Eddy Turn: Owyhee Fandango 2010

Among the files of my life headed "Horses," "Fitness," "Cooking," "Writing," and "Career," is another whose label reads: "Whitewater." I'm nearly as familiar with the gentle rocking of a river as I am with that of a horse's back.

When navigating our narrow, technical, Northwest rivers, the eddy turn is a useful skill to possess. It's a maneuver in which the oarsman positions the raft so its stern just misses a mid-river boulder. A couple well-timed pulls on the oars draw the boat partway into the pool of slow current below the rock, holding the stern in place while the faster current swings the bow around. The result is a reset angle and brief pause that enable the oarsman to set up for obstacles below.

I thought a lot about eddy turns on Sunday, as Consolation and I trotted alongside the Snake River during Day 3 of the Owyhee Fandango Pioneer ride. A month ago, despite rapid training and conditioning progress since February, the 60 at Owhyee Spring found us stalled in an eddy of balkiness and lack of enthusiasm.

I described in this post several changes I made in the hope of improving Consolation's performance at our next ride. Now, the time had come to test whether those changes would sweep us back into the current, or leave us stranded mid river.

With hopes and spirits high, Ironman and I pulled into the Teeter ranch around 3:00 on Saturday afternoon. We selected our camping spot carefully...

...jogged around to loosen up before vetting in...

...and headed to the ride meeting.

In the midst of two weeks of wind and rain, the manager announced, we were to enjoy a day of sunny skies and moderate warmth. We 60-milers would follow an out-and-back trail that led across the desert to a vet check at a neighboring ranch (15 miles), then dropped into the Snake River canyon and looped around some petroglyphs before returning along the same trail to the vet (30 miles), then headed back to ridecamp (15 miles).

I crawled out of my sleeping bag at 5:00 the next morning to feed Consolation and get her hoof boots on while Ironman -- may blessings rain upon him! -- made coffee. Consolation's body sang with quiet energy as I swung astride and headed for the starting line. Looking good, I thought. Looking good.

We started immediately when the trail opened, having no need to hold back as I used to do on Aaruba. There's a lot to be said for Consolation's easygoing demeanor. "Race brain" is not a problem. And yet, much to my delight, she had plenty of controlled speed to offer as we trotted down the road and off into the hills.

We let the leaders string out ahead of us, settling into a bubble where Consolation traveled happily along to the first vet check. And what a vet check it was! She spent the 50-minute hold up to her eyeballs in green and dew-soaked grass.

I was about to mount up when another rider asked if I'd mind having a riding partner. "Not at all!" Thirty miles is a long way, and company sounded good to me.

As we started into the long loop, my new friend Carrie explained that her mount, Kasey, had exhibited poor appetite at the check and was therefore under careful observation. We paused frequently during our trek to the canyon, offering tufts of desert grass that Consolation ate and Kasey mostly refused.

Down in the canyon, however, it was Consolation that became the potential problem. Typically a good drinker, she refused to touch the river water that was our only source of hydration. I kept a close eye on her those 30 miles, but her eyes remained bright and her attitude positively brilliant. Imagine my surprise to discover that she actually wanted to race!

We flew down the trail, threading our way between sagebrush and looping the petroglyph rocks, ignoring the Memorial Day assortment of fisherman and ATV riders, trotting and cantering our way back to the vet check for another set of A's...after Consolation took her customary scuba dive in the water tank.

I thought we might lose Carrie and Kasey at that check. Halfway through the canyon, Kasey had begun to exhibit the rapid, shallow breathing and flared nostrils of a horse experiencing inversion, or "panting." Typically, his performance was otherwise fine and he even recovered his appetite as we approached the end of the second loop, but inversion (in which the respiration rate exceeds the pulse) is a classic sign of overheating, which can lead to serious problems.

Thankfully, Carrie and her crew were able to cool Kasey sufficiently and gain veterinary approval to carry on for the last loop. I was glad to have his speedy influence, for Consolation had finally slowed down a bit. I'm sure those last 15 miles would have been much more difficult without Kasey to pull her along.

She kept up, alternating between a trot and canter, sometimes rushing enough that I had to apply some rein. That would have been fine, except that one of my reins broke 6 or 7 miles outside camp. I tied it back to her bridle with a bowline and we carried on despite her annoyance with the swinging weight of the knot.

Though Kasey's inversion returned early in the loop, we all arrived safely in ridecamp to claim 5th (Consolation) and 6th (Kasey) place, with a ride time of 8:25. Consolation vetted through with a B on gait, apparently due to a mild cramp in her hindquarters. (She seems quite all right now, but I'll give her a full two weeks off, just to be sure.)

Some of the mathematicians among you are wondering what's so great about averaging 7.1 miles per hour. That's a pretty moderate pace for endurance -- a perfectly good, steady, long-distance pace, but hardly the stuff of champions.

But compare it to our speed at Owyhee Spring, which came in just under 6 mph. Add it to Consolation's new found enthusiasm for the sport. Consider that lifetime mileage is (in my book) preferable to first-place finishes. You see? For Consolation, for now, 7 mph is "champion" enough for me.

Perhaps our slow start at Owyhee Spring was merely an eddy turn in the rapid of Consolation's endurance career -- a pause in which to reconsider, redirect, and make the necessary changes to prepare for what lies ahead.

And what is that, exactly? I have my eye on Sunriver...

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On an unrelated note, I'm sorry to say that I've had to reinstate use of the word verification feature for comments. I removed it months ago upon your request, but alas, the spammers have found me. My apologies for the inconvenience -- please don't let it keep you from leaving comments. They're my favorite part of blogging!

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It's That Time Again!

After a couple days' vacation, Ironman and I are headed back to In the Night Farm this morning to load Consolation, her pre-packed tack, and our camping gear. By early afternoon, we'll be en route to the Teeter Ranch near Oreana, Idaho, for Day 3 of Owyhee Fandango.

The Sunday 60 is an out-and-back trek along the Oregon Trail and Snake River. Although out-and-backs aren't always the most popular type of trail, I'm looking forward to it. I suspect the "turn around on the trail" effect will be a good motivator for Consolation. Knowing where she is, where she's going, and how many miles lay ahead may prove easier for her than looping out from base camp.

Additionally, I have high hopes that the changes I made to Consolation's nutrition, conditioning, and hoof boot fitting after Owyhee Spring will bear out in the form of improved performance on Sunday. We shall see...
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Cantering Conversations

I’m unusually conservative when it comes to introducing the canter with my horses. It always interests me to see other trainers start a green horse cantering on its tenth or eleventh ride. What, I wonder, is the hurry? No doubt they have their reasons, but I prefer to wait up to a year before asking my greenies to move up from the trot.

