Sometimes life gets just a little too stressful.
As a self-employed consultant, when there is work available, I work. There are enough lean times that I rarely turn down work, and sometimes find myself with too much travel, too many clients all needing assistance “urgently”, and too many technically demanding training programs to deliver. A classic symptom for me is that disturbing moment where I find myself standing in a hotel elevator with the little key card in my hand and absolutely no recollection of my hotel room number.
I get homesick, miss all of the critters, miss sleeping in my own bed, miss my routine on the farm, miss my husband.
Work has been that way lately. Back to back classes scheduled, such that one weekend was simply an exercise in driving home, unpacking, doing laundry, repacking and hitting the road again. A non-weekend, of sorts.
In the middle of this hectic schedule, my friends Rachel and Pam and I started plotting a way to get ourselves to the Mustang Memorial Ride in New Jersey.
The Mustang ride is a bit of an enigma. The trails there, while lovely, are miles and miles of the same scenery — pine trees, sand, more pine trees, more sand, sand moguls, pine trees, puddles, sand. Did I mention the sand? So to say that the views from the saddle are not awe-inspiring is a bit of an understatement.
That flat sand has a way of taking a toll on horses and riders. The lack of change means that everyone can get very sore from the repetitive and sustained nature of the effort. No hills or turns or terrain changes to challenge different muscles, so one has to mix it up themselves. Posting, then half seat, then sitting the canter, then in two point trotting, watching that each trot diagonal and canter lead is worked evenly over the course of the ride.
Throw in the fact that the weather is almost always inhospitable means that one would think this ride might have trouble attracting riders.
However, it is the last ride of the NE Region’s season. The camp is lovely. The hospitality is terrific; the volunteers cheerful. And knowing that we’re on the cusp of a long winter, it seems to attract riders from all over for one last chance to hit the trail before hibernating for a few months.
Like me, Pam has been stressed by running her own business, a dairy/equine veterinary practice, and an upcoming three month trip to Australia, where she will be working on her husband’s family’s ranch. Every time we exchanged emails, me from the road, her in the evening after a long day making vet calls, we both lamented our own stresses.
Still, we were determined to go to the ride.
Even when our Ford F-450 sang its swan song. Another thunk which led to another trip to the service shop where the transmission was pronounced “toast.” RIP, you big *(&#@ lemon.
I called Rachel when I got the news about the truck. “Let’s not give up yet.”
Somehow I was able to wrangle my brother in law’s F-350, swapped our plans so that I would haul my two horses in the 2-horse trailer to Pam’s (where we would transfer horses and stuff to her 4-horse trailer) and head to New Jersey the following morning. My friend Gene agreed to let me bunk in his trailer.
We.were.still.on.
I had two blissful days of no training, no work and a single focus of getting all of my stuff and the horses to the ride so that I could enjoy the company of my friends and horses for the last ride of the season.
Pam, in the mean time, continued to be buried with work. Rachel, too, juggled work and finishing up the last work on the barn they built this year, so that her horses can come live at home within the next few weeks.
We were all shoehorning this ride in between a whole lot of “too much.”
With my down time, I made lists, and like any good girl of Polish heritage, started cooking and baking. Pie for the farrier (who squeezed in Ace’s last minute reset when I didn’t like the balance of his feet), pie for the neighbor who would feed the horses (since Rich was also out of town for the weekend for a conference), cookies for my house/dog/kitty sitter, cookies for Gene and Dale, cookies to share at the ride, soup for the ride.
I was a happy little homemaker, launderer, horse-stuff packer, checking things off lists and looking forward to the weekend.
When I get enthused like this, I tend to like to share my planning, so I sent daily emails to Rachel and Pam, of things I’d planned to pack, buy, bring, and of course, what I had baked.
At some point, wanting to ensure we would have all necessary utensils and such to heat and serve the soup, I emailed Pam to ask if she had bowls and such in her trailer.
I think that was the day she wrestled around in a stall attempting to shove a cow’s uterus back in to its body.
Her reply?
“I can’t even THINK about bowls!”
Poor Pam. I packed the bowls.
I love it when a good plan comes together. All the logistical mud-wrestling worked out seamlessly.
