NOTE: Before I continue, I wanted to tell ya'll I almost did not write about this ride (I hope I don't regret doing so). The reason, if you don't know it already, will become clear later on, if and when we finally get there. Quite frankly, I'm still not sure what I'll say about it when we do reach that part of the journey, because it's a delicate and sensitive issue and I'm not, normally, a delicate or sensitive person.
But, after contemplating the whole experience for a few days after this particular endurance ride, I did decide to try and put it all together. I'll attempt to explain why I came to this decision somewhere down the road as I take you (those of you who are brave enough, crazy enough, or drunk enough) along with me down that endurance trail, rambling, on and on and on, like I usually do.
Part Two
Susan, riding her Arabian, spots me, and when I point out my new tent to her, she just about falls out of her saddle. I forget exactly what she said to me, but it was along the lines of asking which bank I had robbed, or who on earth would approve a loan that would let me own such a vehicle. She says, "Only in Florida would you find someone crazy enough to let you, of all people, drive something like that off their parking lot." I tried telling her, with a straight face, that I had just received a very large cash advance on my new book titled, "Me & My Inner Child." She said, "Yea, that's about as likely as your Gators winning the National Championship this year." My reply was, "Or, Tennessee." haha.
Since I was there on Thursday I had my pick of where to park. I just wanted to be near water because after selling my soul to Citicorp for this motor home, the last thing I planned on doing was to haul one drop of water anywhere, something I was constantly doing when I lived in a tent down by the river. I had brought along 300 feet of water hose to make sure my water tank was constantly filled. Not so much for the horses but for those 3 or 4 showers I was planning on taking each and every day during this endurance extended week-end (OK, this type of camping is completely new to us so I might get carried away with the fact I have a shower, with hot water). I knew the wife and kid were, also, expecting to shower quite often.
As I was filling one of the two large buckets for the horses from my 300 foot hose, Randy and Kay walked by me on the main road which paralleled my camp site. Kay yelled out, "Howard, is that you?" I glanced up and the look on her face was priceless. Worth every dollar of interest, compounded hourly, my wife and I were spending on this monster to see that look of total shock on Kay's face. "Did you rob a bank?" she asked. Why is everyone asking me this? Do I have the look of Desperado about me for them to respond that way?
"Yes, Kay, it is I, and, no, Kay, I did not rob a bank. Where are you two going?" They told me they were going to look at the Linahan's big ole house, a work in progress. I turned off the water, grabbed the wife and we went to join them on a free tour, self conducted, of a Georgian mansion built for the third millennium. What makes this place so darn cool is we all actually know the folks who are going to live inside. Right off, we all noticed the horse heads engraved in the huge wooden front doors. Those doors were locked, but we did find a side entrance that was open.
I had never seen wood like this before, wood that was placed, strategically, throughout the entire three story house. My guess was it did not come from this country. I later found out it came from somewhere in Honduras (rumor was they had it shipped in from the Philippines, but, like most rumors, that turned out not to be true). It looked like teak, but was some sort of Honduran oak. Quite incredible. Even the closet doors were solid wood; stuff you don't ever see at Home Depot.
Well, I do have a horse tale to tell so I won't go into any more detail about this palace they're building in Hahira, GA. All I can say is if you go to this ride next year it might be finished by then. And, I bet they let you see it cause that's just the kind of folks these people are. If you do endurance, no matter who you are (even me), you are welcomed to come see the Linahan's new house. Just go up to those 20 foot humongous doors with the incredibly large engraved horse heads, pound on it with those Medieval knockers, and when someone opens the door say, "Howard said we could take a tour of your new house; it's OK, right? Got any beer?" haha.
My wife and I walked back to our new tent. I went into my ELECTRIC PORTABLE CORRAL (I capitalized that because of all the recent brew-ha-ha on Ridecamp lately where some folks are saying these things are evil) and started brushing my new horse, named by me in honor of those brave, young Americans serving overseas in places like Afghanistan, Pakistan, Kurdistan, and all those other "Stans," risking their lives, each and every day, protecting our All American endurance butts. What is so incredible to me is that here we are, the American endurance rider, fighting amongst ourselves online (the safest place on earth to have a fight) over whether it's safer for our horses to be tied to the trailer, a picket line, or to have them in an electric corral, when there are so many Americans, on the wrong side of the ocean, risking their lives 24/7 so that we even have the freedom to show up to one of these things.
The name of my special horse is "American Spirit." The thought of naming my unregistered ARABIAN horse, in honor of my country, came to me when I found out one of my fellow Floridian endurance riders, Debbie Parsons, was going on one of those very special, all expenses paid, Air Force TDY's (temporary duty) that sometimes end up lasting "temporarily forever". She was going to be very close to, if not inside, one of the "Stans."
My new horse is a gangly looking, 15H one inch, flea bitten grey, unregistered, scars all over his body, approximately 9 years old (we don't know his true age) Arab gelding. Jerry Fruth told me he looked like he had some Egyptian in him, but no one really knows for sure. I had already completed one 50 on him. It was an incredible ride that day last September. My wife and kid had agreed, beforehand, to let me go on alone, cause they had discovered how this horse traveled when they attempted to train their horse alongside him. "American Spirit" is an incredible lunatic, I probably should have named him "El Whacko," and I do choose to call him that every now and then. That's because, with my military background, I have a difficult time screaming and cursing at a horse named "America." There are times, when he flies down the endurance trail, with me feeling only a semblance of control, I elect to go with "El Whacko."
Even though I'll probably never find out for sure, I really believe this horse has been on some sort of race track at some point in his life. He cannot stand to allow another horse in front of him and every time a rider tries to pass us he picks up the pace, no matter what that pace may be. I have never ever ridden a horse, even Dance Line, my 17 H hyper Saddlebred, with the will, the desire, the incredible drive to move forward like that which possesses American Spirit. You cannot train this into a horse; they are born this way. And, by some miracle of God (or the other guy) I have come to own him.