I have my reasons, too. Almost as soon as my horses are under saddle, I move their training sessions onto the trail. With endurance as a goal, this makes perfect sense – why not start in on that long, slow distance base while establishing the basics? But, out on the road or trail, without the security of fences or company, mental steadiness is paramount. I’ve no interest in injecting a shot of speed-induced adrenaline to the proceedings. Besides, a young endurance horse can gain nothing but benefit from many months and miles of trotting, trotting, and trotting some more.

That said, the time for cantering does come – and Consolation has arrived. I mentioned in my last post that I’ve added significantly more cantering to her workouts as a means of increasing her fitness and exploring ways to increase her average pace. As with most new requests I make of Consolation, convincing her to canter has required extensive conversation.

We began last year at Owyhee Canyonlands, near the end of her first 50-mile race. I believe in making the right answer easy for my horse to find, and it seemed wise to take advantage of both the pull of the horse ahead (to encourage speed) and the weight of miles behind (to minimize, erm, overzealous expressions of enthusiasm). Sure enough, we got in a few stretches of buck-free cantering – a perfect introduction to the gait.

This spring, I needed to move Consolation’s canter to the conditioning trail. We started with extended canters during her liberty sessions in the round corral, boosting her fitness and balance for the gait. Next, I began asking for a canter under saddle. Because she is prone to slow motion but not to racing home, I found it most appropriate to do so during the latter half of our rides, when we were pointed homeward.

At first, a few strides was plenty. Unsure of her own balance and particularly my desires (a possible argument for introducing the canter earlier), Consolation required substantial urging to continue cantering. After a few sessions, she got the idea, but keeping her in the gait remained difficult due to her general distaste for expending more effort than she deems necessary.

We kept at it, though, and within a few weeks, we'd developed a language that seemed to build her confidence and enthusiasm. I asked her to canter only when she felt energetic and positive, and used as a pre-cue a verbal, "You wanna?"

Depending on her response -- slowed trot or gathered quarters -- I either desisted or proceeded with the standard canter request. Seat, leg, rein. Voila!

[Digression: I thought long and hard about whether it was a good idea to give Consolation a say in the matter. After all, aren't our horses supposed to obey our leadership, immediately, at all times? Well now, that depends. In matters of safety, yes. But in our athletic endeavors, Consolation is a full partner and responds best to mutual respect.]

Sure enough, it wasn't long before she discovered the fun inherent in speed. Now it was her fitness level, rather than her mind, that held her back. She’d falter after a quarter- or half-mile of cantering, dropping to a walk with such abruptness that my seat – already much enhanced by the experience of riding this mare – made additional, rapid improvements.

Still, we kept on. I concentrated on timing my requests so that I asked her to walk or trot moments before she made the decision on her own. I tried never to let her get winded or weary, because if cantering became work instead of fun, we’d find ourselves locked in an everlasting battle.

Finally, the old magic happened. It always does.

After a long series of incremental improvements, Consolation made her great leap into achievement: Two days ago, she cantered over half of a 14-mile ride. She volunteered to canter. She wanted to canter. She asked to carry on even when I directed her to stop. We discussed the matter as partners, co-conspirators there on the sunlit, windblown track, and reached a happy compromise that cut twenty minutes off our usual time.

That’s my girl.
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Sticky Sixty: Owhyee Spring 2010

My goodness! Is it the end of May already?

Between work travel and a disrupted internet connection, the weeks have slipped by since the Owyhee Spring endurance race that was Consolation's and my first of the year. A few of you have even sent emails wondering if our carcasses are rotting in the desert.

I'm happy to announce that Consolation and I survived the race in fine form, though it wasn't as smooth as I might have hoped. Since receiving our completion, I've mulled long and hard over the troubles we encountered and come to several, important conclusions that I think will improve our performance in future races.

But first, the story:

Owyhee Spring was a brand-new (and well-managed!) ride this year, held in southwestern Idaho's Owyhee canyonlands a mere 90 minute drive from In the Night Farm. We were, of course, hoping for sunny, brisk weather in keeping with the ride's name...but alas, the sky was leaden with windblown rainclouds as Ironman and I pulled into the desolate bit of ranchland that served as base camp.

We outfitted Consolation in a couple layers of blankets -- one for warmth and the other for waterproofing -- before heading off to the pre-ride meeting that was, blessedly, held in a large, fully-enclosed shop that contained quite an astonishing assortment of antiques, including a genuine Wells Fargo stagecoach in excellent repair. (I hear tell the owner may one day enlist his six matched, Amish-bred chestnuts to complete the hitch.)

After nightfall and a healthy splash of whiskey, I nestled in the back of Ironman's rig with fingers crossed that the next day's weather forecast, featuring heavy winds and thunderstorms, would prove wrong. That seemed unlikely, however, as I gradually drifted asleep to the rock of buffeting wind and spatters of rain on the roof.

It was a restless night, and morning came much later than I'd have liked. My alarm finally chimed at 5:30 a.m. I rolled over and listened for wind. None. Shivering and fumbling in the glow of a flashlight beam, I dressed in thermal socks and several layers of fleece before stepping out into the dark pre-dawn. Sure enough, the air was still, albiet scented of impending rain.

Consolation greeted me with a whicker that turned quickly to grouchiness when I distracted her from her breakfast long enough to slip Easyboot Gloves on her front hooves. I considered booting her hinds as well, but decided that her many miles of barefoot-on-gravel conditioning constituted adequate protection from the desert terrain.

By the time I mounted up for the 8:00 a.m. start -- about 20 minutes early because I wanted to ensure she was warmed up despite the chilly weather -- Consolation had clearly realized what we were there to do. The excitement of the event, plus over a week of rest prior to the race (not ideal, but my travel schedule didn't cooperate), had her feeling rather hotter than usual. This was not a bad thing. Consolation's "hot" equates to many endurance horses' "calm." Besides, I knew we'd need a bit of early speed in order to complete the ride at a decent hour.

We started off at a medium trot as soon as the trail opened, letting the field widen into a bubble around us as the front runners blazed ahead and the warming-ups and slow-steadies trailed behind. Consolation and I negotiated a pace that I felt would cover some ground and satisfy her need to move out, without allowing her to work above her present level of fitness, which wasn't as advanced as I'd have preferred.

The first loop led us 25 miles out across the desert, down into the canyon and along the Snake River, then back up a steep and rocky trail that slowed us to a walk for quite a distance. Although nearly everyone must have walked much of that ascent, it was afterward, as the trail stretched on, that riders began to pass as Consolation slowed to her customary 6-7 mph jog. I'd anticipated this and wasn't concerned, but I was mildly dismayed to find that Consolation expressed no interest in aligning herself with a passing group. It seemed she'd rather cover the miles at her comfortable pace than have the companionship of (let alone competition with) other horses.

And so, we arrived back at camp for the first vet check quite alone, but healthy and sound. I huddled in the car for a snack and some overdue efforts at hydration while Consolation, blanketed against a strong, damp wind that had risen with the sun, munched hay and beet pulp.


