the exception of Ned’s hanging pulse. Cooler water back at the barn fixed that, but the weather was brutal. We spent most of the afternoon and evening hand walking the horses to keep them cool and out of their stalls, which felt more like saunas than a refuge for rest.
At dinner time, both boys still had a pulse of around 55, which is high for them. Once again, I quietly hoped for a serious cool down overnight.
It came, to some degree, and off we set for the second day of 40 miles of trail, with this widely recognized as the toughest of the three days. Right from the start, we were hit with an unrelenting climb. Ned was game, but as I told Denny from the get-go, Ned knows how to take care of Ned, so he would slow to a walk as he felt he needed to, and we ended up walking quite a lot of the first several miles of trail. Ned seemed to be getting warm already, despite cooler temperatures, and we spent every water stop cooling Ned until his skin was cool. This took some time.
This gave us time to talk about our philosophies and beliefs about not only this sport (CTR), but endurance, including FEI level competition. We talked about what it takes for a horse to achieve longevity, and what it means to bring a horse along that you teach to take care of itself. How refreshing to hear such conservative views on horse care and welfare from a man who has competed at the absolute top of his game in Combined Training.
Denny and Ned cruise by Jenne Farm, the most photographed farm in Vermont
Here I am thinking that I might have to KEEP my husband’s horse …
By about ten miles into the course, Denny suggested that maybe Ned had had enough. He was still bright eyed and happy, but he seemed tired. And hot. It was a prudent horsemen’s decision when Denny suggested that I go on ahead to the stop-and-go a few miles ahead to make sure they had a trailer to take Ned back to camp; he was pulling. I was terribly disappointed for both of them, but knew it was the right decision for my horse. The heat had taken it’s toll, and Ned was in good company. Only about 1/2 of the horses finished the entire 100 miles, and many of them had also struggled on Day One’s sauna-like day. Or were not able to start on Day Two as a result.
Sarge, once he was unburdened of his slower barnmate, seemed to believe he had a lot of mileage to make up and horses to pass in order to “win” this ride. I tried to explain to him that this was CTR, and that there were no points for getting back to camp early, but he was undaunted. My husband typically runs up front with Sarge at endurance rides, and he was anxious to resume his race-horse career. I spent quite a bit of time sitting deep and trying to regulate the MPH and going up and down hills in two-point at a far greater rate of speed than I thought was prudent.
At the midpoint, I checked on Ned’s status and was told he was absolutely fine metabolically, just warm and tired, and had gotten a ride back to camp. Denny had the treatment vet looking him over just to ensure he was not in any sort of trouble. I know Ned as well as any person knows a horse; I knew the big guy just needed some time, some cooling and a nice rest. He would be fine.
I got to ride with several friends on this loop. Gene and Joyce Mocilan and Deb Fisk and Carrie Tenney. We giggled and teased and watched the mileage markers and our maximum completion times. We were spoiled by trays of fruit at a stop and go, popsicles at Mile 30 or so of the trail, followed by truffles just a few miles later.
When we got back to camp, Denny was there to hold Sarge and report on Ned’s condition (absolutely fine) and provide moral support. Better yet, he’d cleaned the horses’ stalls!
Ned and Denny share a moment after they decide to call it a day on Day Two
Sarge trotted out fine once again, but I found the fight about the pace to travel had resulted in a bit of a rub across both loins. My husband rarely rides in two point and I had done a LOT of it, both up and downhill, and while Rich loves his Dixie Midnight underpad, it had shifted left and right enough that he’d lost some hair.
The good news was that I’d brought my Bob Marshall treeless saddle, so I could switch to that for the final day. Errrr, not that Sarge had ever actually worn the treeless saddle. Ever. I mean, really, what could possibly go wrong riding a horse in a completely foreign saddle for twenty fast miles?
