Being an AERC Ride Manager has its challenges.<\/p>\n
Chiropractors from all over will soon be summoned as those who have taken it on nod in near-violent agreement.<\/p>\n
There are so many reasons we throw in the towel, permanently or temporarily, or contemplate doing so.<\/p>\n
Perhaps writing about it all after a weekend of only a smattering of sleep is unwise.\u00a0 I recognize that I’m exhausted, and on an emotional tidal wave, teary and touched with joy and gratitude, then frustrated by the “why do\u00a0we do this?” moments that every Ride Manager knows all too well.<\/p>\n
Ride management means worrying.\u00a0 Over the course of the last ten days I’ve worried over the following:\u00a0 Too many entries (since we have a limited camp size), too few entries (since a horrible forecast and the usual attrition meant they were dropping like flies in the seventy-two hours before the ride), the weather (which I’ve learned I can do nothing about but fret over nonetheless), my newbie riders, having enough food and lodging\u00a0for all of my volunteers and riders and the others who pop by for a free meal (I didn’t, but a last minute grocery run fixed that), the interstate construction near our ride camp, whether the trail markings would stay up (many didn’t), the last minute porta-potty charge from the Park, and the condition of our trails (which like most, are not made better by a deluge of rain).<\/p>\n
These are all things I have become accustomed to over the years, although they still occupy that corner of my brain that runs in\u00a0constant-spin mode like a player trying to run a CD that’s not quite right.<\/p>\n
I am convinced that it is my Polish heritage that makes me feel I must be sure everyone is fed, housed, warm and cared for, and I’m fiercely protective of the family and friends that rally to help each year we\u00a0manage our ride.\u00a0 It is a tight-line walk to make sure there’s enough food for those who have come to labor at their own expense for free, and those who have paid to join us for a meal (especially after riding 30 or 55 or 75 miles) and to have not enough based on my natural tendency to say “come on, join us, what would you like?”\u00a0 I sway between wanting to be a good hostess and the edgy irritation of feeling taken-advantage of from time to time.<\/p>\n
The foolishness of working with a State Park where the rules, the fees and the bureaucracy\u00a0mystify and modify is\u00a0something that grates, but\u00a0on most days is\u00a0brushed off with a “what can you do?” philosophy.\u00a0 From time to time, my tactic has become staggeringly close to the ol’ “better to ask for forgiveness than permission” philosophy.\u00a0 That\u00a0leaves this rule-following girl in a state of simmering agitation.\u00a0 This year we got a smaller-than-ordered tent, and only part of it to boot, but that was quickly remedied by a let’s-not-piss-them-off query and an innocently curious\u00a0“oh dear, weren’t we supposed to get the 20×40 tent?” as I showed them my contract and tapped on the exorbitant tent rental charge.\u00a0 (The new tent arrived within the hour,\u00a0with the other left there as a handy spot for overflow and a sheltered spot for the generators.)<\/p>\n
The topic of profit and loss is a moot one.\u00a0We lose money every year on the ride.\u00a0 Some years we lose lots, some years we come tantalizingly close to a profit, unless you try to account for fuel and time and\u00a0 the stuff our businesses donate, or wear and tear on the psyche or the four-wheeler, never mind the time lost on paying clients for a couple who both own consulting businesses.\u00a0 This is a project of passion, not a business enterprise.\u00a0 Still, it is uncomfortable and frankly nonsensical to work so hard to lose money.\u00a0 At least to anyone who looks at it objectively.\u00a0 Or sanely.<\/p>\n
As with most events, 20% of the riders cause 80% of the problems.\u00a0 I try (unsuccessfully most of the time) to handle that with frankness and twisted\u00a0humor that I realize borders on\u00a0smarm. It keeps me from pinching people, which I realize could be viewed as assault in most jurisdictions. Someone once told me that I don’t suffer fools gladly — truer words never spoken —\u00a0and I know most Ride Managers stood far longer in line when they were handing out charm.\u00a0 I envy their patience.\u00a0 My sharp-tongued moments give me little pleasure though.\u00a0 I instantly regret them even as the devil on my shoulder tells me the recipient\u00a0had it coming.<\/p>\n
Those 20% are balanced out, always, by the 80% that handle bad weather and mud and trail vandals and unfortunate pulls with aplomb and good humor.\u00a0 Those that point out that the trail markings are great, or say, “hey, I have a prize to donate!” or let me know how grateful they are that we have the ride. Those whose horsemanship I admire and whose endurance impresses me.\u00a0 Those who jump in to help without being asked.\u00a0 Those who can fill out an entry form in its entirety or perhaps cover it with smiley faces or a cute note saying they can’t wait to come.<\/p>\n
