[RC] Endurance, Carolina Style: Part Sixteen - Howard Bramhall
If I had known then what I know now I would not have left the barn to go
out on this last loop. What happened to the four of us out there on
that bust-your-butt blue loop, bringing in the rear for the 50 milers,
on that late afternoon had turned into a serious survival training course:
to finish is to live. There was Pat, a seasoned rider, Paula, a fellow
Floridian, Barney, from Georgia, and myself. We had joined up with one
another and stayed together after riding close to 3 miles into the loop.
Things were going OK, the trail was very narrow and choppy, constantly
going up and down (not another friggen HILL!!!).
And, then it hit. Slowly at first, but increased to such a degree and
so quickly, the four of us found ourselves in nothing less than a complete
downpour. The clouds above us had split wide open and, in a matter of
minutes, we were completely soaked. The chopped up trail turned into some
serious mud bogs, the climbs and descents quadrupled in danger. The ride
transformed from one that was a vigorous challenge to one of survival; for you
and your horse. And the water, it began to flow downward, going
against you and your horse when climbing, and with you, as if traveling
downriver in a raging current, while descending. Welcome to Vietnam:
the monsoon season had just begun.
At that very moment I recalled a conversation, earlier in the week,
while listening to Abbie and Deb, from nearby Boone, talking about
this year's local weather. Abbie said they had gotten so much rain
weeks prior to the ride, that if it were to happen the week of the ride she
would have to cancel. Deb, without hesitation, had agreed. At
the time I thought the two women might have been exaggerating, things couldn't
become that bad that quickly
just because of a little rain.
Well, here I was with three other riders, witnessing exactly what does
happen when the clouds open up above the Leatherwood trails and I can tell
you the two women were right on. And, there we were, half way into the
loop, with no choice but to press on. Going back would be just as bad as
continuing. If someone is going to die today, it might as well be while
traveling in the right direction.
The jacket I had on was not a great one for this type of weather but it did
have a hood which fit, barely, over the top of my helmet. My glasses were
fogged and soaked. I could feel the water swimming between my toes with
boots filled to the brim. When I dismounted I found it even more dangerous
to travel on foot ahead of my horse. I looked around and noticed the other
riders were not faring any better. My paradise, the land I had come to
love had suddenly transformed into a slippery sloped, raging deluge that brings
home the notion of one's own mortality. I looked up at the sky, rain
pouring into my face, and defiantly screamed out, "Is this the best you can
do?"
On and on we trekked, up, and down, up and down. I started wondering
how many climbs my horse had left in him; I knew I couldn't handle many
more. Where is that sign? The one indicating this is the last hill
we must climb today. I heard Paula, saying something aloud, up
ahead. One of the nicest, most pleasant endurance riders you'd ever meet,
there she was, soaked to the bone, traveling on foot with her horse behind
her, walking through mud up above her ankles, and she was talking to
herself as if she had completely lost her mind. As I focused on her words,
I realized that Paula, just a lovely woman to be around under normal
circumstances, was out here cursing like a Sailor!
The four of us continued on. None of us even considered stopping and
waiting. I think this was because of a fear that it could actually get
worse before it got better. Or, the strong desire to get out of this
situation as soon as we possibly could. I do recall thinking of how
pleasant it would be to get out of these wet clothes and dry off, sitting inside
my warm and toasty Sub, wearing a clean, dry bathrobe, with a cold Bud in my
hand. This image, and it might not be a pleasant one for some, urged me on
through the mud, the slop, the pouring rain, and up
another hill. This has got to be the last damn hill!
