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   With glowbars on JH's breast collar lighting the way, and a crowd of 
well wishers sending us
off from behind, we left Foresthill on time, right at 9:00. We were 
guided down Foresthill Road and through town
by dozens of volunteers. Along the way, pockets of people were hootin' 
and hollerin' and carryin' on to such an extent
that it caused me to think to myself, "That's okay. I remember my very 
first beer, too." :)
 John Henry's power walk helped us to slowly catch and pass a small 
group of riders that had gone out before us.
One rider asked, "What kind of horse is that?" "A Walker," I replied. 
"Apparently!" he said. We headed onto the
Cal-2 trail, and descended into increasing darkness that was softened 
somewhat by the 3/4 moon that hung in the
humid night air. The switchback turns on this section of the trail are 
very sharp, and though I had many times been told
to simply trust my horse's night vision, I didn't hesitate to flick my 
flashlight on for an instant every now and then to make sure
we were negotiating the turns safely. Our group had a somewhat ghostly 
appearance as a line of glow bars floating three feet off the ground,
and traveling single file ever downward to the American River below. 
John Henry led much of the way, as the riders behind
liked being able to see his glowbars, and his gaiting helped us cover 
ground faster than a walk, but not as fast as a trot, which some were
reluctant to do in this much darkness.
 I had seen this section in the daylight, and it is very precarious in 
places. Some who have seen it in the daylight, have refused to ride it
at night. However, the darkness mercifully makes it very difficult to 
actually see the scary parts, so, we continued steadily on through the 
night toward
our next goal--Francisco's. Located some 17 miles from Foresthill, even 
though we kept moving constantly, it took our group four hours
to reach Francisco's, where we were greeted by reassuring bright lights 
and the friendliest and most nurturing
volunteers I had met all day. Francisco's is historically famous for 
that. John Henry was at 60 when we arrived, and he
dragged me to the water and then some wet alfalfa, as he began putting 
himself together for the last stretch of trail. We vetted out without
incident, and I lingered a few minutes and had a sandwich and a cup of 
coffee while JH chowed down some more.
 We said goodbye to the volunteers and stepped back into the darkness 
on our way to the waters of the American River, now
only some three miles away. As we approached the river's edge, there 
were several horses in front of us, and John Henry
became unruly, fighting to get around them and into the water. After a 
few expletives from me, I allowed him to crash into the water, forgetting
to lift my feet and legs clear of the water's surface. You know that 
deep breath you take when someone
dumps ice down the back of your shirt? Yeah, that's the one that hit me 
as my legs became instantly soaked in the chilly
but refreshing  American River. John Henry had planted himself and began 
drinking like a Shriner at a NASCAR race.
We climbed out the other side, and from that point on, I had trouble 
rating John Henry. He knew the trail, as he had seen
it on the Educational Ride, and apparently his own personal homing 
device kicked in as he hammered his way down the trail on our
way to the Lower Quarry vet check. Some of the faster horses had left 
us at that point, as time was getting short, and most riders
had concerns about making cutoff times. The overwhelmingly bright lights 
of Lower Quarry were soon in view, and we made our
way down the short, steep trail into the vet check which offered a 
smorgasboard of food, warm blankets, bleary-eyed but cheerful
volunteers, and of course, the vets. After we vetted out, I checked the 
time, and saw that it was 3:20, and realized that we had better get
moving, as we still had six miles of dark trail to negotiate. I later 
found out that my wife and crew were becoming increasingly
nervous about my arriving on time, due to the late hour, and the time 
delay in the reports they were receiving as to our
location.
 I left Lower Quarry and followed Steve Hallmark, a local who knows the 
trail. It was very dark, and the glow bars had become
few and far between, and I would have been very reluctant to move along 
quickly along this section, as I had ridden it in the daytime,
and I knew there were rocky sections that could be tricky. I owe thanks 
to Steve, who somehow knew when we could trot and when we needed to walk,
and we marched toward Auburn, with the clock ticking down. Finally, we 
reached the last single track that leads to the Auburn overlook,
and as I glanced over my left shoulder, I could see the lights of the 
finish line, and could hear the faint hum of the generators
that gave them life. In just a few short seconds, we emerged out the 
darkness, arriving at 4:56, with just 19 minutes to spare.We were met 
with applause, cheering, whistling, bright lights, and a very welcome 
water tank for John Henry. I sifted through the small but mighty crowd 
to find my wife, who
was sobbing on her cell phone. Julie Suhr had waited at the finish line 
until around three in the morning, and finally had to retire, but not 
before
admonishing Dayna to call her the moment we crossed the finish line. I 
would love to hear a recording of that conversation. I asked Dayna
later what was said, and she replied, "I don't really know. We were 
both crying so much I couldn't understand everything she said. She did
say to go take care of you and John Henry."
 My wife knows that I am often unable to speak when I am emotional, so 
I grabbed her and hugged her for a very long time,
as much to regain my composure as to thank her. "You finally did it!"  
she said. "John Henry did it. I was just along for the ride,"
was my answer.
 Michele  Roush tracked JH's pulse from the moment we arrived, and she 
quietly told me to follow her as she led him to the vetting area, and told
me he was down and ready to present. The vet checked him over, 
pronounced him at 60 bpm, and asked for the trot out.
Michele trotted him out and before she could turn around and trot back, 
the vet turned to me, shook my hand and said:
"Congratulations, you're done." I must have set a world record for 
hugging the greatest number of women in the shortest period of time 
after that.

 We led JH  to McCann Stadium, and though there were only about three 
people in the stands, we took our victory lap.
John Henry gaited the entire way around, looking sharp and sound. We 
peeled his saddle off, and led him off to shack up
with Crickett, and to get some much needed rest and chow. Dayna had laid 
out about ten glasses and two bottles of Champagne
for each of us to toast the night, which was quickly becoming day. A 
glowing satisfaction flowed over all of us, that persists, and likely will
for some time.  

 Next: "The Gifts of Tevis"........................... and then I 
really need to get some work done. :)


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