By all accounts, the ride was a huge success.\u00a0 The vast majority of my WNY Green Beans came through their first Limited Distance ride with flying colors, a couple of others are\u00a0experiencing the steep learning curve in our sport but seem undaunted.\u00a0 No riders were injured, no one got lost, and while there were some pulled horses, they all appeared to be for minor lameness.\u00a0 No horses were treated, none got that look in their eye that scares me half to death as a Ride Manager.\u00a0 Even Mother Nature only spanked us half-heartedly.\u00a0 After heavy rains Friday night, we had only scattered showers (and hail!), but plenty of sunshine on Saturday, and cool temperatures that were kind to the horses.\u00a0 The leaves on the trees were at their glorious peak, crimson and orange and yellow and stunning.\u00a0 Our 75s, who had until 1 a.m. to complete the ride, spoiled the skeleton after-dark staff by finishing the ride by about 9:30 p.m.\u00a0\u00a0 We were almost unsure what to do with ourselves as we sat around the tent, eating Jelly Bellies and sharing outrageous stories.\u00a0 The 75s refused to head out to do another loop to give\u00a0us a sense of purpose.<\/p>\n
But this year loads of our trail markings were vandalized, an unusually high\u00a0percentage.\u00a0 It turns out that the Park itself may\u00a0have been the culprit, trimming back the branches with OUR trail marking ribbons in addition to the\u00a0branches, marked in orange surveyor tape,\u00a0that were slated to be trimmed back by staff.\u00a0It got handled with a flurry of calls and texts and nieces picking up boxes of surveyor tape at the farm and cleaning out the clothespin inventory of the Dollar Store on their way to the ride camp — tying ribbons even as they drove out to join us.\u00a0 Add in a stoic husband, a friend who fortuitously offered to bring her four wheeler to the ride a day early (“just in case”) and a couple of ride-managing friends who fixed much of the damage on horseback as soon as it was found, and the crisis was resolved.\u00a0 But always there is a price.<\/p>\n
And it is that price that weighs on me each year we run our ride.<\/p>\n
It is the price of asking those closest to you, those who you know would do nearly anything\u00a0for you, to do one more thing –make one more run, cook one more meal, clear one more trail, to potentially stand in the rain all day long one more time– that tests me and leaves me contemplating throwing in the towel each time.<\/p>\n
It struck me again this morning, as I lie in bed after a successful ride, and a sleepless night, recounting in my head all that needed to be done for the awards briefing and the arduous clean up after.<\/p>\n
Have I asked too much?<\/p>\n
It is the same question I ask during each 100-mile ride I’ve ridden, at some point when the trail is tough or my horse or I are at a low point.\u00a0Each time, that simple pact between my horse and me, as honest a relationship as exists on this earth, has left me with a horse that tells me in a way that only a 100-mile endurance horse can, no, we can do this.\u00a0 Let’s keep on keeping on.\u00a0 You keep riding, I’ll continue to carry you.<\/p>\n
It is these moments that I find most humbling in our sport.\u00a0 It is those ventures to the well to ask the question again.\u00a0 And sometimes the answer is “yes.”\u00a0 Sometimes when that horse tells you he can go on, full of heart and loyal work ethic and what Dr. Lynne calls “go-gettyness” — the fact is that a wise partner will decide it is time to stop.<\/p>\n
This morning, when my brother and his wife showed up, as promised, right on time for the awards breakfast, just at the moment I panicked that they might not show up (irrational, because they always do),\u00a0hot breakfast casseroles in hand, moving pans in and out of an oven in a flurry of potholders and tinfoil, I confessed to them that I couldn’t ask again.<\/p>\n
It was just too much.<\/p>\n
They assured me it was not, as only family can, and I brushed it all off to get the food out and served and the awards handed out.\u00a0 And now I get to decide whether or not to believe it is so.<\/p>\n
It weighs on me now\u00a0even as I type, photos uploaded, results waiting to be written up and submitted, filthy muddy laundry in the washing machine, trailer full of leftover t-shirts and mugs and\u00a0recovered ribbons and Solo cups and all of the detritus of a ride managed and finished and packed up for another year.<\/p>\n
Maybe.<\/p>\n
I compare it to asking a woman immediately out of labor when she thinks she’ll have her next baby.\u00a0 Perhaps it is better to wait.<\/p>\n
There were hugs and the kindest words from riders.\u00a0 There was enthused promises to be back next year from each volunteer and HAM radio operator.\u00a0 There was sincere and heartfelt empathy from those closest to me, who know, truly know, just what it is like to ponder the question.<\/p>\n
Camp was\u00a0left pristinely clean by each rider.\u00a0 I found myself welling up with tears when I walked around doing a final inspection; it does not take much to make me cry apparently.\u00a0 Even a lack of horse poop will do it.\u00a0\u00a0Ribbons and stakes around camp had been\u00a0gathered by folks who meant to lighten our burden. I pulled down the AERC banner and removed the few remaining ribbons\u00a0and the AERC sign that I’d taped up near the highway exit, and headed for home.\u00a0 Rich had already made two trips and was on his way with the big trailer.\u00a0 It was like the circus coming to town in so many ways; a flurry of activity and excitement, and suddenly, all packed up and moved out.\u00a0 Quiet again.<\/p>\n
I stopped on the summit in the Park to return a text message.\u00a0 I got a Facebook post, one from a person I’d only peripherally mentored before he came to the ride — he and his daughter had made it to the halfway point and called it a day.\u00a0 His post was a series of lessons he’d learned at the ride, and it was the fifth that made me cry again.<\/p>\n
“Patti is not as mean as she thinks she is.”<\/p>\n
Touche.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
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