Forty minutes later, we started Loop 2 -- still wind-buffeted, still alone. We were only a few miles in when a lone rider paused in passing to ask about my saddle. I told her it was a Stonewall and the love of my life.

Her comment? "There's not much saddle there!"

"True," I agreed, "but it feels like more saddle than you'd think." Good thing, too -- because somewhere out on that 17-miles of trail, it became clear that I hadn't done as much riding as I ought to have to prepare myself for a 60. If you're going to ride tired, it's best to do it in a comfortable saddle!

Unfortunately, my beloved Stonewall couldn't help the fact that the kneepatch of my favorite breeches had, for reasons unknown, begun rubbing the back of my left knee. Discomfort turned to downright pain as Consolation and I trekked along through cheek-chafing wind and several cloudbursts. We were lucky, though -- ridecamp (and quite a few riders, too) suffered a heavy pounding of hail that afternoon.

More frustrating than the endless wind and my burning knee was Consolation's behavior. Early in the second loop, she began a campaign of resistance featuring sudden halts and refusals to resume forward movement. It was as though she was saying simply, "I'm done now. Not goin' on, sorry." Each time, getting her moving again required considerable urging.

I'd have been alarmed, of course, except that this tactic wasn't new. It was merely the latest in my strong-willed mare's experiments, exhibited during many, previous conditioning rides. She'd vetted through at the first check with all A's, was eating, drinking, peeing, and pooping normally, and generally gave me no particular cause for concern about her physical state.

Mentally, though, I had a battle on my hands. Consolation, fairly enough, didn't really see a point in continuing to cover ground, particularly out there in the storm-whipped desert, all alone, mile after desolate mile. She's too smart a horse to waste effort -- which, unfortunately for me and my rubbed knee, meant that I had to expend a great deal of effort indeed.
Pushing a testy mare through a 60 mile endurance ride is quite a different proposition than keeping her trotting for 15 miles of conditioning on a weekday afternoon. By the time we finished the third loop (with a ride time of 9:50, which would have been fine if I hadn't had to practically get off and shove my horse down the trail), I was considerably more exhausted than I've ever been after a ride of any distance.

The next day, despite having completed my longest ride to date, I was both sore and unsatisfied. Consolation's vet card showed all A's at the start and both mid-ride checks, and only a couple B's (impulsion and gait) at the finish. Despite a wickedly rainy, blustery night in camp following the ride, she presented the next morning bright-eyed and strong, with only a hint of stocking up around her fetlocks.

And yet...and yet. She hadn't been happy about those 60 miles. Her attitude and low energy level weren't anything I wanted to deal with at future rides. But what was I missing? Did she just need more experience, more time to go her own pace and discover the excitement of competition and speed? Could a subtle, physical issue underlie her reluctance?

After many days of thought and several conversations with other, more experienced endurance riders, I decided to apply a multi-pronged solution to our problem:

1. Higher-octane fuel

Though Consolation has always maintained her weight easily on just a quality blend of grass hay and alfalfa, she may need additional energy from concentrated feed. Two weeks ago, I added a daily pound of beet pulp and 2.5 pounds of oats to her ration. Though minimal, this amount of grain, in addition to her usual hay, is all she seems able to consume in a day. Even so, it has certainly made a difference in her base energy level -- she's been considerably hotter (and a little faster) than usual on recent conditioning rides.

In the future, I may experiment with adding pure fat to her diet; right now, I hesitate because I can't think of any reason to believe that artificially modified fats (like vegetable oil) would make any better building blocks for the cells of equines than they do for those of humans, and I need to research sources of fats that are both natural and affordable.

2. Nutritional supplmentation

At the suggestion of an endurance friend, I've put Consolation on a high-quality, flax-based vitamin-mineral-plus supplement called Show 'n' Go. She's also getting Fastrack probiotics.

The benefit of such supplementation is typically subtle, particularly after only a couple weeks, but my hope is that the supplements will fill in any nutritional gaps left by Consolation's regular diet.

3. New boots

When a friend mentioned that she'd observed Consolation landing toe-first during a trot-out at Owyhee Spring, my ears perked up. I knew Consolation's bare feet were well-maintained and she'd been landing heel-first during her liberty sessions in the round corral...but she had, indeed, felt slightly short-strided during the race. I'd wondered that morning if her Easyboots weren't just a hair too tight. Perhaps they'd been pinching her heel bulbs -- certainly an uncomfortable way to spend 60 miles!

After hearing my friend's observation, I bought Consolation a pair of Gloves a half-size larger and have been using them since; they're a shade too big, but I think I'll try adding power straps and see if we can't arrive at the perfect fit.

4. Hill work

I've tried to do hill work with Consolation all along, of course, but there's no denying that the best hills to which I can ride straight from my driveway are inadequate to prepare her for the longer, steeper climbs we encounter on race days. In fact, I'd venture a guess that we've pretty well maxed out the level of fitness we can achieve from road-riding alone.

So, Consolation and I have been taking weekly jaunts to the foothills to condition for 2-5 hours of sand, hills, and uneven ground. It's time consuming -- over an hour's trailer ride each way -- but absolutely necessary. My hope is that improved physical fitness will delay the point at which Consolation "hits the wall," mentally, and stops trying.

5. Cantering work

Here's another thought: Consolation may be one of those horses that simply moves more efficiently at the canter. Exploring that possiblity, in addition to adding more intensity to her workouts now that she has a good base of long, slow distance work, Consolation and I have been cantering more during our conditioning rides. I'll be interested to see how this pays off at upcoming races.

Speaking of upcoming races, Owyhee Fandango is happening this weekend! I've attended this pioneer ride twice before -- for Aaruba's first LD in 2008, and last year to volunteer because I'd just torn my hamstring and couldn't ride. At the moment, I have my eye on the Sunday 60, but it's possible Ironman's schedule will move us to the Saturday 50 instead. Either way, I'm eager to see how Consolation handles her second race of the year. Stay tuned!_________________________________________________________Want Want to read more posts like this one? Subscribe to The Barb Wire

Rough Road Ahead

I got some bad news this week.

One of my life's greater frustrations, which I thought was finally coming to an end, has instead been extended for a significant period. The news left me tense to the point of aching, shell-shocked, raw and dangerous as shattered glass.

"I don't know what I'm going to do," I told Ironman through furious tears.

"Well, what can you do?"

I had a few ideas, only some of which were legal, and most of which weren't likely to solve the problem anyway. Eventually, I worked down to the obvious conclusion: "I'll just keep doing my best."

Most of the time, that works. Besides, I can't live with myself any other way.

Photo by Michael Ensch

Last night, I got another piece of interesting news.

Tomorrow's Owyhee Spring endurance ride will be a 60-miler. (I swear it said 50 last week.)

SIXTY MILES? Huh. Well. Okay, then. Looks like Consolation's second-ever endurance ride, our first of the season, will also be our longest ever.