As the miles passed and we drove toward New Jersey, you could watch the stress leave Pam’s face. Her speech slowed –well, a little anyway — I still like to describe her as “having been shot out of a cannon.”
The laughter went on all weekend.
Like any ride where riders and horses of various levels of experience share miles and miles of trails together, as well as close quarters at a campsite, there are always bound to be some mishaps.
Pam got to do a little hike back to camp a few miles from the start after having retrieved a horse that had bolted near the start. So she and her mare, Prin, got to do a few extra miles to tack onto their 30 mile LD. But Pam had a perfect ride, staying ON the mare and having a truly harmonious ride; the mare is clearly ready to move up.
I brought Ned for his friend, Rachel, and got to enjoy watching the two of them enjoy one another all weekend long. Ned has discriminating taste, and he clearly finds Rachel to his liking. He gets dreamy-eyed and nuzzly when she grooms him and totes her around like his own tiny little perfectly-balanced jockey.
It had been a couple of months since Ace, plagued by multiple hoof abscesses from a rocky ride in WV in August, had competed. He came back in fine form, however. He felt strong and cheerful and pleasantly “up.”
Ned had a little bit of heartburn about the juggling of the order of the loops since the last time he’d done a ride in New Jersey. He tried to tell us in various subtle and unsubtle ways that we had the first loop all wrong, and only acquiesced when we were within spitting distance of returning to camp.
As I told Rachel, you could almost hear Ned saying, “hey, you’re totally going the wrong way, you idiot, but at least you’re a featherweight!”
We got chided, once again, for not riding hard enough, when both boys pulsed down with pulses in the area of 44. The pack was well ahead of us, but I was convinced that a lot of horses would be slowing down.
The second loop of the three loop ride was the one both Ned and Ace had done previously as a final loop, so as I anticipated, they had a real change in attitude heading out on to the white loop.
Both boys were on fire, passing horses and asking to canter. We moved right along at a pace that was faster than the first loop; this loop went rather quickly.
On the third loop, we followed a couple of horses, as we were unfamiliar with this new final loop, finally dropping back and relaxing when we figured we were about 4 miles from camp. We were disappointed to find out, however, at a water stop, that we were, in fact, still 7 miles from camp.
I think we were all a little tired. The sand takes its toll on everyone, Ace and Ned no longer had horses in view to chase, so we alternately trotted and walked the boys in to camp, with me worrying that Ace felt uneven behind, or might be getting tight.
This happens to me at virtually every ride, and almost every time it turns out that I am suffering from Lameness or Metabolic Distress Paranoia. Once Ace smelled camp, he perked right up, felt absolutely strong and even behind, and vetted through with all As. (But not before I wound myself up into what would appear to have been a Xanax deficiency.)
When will I learn?
Much celebrating upon our return. Our friend Gene’s mare had been pulled at the first hold, but was now perfectly sound, so that was a bit of bad news/good news.
The weather had been glorious. Clear and cold in the morning, but warm and sunny and surprisingly still for NJ, where there seems to be a perpetual wind. As the sun went down though, the temperatures dropped quickly, so we got all of the horses and ourselves bundled up for post-ride munching and relaxing (horses and riders) and laughing and consumption of adult beverages (riders only).
As always, what is said in ride camp stays in ride camp, but it is safe to say that the conversation ran the gamut of serious to inappropriate to candid to downright bawdy. My cheeks hurt, literally, from laughing.
In the morning, we lingered over Gene’s amazing Keurig coffee, and reluctantly packed up to hit the road.
For my boys it was a six hour haul to Pam’s and then another three hour haul home. I had Truck Rigor Mortis when I arrived home, settled the boys in and watched them have a long, satisfying drink before tucking in to their hay. Perhaps because it was so painful to move, I spent a few extra minutes in the barn, listening to them munch contentedly, seemingly unaffected by their rigorous weekend.
All that planning and driving and moving of stuff from here to there and back again. It was all well worth it.
I’m back on the road again for work, and will admit that I got out of my car a little gingerly after several hours of driving a couple of days ago. But this trip is different, having had my soul fortified by the love and generosity of good friends, and miles and miles spent on the trail with my favorite horses.
I feel renewed.
Sayonara, 2010 Ride Season!
–Patti