Sunday dawned cool and breezy. Finally, weather that was friendly for the bigger horses, only a couple of days too late. My plan was to keep Sarge on his own as much as possible so I could best control his pace and ensure I was riding centered and steady to prevent any further rubs or discomfort.
Sarge was lovely. I must confess that unless I am riding with another of my own horses, I find riding alone to be the most rewarding. It allows me to choose the pace, look around at the sights, and pay attention to every nuance of my own riding as well as how my horse is traveling and breathing and eating and drinking.
We hustled along for the first 10 miles of trail, saving some time for the long walk up Cookie Hill and the trail beyond. (Yes, they offer you cookies there and I had one, feeling terribly guilty for not being able to share the treat with Sarge.) In the last few miles back to camp, I caught Gene and Joyce again, so we enjoyed strolling and grazing and walking in, enjoying the ability to linger based upon our earlier speed.
Grace and Gene at the Finish — 100 miles and fresh as a daisy!
Sarge quite easily made the final pulse. As is the norm in CTR, we then “hurried up and waited” for the hands-on portion of the judging. As expected, Sarge lost points for the loin rubs, the opening of an old interference mark the previous day (which I was relieved to see had not been touched on Day Three; speed kills and Sarge’s tyrannical pace on Day Two did us no favors), and surprisingly, a bit of scratches that was starting to develop on both front pasterns. (Sarge has never had scratches prior. The calcium chloride on the Vermont roads wreaks havoc in a myriad of ways.)
Another wait, and then the final trot outs. I decided to switch from a lead line to a longe line to allow for more line and a larger circle, but what I ended up with was more rope than I really needed, and a less than slick line-handling demonstration. I was simply grateful to have not strangled myself during the trot out, or get the line wrapped around my ankle and dragged to my death. Sarge looked good, sound and crisp, but it was definitely not the best presentation I’ve ever offered. The fact that there was an audience left me a little embarrassed.
Ah well, we’d gotten around and that was my goal.
Sarge, who has always been a finicky eater, had eaten at practically every opportunity. He’d gone out not two, but three days in a row, which was a first for him, and I’m confident he is now capable of caring for himself for a one day 100 mile endurance ride. Mission accomplished.
All that was left was Mounted Awards, a tradition which leaves most riders feeling profoundly guilty for approaching their horses one more time with tack. Some riders dress up, I chose instead to dress Sarge up in his dressage pad and snaffle bridle and wore jeans rather than breeches. (As I told friends, some girls know that a public display of lycra riding wear is not in their best interest.) Our friend Connie Walker rode her stallion, Otis, bareback, to avoid having to girth him up over a sore spot.
In the line up at Mounted Awards
Sarge was tired but he’s enough of a showman that he fussed a little bit in the arena rather than standing still. In the end, awards took well over an hour, and it felt like an eternity! Sarge placed 5th in our division and trotted up happily for his award, which made me feel good. Some of the other horses didn’t look nearly so sound or bouncy.
Sarge receives his 5th place ribbon from judge, Robin Groves
Our friend Gene, and his mare, Grace, won their division, and looked fantastic. Likewise, our friend Deb’s young horse Prophet, who really gave her a ride for most of the 100 miles, stood Reserve Champion.
Delirious with the joy of being OFF the horses
In all, fewer than half the entered horses completed the 100 mile CTR.
It was a tough course, challenging weather, and the calcium chloride on the roads left plenty of horses with sore armpits and girth areas. To have simply finished was a true accomplishment.
Friends helped me get packed up and trailered over to Gene and Dale’s to wait for my truck to be repaired. It was a relaxing few days of visiting with friends, sharing meals and laughter, and watching the horses recover uneventfully. When it turned out the truck would take several days to fix, my husband borrowed a hauling vehicle from my brother and drove to Vermont to rescue us.
As always, it is grand to be home.
It’s funny too. I’m not sure if I’m more proud of the boy who got around the 100 miles, or the one who valiantly did not.
Happy trails.
–Patti