The weather should help. Our previously delightful spring temperatures have dropped to highs in the fifties, with a healthy wind and 30% chance of afternoon showers. Less than ideal for us riders, sure, but marvelous for the horses.

We'll start at 8:00 a.m. in hand-biting, buck-rousing cold. Having watched Consolation -- sleek and electric with fitness, feed, and rest, twisting like a dervish in her paddock last night -- I suspect I'll have my hands full on the first, 25-mile loop. My job will be to keep her from wearing too thin to finish this long, long ride.

My plan is to ride well, ride smart, and do the best we can. I reckon we've a good chance of coming through not only unscathed, but stronger than ever.

Best we can do.
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Fit for Fifty!

We weren't lost.

We just didn't know quite how to get home.

Well, Consolation probably did. She mostly agreed with me about the appropriate direction to take -- but what she didn't know (or wouldn't admit) was that an impassable drop-off ending in a 30-foot wide irrigation channel blocked our way.

But we'll get to that.

Rewind to last Friday. On the phone with Ironman, who is in California doing cool stuff and getting paid for it, I complained of my fear that Consolation wouldn't be ready for the 50-mile ride at Owyhee Spring on May 1. Tumultuous weather and my equally tumultuous job have cut into our conditioning time, and the weekend ahead was forecast to be stormy yet again.

Already irritable due to a nasty surprise at the office, I hesitated to mount up that Friday evening. Strong-willed and noble as she is, handling Consolation demands absolute fairness, and I wasn't sure I was in the mood. Target practice in the back pasture sounded much more appropriate. On the other hand, we really needed to get in some miles, especially if the weekend weather wasn't going to cooperate. So, I saddled up a blessedly easygoing (for her) Consolation, and we enjoyed a quick eight miles before sunset.

That put us at 30 miles for the week. We'd spent the previous Wednesday afternoon exploring new territory across the highway, railroad tracks, and river. Here's the view from Parma Ridge Winery, where we crested the ridge before heading home.


Nice view. But...just 30 miles. In a week. Not good enough.

We've done a few 20-milers since mid-March, but none back-to-back. Nothing to convince me that Consolation was ready for a 50 after a winter off. I went to bed Friday night with all fingers crossed for enough decent hours to squeeze in some miles the next day.

Saturday dawned frosty and calm, but the wind came up with the sun. I passed the chilliest hours writing Nightlife posts, then took my rasp and new farrier chaps (hooray!) out to touch up Consolation's hooves.


And then we saddled up. The sky was heavy with rainclouds buffeted by wind, but we would do 12 miles, come hell or high water! We did, too. We trotted 12...then went straight instead of turning to make 14 (why not?)...then went straight again to make 18 (what the hell!)...then kept going on the big loop for a total of 21 (huzzah!).

The rain hit on our last few miles, but not hard enough to wash off my grin. Here we are somewhere along the road, paused for a few mouthfuls of grass, en route to Mile 51 for the week.


"I'm going to saddle up and see how she feels," I told Ironman Sunday morning. "We might go for an hour. It might be three hours."

With one eye on the sky, Consolation and I crossed the highway again. And the railroad tracks. And the river. We found our way to the base of the ridge and trotted along an irrigation maintenance road that eventually dropped us onto a graveled road dotted with large, well-maintained, 1960's style homes whose siding and shingles peeked from behind massive trees just budded by spring.

The road led us to the top of the same ridge we'd ascended on Wednesday, but several miles further southwest. I was pretty sure, having studied the ridge from below, that there weren't many roads down it. The winery road we'd traversed on Wednesday, however, ought to be easy to find.

(Yes. This is the "we weren't lost" bit. And we weren't. Not precisely.)

I was sure the winery road lay to the northeast. But which route would get us there?

The miles ticked by. We followed the agricultural grid, with intersections every mile, jogging east toward the ridge at every opportunity and otherwise moving north. Though Consolation seemed to feel fine, I was keenly aware that we were still roughly 15 miles from home and hadn't encountered water in a long while. We really needed to get down to the lower plain soon -- preferably on the winery road, because I knew it would lead us to river access.

East. North. East again. Each intersection plodded into view, accompanied by a pang of disappointment when the road signs failed to name the winery road. I doubted my own sense of direction when Consolation started pulling west. At every intersection, she insisted. So did I, praying I wasn't wrong. Rainclouds burgeoned, we were both tired, and even when we did find the winery we'd still be nearly two hours' trot from home.

Finally, at long last, we rounded a curve to find the road name I'd been waiting for. But...where was the ridge? Could we really have drifted that far west? There was nothing to do but follow the road and find out.

It twisted and turned, changed to gravel, and finally wound through some hop fields to a spread of vineyards. Ah-ha! Please be the right vineyards...please be the right vineyards...

They were. We trotted triumphantly past the winery just in time to catch a face full of rain-scented wind. Turns out the ridge is not straight as it appears from below, but a vast curve that lengthened our journey.

But never mind. Consolation and I were back on the same map. She turned up the speed and I didn't discourage her. We stopped briefly at the river (this photo is from our sunnier Wednesday ride) and hustled home just in time for the evening feeding.


Because Google Earth has been crashing my computer lately, and because I was terribly curious, I actually got in my car to drive our route to determine mileage.

26 miles.

A 47-mile weekend. 55 if you count Friday evening. What a way to wrap up a 77-mile week!

Now, that was the weekend we'd needed: lots of miles stacked one atop the other. If Consolation can do 50 in a weekend, she can do 50 in a day. And she was sound, strong, and ready to coast through a few vacation days while I returned to the office chaos.

Today, I got back on for an easier weekend than last. Just 12 miles under the sun, barefoot in the hills. Consolation has never felt better -- and neither have I.
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Shot in the Dark: Restoration

Horse time is the best antidote to people time.

~ Spartacus Jones

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Lessons in Losing

Remember Inara?


Born in late July, 2009, this Insider x Sandstorm filly reached a generous weaning age in mid-March. The time had come to separate her from Mama and begin the groundwork that will prepare her to go live with her new family in Oregon.

On weaning day, I was alone at In the Night Farm. No problem, I thought. After all, I designed my horse compound specifically for handling ungentled horses:

The round corral sits in the middle of a square enclosure. When swung outward, the round corral gate can be secured to the side of the square, creating a roadblock that funnels a loose horse right into the round corral for training. All my paddocks are arranged around the outside of the square, with gates that open into the square, so that any horse can be driven from paddock to round corral, no haltering required. So, it might take a little patience, but I should be able to separate Inara and Sandstorm without tremendous difficulty.

Well. The Inara-separation project required several steps involving moving Sandstorm to a spare paddock, then Inara to the round corral, then Sandstorm back to her original paddock, and finally, Inara into the spare paddock.

Sandstorm was easy. She knows the ropes.

