Re: RC: First endurance ride (was Whatever)(fairly long)

[BMcCrary27@aol.com]

In a message dated 04/11/2000 11:22:39 AM Pacific Daylight Time, 
woik@home.com writes:

<< >Does everyone remember their first ride?<>>


Absolutely!  It was 1971 and I rode a running QH gelding (this was in our 
pre-Arab days) who had a long weak back, was a maniac, and was totally 
unconditioned.  I figured that if he had been climbing up and down our hill, 
to and from the water trough all winter, he was ready to do 50 miles.  After 
all, 50 miles couldn't be a very big deal, could it?  My then 17 year old 
daughter and I rode together.  The start was literally a pistol shot start, 
and all horses took off at a dead run across a pasture full of holes and 
washouts.  (Makes me cringe to think of it).  I wasn't conditioned either, 
and by the time I had trotted 5 miles I had a pain in my side.  Oh, 
well...onward. At the first vet check, out in the woods, there was no water 
to be had...it was simply a dry vet check.  We had crossed a creek about 4 
miles before, but of course my horse wasn't going to drink at only 8 miles 
into the ride.  We went on into the back reaches of Big Basin S.P. and 
arrived at Castle Rock S.P. (from whence the name of the ride came) for the 
1-hour vet check.  In those days it was time in from the minute you arrived, 
not from the time your horse recovered. My horse was in the advanced stages 
of fatique, but at that time even the vets didn't know very much, and the vet 
said the horse's anal sphincter was flaccid (we all now know this is a BAD 
sign, don't we?), but "he looks alert; I'm going to let you go on".  Off I 
went and in a bit I notice my horse's neck is hot to the touch but he's not 
sweating (YIKES! another BAD sign) but there was no water to be found 
anywhere. Suddenly I see a concrete wash tub beside the trail next to a farm. 
 There is no water in the tub, but there is a faucet. I was ecstatic, but 
upon turning the handle and discovering there was no water coming forth, I 
was dismayed.  Onward, slowly......  finally we come to a creek and the horse 
drinks well.  Somehwere along about this point the flagging went up the 
mountain...fresh tracks and everything, but no trail.  Heard later that some 
motorcyclists had removed them and had hung them into the forest just to play 
games. We came back to the road (very confusing logging roads, going around 
in circles) and soon discovered we were being followed by a jeep with the 
"drag riders". They directed us onto the correct route and asked us if we 
were ready to quit yet. I said no, we were still going on.  Somewhat later we 
found ourselves in the company of a man on a pinto horse, and we rode along 
companionably.  I generously offered him a piece of my candy bar, only to 
discover that during the ride so far, the tube of hand cream I had felt (for 
some obscure reason) was absolutely necessary to the success of my ride had 
blended nicely with the chocolate bar (Snickers, I think it was) and had a 
very peculiar taste.  The man was utterly gracious about it and accepted a 
piece of the candy. His name was Clint Ritchie, and now I know that many 
years later he starred in one of the well know soaps on TV.  Daughter and I 
finally arrived at the 45 mile point, a county road, and there was my husband 
waiting for us with the horse trailer.  After all, we had already taken 12 
hours to reach this point, so what good would it have done to go another 5 
miles?  Besides, he had been waiting for HOURS for us, no doubt wondering 
what on earth was taking us so long.  We loaded the horses and drove to the 
finish line and the steak BBQ.  It was a terrible blow to my self esteem, but 
I learned a lot about how NOT to ride endurance.  For many years after that, 
I was still the tail of the family dog, that is husband and three daughters 
routinely placed much higher than I.  I became rather bitter about it.  
Daughters would say, "Now Mama, you can do better than that".  But I didn't 
seem to be able to do so.  Finally, I had a serious talk with myself.  I 
decided I could continue to feel beaten, or I could re-think my priorities.  
I decided that having a good ride, enjoying the scenery and the trail and the 
horse was my top priority.  When I decided that placing high was unimportant 
to me, THEN I started having fun.  This philosoppy was confirmed when, in 
1984, I actually won a ride, and when nothing happened...no bells, no 
whistles, nothing...I knew then that I just wasn't the competitive type.  And 
I've been enjoying being a finisher ever since.  I do rather like the BC 
award, and I've had a few of horses that have achieved that, but generally 
it's the journey not the destination that counts for me.  I do, however, heed 
my husband's urgings....."don't dawdle!"

Barbara