Inara? A bit more difficult. Not only did she lack experience with the process of being moved from one pen to another, but her emotions skyrocketed the instant she realized Mama was neither by her side nor responding to her calls. Though Sandstorm's temporary paddock was located near the round corral gate, baby Inara was not excited about going in that direction. Instead, she raced frantically around the square enclosure.

Fortunately, the enclosure is a safe place for frantic racing. Its whole purpose, after all, is to contain wild horses. I waited several minutes for her to settle down, then approached her in a firm but non-threatening manner, asking her to move around the enclosure toward the round corral gate.

Normally, this works beautifully. It's a simple matter of asking a horse, in horse-language, to move in the desired direction.

But Inara wasn't listening. She blasted past me, alarmingly close and fast. I worked my way around and tried again, more forcefully, and prepared to back up if she approached so as to lessen the pressure without letting her by again. No dice. She blasted past.

Oh really, I thought. That's interesting...not to mention a bit disturbing. After all, everything you do with a horse is training, and the last thing you want a horse to learn right out of the gate is that it doesn't have to surrender space to you.

Thankfully, my third attempt was successful. I closed the round corral gate on Inara, figuring that behind 7-foot, 12-gauge panels was the safest place for her at the moment, and sat down on the ground to study her and think.

Where had I gone wrong? What was happening in her little head? And how could I be sure it wouldn't happen again?

Slowly, as I watched her fling herself about the round corral -- pressing her ears back every time she passed me, which I found both fascinating and alarming since she has no reason for animosity -- I formed several conclusions:

1. Part of the problem I'd encountered in attempting to drive Inara had simply been her high emotional level. She was, understandably, panicky and preoccupied with Sandstorm's absence. However, blowing past me still represented a dramatic and willful move.

2. Inara comes from strong-willed stock. Barbs in general, and her sire in particular, have no shortage of courage or willingness to defend their own interests. An admirable trait, this, but certainly one to channel appropriately, for safety's sake.

3. Most enlightening of all was this: Inara has spent her entire life in a paddock with only her mama. She's never had another horse demand that she give way. Like most dams, Sandstorm has docilely tolerated Inara's youthful whims without reprimand. As far as Inara knows, it's perfectly acceptable to run roughshod, like a spoiled child, over anybody who gets in her way.

And there was my answer. The best thing I could to for Inara was to recruit a better trainer than myself -- another horse.

Consolation struck me as the ideal choice. Calm and confident, dominant but not a bully, firm but fair, I knew she'd put Inara in her place. So, after giving Inara a day to get over the worst of her weaning angst, I moved Consolation into her paddock with her.

Sure enough, Inara spent the next few hours learning that life isn't all about getting her way. Better than the most expert human trainer, Consolation used as much force as necessary -- but not a hint more -- to put the filly in her place.

It worked. During Inara's and my first gentling session a few days later, she tried to get past me...once. My body language -- now that Inara could read it and was calm enough to do so -- convinced her that the best direction to go was the one in which I sent her. We had a short but productive session, an unquestionable win, simply because she had learned to lose.

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Squalls and Intervals

Consolation has certainly earned her hay of late.

Truth be told, all you have to do to get meals on this farm is stand around and look pretty -- if you're a horse, that is. I never could get it to work for me. Maybe I should try a new haircut?

Freebies notwithstanding, Consolation has worked hard enough this week that I'm glad to keep replenishing her smorgasbord of sweet, fine Oregon hay.

Last Sunday, my Facebook page was full of status updates from enthusiastic endurance riders in my area. We had sunshine and temperatures in the fifties. Never mind the stiff breeze, everybody saddled up at least one horse and put in some serious time on the trails.

Consolation and I were scheduled for a 14-mile conditioning ride, and we got it...plus a few. The weather was so fine that we looped wide and topped out at 18.5 miles in 3 hours, for Consolation's typical LSD speed of 6 mph. I hadn't planned on riding that far until the last weekend in March, but Consolation handled it beautifully -- barefoot on gravel all the way.

Consolation took Monday and Tuesday off, which worked out nicely because I needed to put in some serious time at the office. Besides, our persistent spring winds insisted on blowing...and blowing...and blowing...

This afternoon, despite scattered rain and still more wind, we scraped together enough sunshine for a thrilling 8 miles along our country roads. I've noticed before that the first ride after a long workout and adequate rest often features an extraordinarily buoyant horse. Today was no exception.

Strong and cocky as only an endurance horse can be, Consolation started our ride with a few devious attempts to sidetrack me from her workout, with the result that we returned to the soft edges of the plowed fields for some more interval work. As Jane of The Literary Horse (one of my all-time favorite blogs) pointed out in her comment on my Quick and Dirty post, prudent application of the "wet saddle pad" theory is a beautiful thing.

Note: Prudent application means directing extra energy into productive activity, NOT exercising a horse into submission. Critical distinction.

Anyway. Today's ride was...intense. We churned through plowed earth, sped along harder surfaces, spooked violently at everyday objects, and finished with a healthy trot up a gradual, 2-mile incline. 8 miles total, in exactly 80 minutes. 6 mph again, but a far different workout with a far different training effect. Today's ride contained a lot of interval work, pushing Consolation's anaerobic capacity for short periods, with active rest between.

It's during workouts like these that I'm glad I train hard physically, too, because I know exactly how my horse feels. (I set down my opinions on this subject last summer, in a post called Straight Sailing: Thoughts on Fitness for Endurance Riders.)

Intervals are exhilarating, but they're also tough. Done right, they're really tough. We did 'em right.

So, as I said, I was more than happy to offer Consolation an extra flake of hay tonight. She was more than happy to take me up on it. And I'm smiling to see her in her paddock right now, standing around, looking pretty.
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Quick and Dirty

Four days of rest and good hay. Brisk temperatures. Gusty wind. Rain.

As I pulled on my insulated breeches and headed outside with my Stonewall on one hip and helmet strapped firmly to my head, I knew I was in for an adventure. Sure enough, Consolation greeted me with a rare game of Ha-ha You Can't Catch Me, followed by a round of Dance at the End of the Rope while I excavated her from a layer of mud and tacked up.

She shied and blew as we headed out the gate, leaving the other horses whirling about their pens like kernels of corn in an air popper. The wind rushed in my ears, loudly enough that I twisted repeatedly in the saddle to check for oncoming cars. Meanwhile, Consolation walked in short, mincing steps that guaranteed her hindquarters would be well under her should her high head and pricked ears detect an excuse to run.

Unfortunately for me, excuses lurked behind every fencepost. Windblown trash, clattering tin on the roof of an old barn, dogs approaching unheard over the gusts, tumbleweeds and laundry flying ghostlike on the line. I might as well have been riding a stick of dynamite.

And (of course) it started to rain.

This didn't seem like a good day for the brisk, 8-mile trot I had planned. Consolation had plenty of energy for a ride twice that long, but I wasn't sure I wanted to spend many miles astride a beast whose mind was so tossed by emotion. Still, I was determined to log good workout. We've penciled in the 50 at Owyhee Spring on May 1 for our first race of the year, and that date ain't changin' because of a little February storm.

So, I decided to take advantage of a tool I have at my disposal for only a few weeks out of the year: dirt. Lots of it.

As soon as Consolation was warmed up by a few minutes' trotting, I guided her off the solid shoulder and into the freshly plowed (but not planted) edge of a field. Ahh, perfect. Deep and soft, but loamy instead of slick. Excellent footing to prepare for the sandy canyonlands trails -- and a safe outlet for Consolation's abundant energy.

The fields around In the Night Farm go on for miles. We took them at a smooth jog, Consolation's agitation gradually sinking into effort as her hooves plunged into the soil and her nostrils widened to pull in the energizing wind. Ever conscious of her precious tendons and ligaments, we took breaks to walk again on solid ground, returning to the fields when the storm-driven demons clustered again around her brain.

Four miles of that work was plenty. The last field, a gentle uphill along the tilled edge of a nursery bristling with ornamental trees, painted her neck and shoulders with sweat. When it ended, I dismounted to walk the final half-mile, stroking the dampened curlicues of her coat, satisfied by the short period in which her respiration eased.

Interval training has unquestionable benefits, and I was pleased with the day's work as I returned Consolation to her pen. Nevertheless, we're still due for a stretch of long, slow distance work -- 14 miles later today, according to my Conditioning Log. Let's hope the weather cooperates.
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Another Round

It's official. Consolation and I are back on the conditioning trail.

I confess that I was slightly nervous. As many miles as I post, as many hours as I spend safe in the saddle, I can never quite forget that with riding -- particularly on green horses after winter layoffs -- comes a set of significant, undeniable perils. It doesn't help that I can't escape my temperamental hamstring, a constant reminder of the risk inherent in our sport.

Well. There's nothing to do but do it anyway. Visualize the best result (which is thereby made more likely), quash the fear, focus on passion, trust your skill. Every ride, it's easier. As a good friend of mine noted, the worst parts are takeoffs and landings.

Yes, I agreed...in more senses than one! But I needn't have worried.

Swinging astride felt like exploring my garden in early March. Here, the ghosts of perennials awaiting spring. There, some windblown clutter for sweeping out. Everywhere, the earth sweet and solid and familiar, pliant in my hands, rich with promise.

All the miles Consolation and I have covered together came rushing back, tumbling one over the other in their haste, chattering in our small, secret language hammered out on the anvil of experience. The occasional, impatient dip of her head. The respondent press of my calves against her ribs. A word, a breath, a hint of give. The sorting out of which job belongs to whom, reminders that all belong to both.

We spent half a mile on static, more or less, as together we remembered. And then? The ancient, centaur magic! The reins turned to blood that flowed between us. We talked like old girlfriends clutching hands across the table at an empty bar, grinning, pulled toward one another by conspiratorial murmur.

"Remember the old days?"

"The wild days, you mean? Hell, yeah."

"Those are the ones. We should do that again."

"Damn straight."

And we waved for another round. _________________________________________________________

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On Consolation

This is the horse I will ride this year. You know her already. I call her Consolation.


Many of you have commented on Consolation's name -- how appropriate it is to our journey, how you read it as Constellation for weeks, how it is strange and somehow perfect.

Well. The truth is that she was originally registered under another name. I changed it -- registry and all -- to suit the circumstances of the time. Yet even I have been surprised by how thoroughly this powerful mare has lived up to her gentle name. This is our story.

Consolation was born a very dark black-bay with an odd star on her forehead in the shape of her native state. Being a filly by Arivaca out of Dove, she was christened Idaho Dove. I first saw her as a two-year-old, one of the most awkward in the herd, when her coat was greying in patches and her star had faded like Venus into daybreak.

Among the other fillies -- the blacks, the chestnuts, the grullas and buckskins and bays -- she stood out, but not for anything good. I knew her bloodlines were strong, but was not impressed with the gangling beast I saw. The others were rounder, brighter, altogether lovelier.

This was in the fields of Quien Sabe, where I worked weekends for a year and lived for several months with the goal of training to take over care of the Barb preservation project as its founder aged. Moving to the ranch had been a lifetime decision involving the sale of my house in town and sacrifice of a decent job, but it was a dream the likes of which few people ever have opportunity to chase.

Chase it I did, but it got away. Relationships aren't always what we'd like them to be, and a few months at the ranch proved enough. It wasn't going to work out. Sadly, painfully, I made the wrenching decision to return to life in the mainstream and leave the Barb project to its fate.

A few of the Barbs came with me. They were payment for labor completed, hours spent, hopes dashed. Insider and Tuetano, Acey and Sandstorm...and Idaho Dove. Though I had hand-picked most of the others, that gray filly was not one I'd have selected. But, she was a Barb with good bloodlines, and one of the few made available as payment. I accepted her -- and re-named her Consolation.

She was, you see, a sparkle left behind when the meteor fell. A piece of Quien Sabe, beloved, carried home from battles lost. The scent of a lover, long abandoned, left upon clothing at the back of a drawer. I determined to cherish her, awkwardness and all.

But oh! As time passed and her belly grew round with the foal she carried, the rest of her body changed too. She transformed from a disorganized filly into a mare capable of stopping me in my tracks when I glanced up from farm work or from the window of my house. To this day, I find myself gazing at her, awed, stunned by her balanced proportions and regal carriage.


There is more. The part you already know. The part about the years of heart poured into dear Aaruba, molding him from a disturbed colt into a promising endurance prospect. The part about his battle with ulcers and chronic colic and, eventually, the devastating decision to retire him well before his prime.

But she was waiting, my Consolation. Waiting to occupy my mind and emotions with the challenges only a willful and intelligent mare can offer. Waiting for me to become who she needed, so she could do the same for me.

We finished a few races last year. Little triumphs, in the big scheme of things. Big triumphs, in our little sphere. And really, does anything else matter when you're among horses? This is their gift to us -- the shrinking down of all that matters. Here. Now. You. Me. There is no tomorrow. No one else. This is freedom, my friends. This is Consolation.

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Related Posts

Mentor in Motion
On the Wings of a Storm
High Gloss Finish: Old Selam 2009
On Endurance
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Ramping Up

Next week.

That's when Consolation's 2010 endurance conditioning program officially begins. In preparation, I'm spending this week dusting a few cobwebs off her well-rested brain...not to mention her well-rested body.

We went for another walk today. This time, I mostly ground drove her instead of merely leading. I find that long ground drives are an excellent tool for building a horse's confidence in leading the way while taking direction from behind.

Mentally, she proved to be in pretty good shape. Physically? Well, let's just say that we took a four mile loop featuring a steep, half-mile hill, where I made the amusing discovery that I am in considerably better shape than my endurance horse.

Oh, dear.

A little huffing and puffing is to be expected, however, after four months of rest. Respiratory conditioning is the first to come when a horse begins training, and the first to go when she takes a holiday. Even though last year's endurance season was short for us -- only 3 LD's and 1 55-mile race -- I'm confident that Consolation's fitness will make a steady comeback.

Let's hope that I can do as well. Earlier this week, I managed to aggrivate my hamstring injury (yes, that hamstring injury) enough that I was glad to be walking today instead of riding. It had better get back into shape by Monday!

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Speaking of getting in shape, several of you have written to ask what happened to the fitness portion of my Fit to Ride series from last summer. Ummm...I might have gotten distracted and failed to write it. (Sorry!) The good news is that I'm now writing about fitness and nutrition (my views on which have changed somewhat since I wrote the series here, partly as a result of my research for that series) over at my companion blog, Nightlife. For those who are interested, I'm only a couple posts into a Primal Fitness series reviewing what I've learned over the past year. Feel free to click over and say hello.

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Wind in Our Sails

Consolation and I took a walk today. (After work! Imagine having that much daylight!)

It was just a walk. And yet, it was so much more. After a long winter's nap, it's nearly time to get serious about conditioning for the 2010 endurance season. I've spent some time on the AERC website lately, checking out the ride calendar for the northwest region. It includes a new ride, the Owyhee Spring on May 1, that sounds perfect for Consolation's first race of the year -- the 55, of course, because we know she can do it. And so, this walk was step one in preparing us for what I hope will be the first of many strong, sound completions in 2010.

Though unseasonably warm at 45 degrees, today's weather also featured blustering wind and all the equine antics that come with it. I set out with several purposes in mind:

• To reintroduce Consolation to the concept of having a career. After several months off, her mind has clearly relaxed into its natural state; she was hard to catch and reluctant to stand for brushing, and our first mile out was filled with silliness that I largely chose to ignore, so long as she abided by the basic rules (no crowding, keep slack in the lead, mimic my pace).
• To reestablish trust and leadership in Consolation's mind and emotions. I've often repeated that "the horse you lead is the horse you ride," and I want to be sure my willful mare and I are thinking together before I mount up.
• To begin toughening Consolation's hooves for miles of barefoot travel on gravel and occasional pavement. Though she's spent the winter on a dry lot of variously frozen, snow-covered, and muddy soil, Consolation has excellent feet and showed no sign of tenderness during today's 3.5 mile trek.
• To prepare Consolation's mind for being ridden in windy conditions. For all that we completed several races together last year, she is still a green and powerful mare. Since we'll need to condition on windy days if we're to be ready for that 55-miler in May, I figure it's best to start early on getting her accustomed to the gusty landscape.

Our training session offered benefits for me, as well:

• Walking is remarkably good for human health. For all that I prefer heavy lifting and high intensity interval training, there's no denying that moving slowly has a remarkably metabolism-boosting hormonal effect on the body.
• Even better, today's walk offered a simple way to ease back into the habit of horsemanship. I've said before that horse training is a discipline, like writing a novel or eating well, that thrives in an environment of commitment. It's time to buckle down for 2010, and I'm feeling more ready every day.

Yes, it was just a walk. But it was a start. A slow, easy, purposeful start start toward whatever adventures this year in endurance may hold. And out there, leaning hard into the wind that lifted Consolation's mane and whipped my hair free of its braid, I couldn't help but recall a quote by Jimmy Dean: "I can't change the direction of the wind, but I can adjust my sails to always reach my destination."

Come what may.

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On Riding On

There's something to be said for appreciating the way life is,

rather than the way you meant for it to be.

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I owe you all an apology for my long absence. All I can say is that I must have needed a break. I didn't intend to take such a long one, but that's what happened. 2009 has been a long ride for me, both personally and professionally. The trail got steeper after I wrote this post, but I stick by what I said: Without the hard times, we wouldn't know what triumph really is.

Yes, it's been a long year. I didn't accomplish most of the goals I set out at the beginning. My equestrian goals suffered most of all, due partly to injury and partly to emotional distraction. Over the past few months, I've rested from horsemanship as much as blogging. I've done almost no training or riding. I've fed and watered the horses, watched them from my window, petted their fuzzy shoulders and simply let them be. And let myself be. Quiet. Undriven.

Slowly, softly, desire has crept back in. I almost want to ride again. I almost wish the snow and ice would vanish from the round corral, freeing me to train baby Inara, to start Ripple Effect under saddle, to progress with Acey and ramp up Consolation's fitness again.

Because 2010 is here. I am entering it stronger than ever before -- physically, mentally, emotionally. Life holds some interesting prospects. I promise I'll become less scarce soon, to let you know how it goes.

Happy New Year, my friends. Thanks for sticking around.

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Tempest

I do not appreciate injustice.

Lies are about the worst thing I can think of.

It infuriates me to see unethical behavior gain the upper hand.

I am tense to the point of physical pain. The best thing I can say is that at least it's Friday.

Several people expressed their sympathy today. They asked if I was going to ride this weekend. Just making conversation. Knowing that riding is something I enjoy. Something I might do for relaxation.

I suppose I surprised them by saying no. But I haven't any patience left.

Ever tried working when a horse when your fuse is short?

It's a bad idea. In fact, to the horse, it's downright unjust. Confusing.

She doesn't understand lies, my horse. Whatever I tell her with my body and tone, she takes as purest truth.

She has no concept of misdirected rage.

She doesn't understand, "I'm sorry."

So I'll repair fence, or shovel manure, or fill the water troughs by hand. Maybe I'll just close my eyes and listen while the horses chew their hay. But I won't ride. Not until I'm good and ready to do it right.

This tempest ain't in any kind of teapot, see? It's mustang-wild. There's plenty of damage to be done, and I can't do enough to stop it.

But I can keep it from harming my horse.

Ethics?

What a novel idea.
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Related Posts

A Moment of Silence
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Liberty Work

I woke this morning in the mood to dance.

It was a feeling borne of a late-night talk with a friend, during which we discussed the magic that draws a good horse to a good handler despite the horse's obvious physical superiority.

"I frequently marvel," I said, "that I can put a bit of string on a 900-pound prey animal and lead it through strange and frightening territory with that string in an open palm, and it will stay with me. This despite the fact that there is nothing, nothing in my power that could stop that horse from leaving if it wanted to. Tell me that isn't magic."

"Sounds like trust," my friend said.

"Trust. Yes. But not blind trust. That is the magic."

Think of horses in a field. Watch them long enough, and you'll see that they control each others' movements with subtle -- and occasionally dramatic -- bits of body language. Tilt of ear, angle of body, suggestion of raised hip. They have no need of whips or ropes or chains; their language is based on the twin elements of respect and trust.

Respect comes first, every time. Introduce a new horse to the herd, and you'll see this truth in action. Only when the hierarchy is well established will you see emerge the equine version of friendship; that is, trust. This is the turning of two horses -- apparently spontaneous, but actually subtly cued by the dominant horse -- to scratch each others' withers. It is standing head to tail in the shade, flicking flies from one anothers' faces. It is the magnetic pull of follow-the-leader that moves small societies within the herd from place to place throughout the day.

Horses, clearly, are wired for liberty work. If I am good enough, if I can learn their language thoroughly, I should be able to dispense with the artificial tools I use to compensate for my inferior size and strength. If I have earned the right to lead, my horse and I will move in seamless dance with no physical bond between us. When we fail, it's my fault every time. The horse already knows her part; it's my responsibility to learn mine.


Liberty work is exactly that: work. It depends upon concentration, understanding, empathy, precision. Respect. Trust. Among horses, liberty is made or broken by the worth of the leader.

A horse at liberty demands clear, consistent, honest leadership. If she doesn't get it, she rebels.

Proof, yet again, that horses are wiser than men.

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Related Posts:
Shall We Dance?
Dirty Dancing
Call Me Crazy: A Word about Natural Horsemanship
Twenty Minutes in Photos: Trust-Based Training at Work
Heart in My Hands: Gentling the Unhandled Horse
Independence Day?
Shot in the Dark: Liberty
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Shot in the Dark: Wisdom

He who seeks Wisdom by looking to the wise
may count himself among them.

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Golden Days

I don't do takeout often, but today, I can't resist.

My friend wrote this.

I wish I had.

Photo by East End Portrait Photography
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The Making of a Monster: Owyhee Canyonlands 2009, Day 5

All right, all right -- I'll write, I'll write! You guys crack me up with your comments.

But I'm warning you, it's like I told Ironman shortly after dismounting on Day 5: I have no story to tell. No one kicked or bucked or ran away or fell off or won or got lost or came up lame. It was just a plain, old, marvelous, enchanting, exhilarating ride.

... ... ...


Why are you all still here?

Oh yes. The question of the 50. Well.

"What are you doing today," Ironman asked for the benefit of his video camera, aiming the viewfinder at me and Consolation as we strolled toward the starting line.

"We're doing the fifty." I said. "At least, we're going to try. You never know what will happen."

Consolation certainly thought she knew. Milling among the other horses, she quivered with controlled excitement. When the trail opened and we all took off like a herd of turtles, walking along the gravel road and the steep hill we'd climbed at the beginning of Day 1, she pranced along at the back of the pack. It's only 30 miles, Mom. Let's go!

You don't know what you're in for, little lady.

She listened (mostly) to the repeated "no" of seat and reins, and I didn't have to work too hard to hold her in. All the same, we were both delighted to reach the top of the ridge and take off trotting under an expanse of iron-clouded sky. The endless wind swirled her mane around my hands dust rolled away in clouds from the line of horses strung like beads along the trail ahead. It filled her nostrils with fuss and snort, but she responded willingly enough when I planted her behind another horse to help moderate her speed.

Still, the first seven or eight miles flashed by. I felt we'd scarcely begun when we found ourselves already at the first water stop. Horses clustered around a pair of large tanks set a few yards off the trail. Among them was a lovely, chestnut sabino I recognized as Amanda Washington's new mare, Replika.

"How's it going?" asked Amanda, whose response when I'd told her the evening before that we planned to try the 50 was, "About time!" (Incidentally, Karen Bumgarner said exactly the same thing minutes later, then proceeded to reassure me that what I'd heard time and again is true -- it's not the miles that beat up young horses, it's excessive speed. I must say, their confidence in us was inspiring.)

"She's fine," I replied. "Doing great." (I did say that I have no story, remember?)

Indeed, Consolation looked happily around, ignoring the water. Cool day, early in the ride, no cause for concern. We headed back down the trail, now alone in a gap between riders. Within minutes, however, Amanda and Replika caught up to us. The mares paced each other nicely, Consolation drawing on Replika's speed, and Replika on Consolation's calm. Amanda and I chatted our way on into the vet check, where Consolation vetted through with all A's.

I threw a fleece blanket over her hindquarters to stave off the chilly, moist breeze that had the volunteers shivering. She ate samplings of various hays and wild grasses while I consumed a handful of nuts from my saddlebag, but she showed no interest in her beet pulp or water. Ah, well. Still early, still cool, and I've learned that she generally doesn't drink until we're at least 15 miles in.


"Ready?" Amanda called, appearing nearby with Replika in hand. I offered Consolation one, last chance at the trough -- no go -- before stuffing her blanket back into its plastic bag, in case of rain, and mounting up.

The second loop took us down the sandy wash we'd ridden on Day 1, then all the way out to the Snake River. On windier days, I'm told, the river flashes with whitecaps, but today its waves sloshed more gently toward shore. All the same, Consolation wasn't interested in drinking along the muddy, buggy beach.

By the time we reached a second river access point, this one with a bucket waiting for horses that prefer not to drink from natural sources (not that such is typically a problem for Consolation), I was really ready to see her take in some water. Alas, she was far more interested in ridding her ears of the riverside gnats while chewing mouthfuls of grass than in drinking. All the same, her attitude and energy level remained normal, the weather chilly, and our pace very reasonable. I figured she'd drink when she was good and ready.

Boy, was I right! About five miles from the vet check, I felt her flagging a bit and commented to Amanda that she finally felt like she needed water. Sure enough, the moment the pulse timer declared us "down" at the vet check, she spotted the trough and dragged me there so fast that I accidentally bumped into another rider who was peaceably watering her horse at the crowded tank.

Finally, and to my great pleasure, Consolation drank so much I thought she might drown. (Perhaps she learned a lesson, eh?) She earned all A's from the vet again, then steadily munched hay right up until it was time to leave again. Her ribcage felt discernibly wider between my knees as we walked the first half-mile, warming up slowly under a sky darkened by increasing threat of rain.

Taking turns in the lead, Consolation and Replika carried us back across the desert, across the highway, across the ridge where the storm pulled their tails horizontal and wrinkled their noses with displeasure at a spattering of icy drops. We dropped off the ridge, trotted along the road, then bounced back up and across the bluff behind ridecamp. Consolation swept toward the finish on a wave of energy, snorting playfully at clumps of sagebrush and the tiny creek where Ironman waited with his camera.

"Looks like you have an endurance horse," Amanda said as we dismounted and led our ponies in for 24rd and 25th place out of 32 starters and 30 finishers. She's right, I realized, feeling a grin creep across my face. I do have an endurance horse again. At last.


We received our completion from the Headless Horseman....

...and huddled on the porch that evening to listen to the final day's results.

"I'm not sure this is right," the ride manager said as she came across our names. "Did you ride the fifty?"

"Sure did," I said, as Karen Bumgarner called out, "Amanda and I forced her into it. I think we may have created a monster."

Yes, ma'am. I think you just might have. Perhaps there's a story in my little gray mare, after all. Ride on!

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