Predictably I didn't get out of here when I "planned" Saturday morning. Fiddling around the night before and not getting to sleep until 2:30 am didn't help. I told myself this was "good practice for tomorrow night" when I figured we were going to be out there until 4 am. But it meant I didn't get up until 9am.

Then, for some reason it seemed important to clean Roo's sheath Saturday morning while I was hosing his body to prevent crud-rubs. My friend Ann turned up (I'd asked her to come with me in case I was too wiped to drive home the following day) and assured me that he'd no doubt earn the "Cleanest Sheath Award", but strangely RM Crysta didn't seem to have one of those Sunday morning when she was giving out prizes.

Warning: this write-up contains the word "glo-stick" 839 times.

The weirdest thing about this ride was the feeling of being out of sorts because of the time difference. Instead of pottering around the night before, stuffing pommel bags and readying ride clothing, we would be riding in about two and half hours. So much time, but so little when you're not sure where to start.

• Should I feed him now? If so, how much? 
• Or should I just let him eat hay?
• Should I tack him up now? Or wait?

Ann walking Roo before the ride

The ride was to start at 7 pm. I got my glo-sticks duct-taped to my breast collar and by 6:15 Roo was in his clothes. 

I was trying out a new saddle - I know, I know, you're not supposed to try anything new the day of a ride- but his current saddle was giving him rubs, and the demo Sensation Hybrid saddle I was due to try out happened to arrive Thursday night. On Friday night I got my sheepskin cover and pommel bag all properly attached and tweaked the various pads and adjustments to get it so I was comfy. 'Course, come 6:20, Ann and I were still fiddling around, re-routing the pommel bag straps.

And right about 6:30 the skies opened and it poured, so we quickly threw Roo's blanket over him and retired to the trailer. So much for my quickie test ride to make sure everything was set up right. As it turned out, I only had to make one adjustment on the trail - one side of the pommel bag was strapped slightly differently and was flopping annoyingly, but it only took a moment to fix.

The monsoon stopped and I hopped on - everything felt good, thank goodness. Riding buddies from Washoe Valley, Day 1, Peggy Eaton and Dakota Midnight arrived and we set off to walk to the start about five minutes away. 

Loop 1 
(The Big Green Loop Clockwise)

And then it began to rain again... and then rain harder... and then it POURED. I was in cotton t-shirt and cotton tights, all soaked. Ack. This wasn't going to be fun, and I hadn't brought a rain jacket with me.

We passed RM Crysta Turnage and vet Rob Lydon hanging out at the start and I wondered if it would be rude to ask Crysta to hand over her rain jacket (which, it turned out, belonged to Rob), but instead waved cheerfully and off we went.

Within minutes the rain stopped and the sun came out and up the sandy hill we went. The smell of wet sagebrush wafted up around us. Soaked clothing forgotten (we were dry in minutes), we set off on our quest to spot limed arrows. The rain really cut down on the dust, which was a good thing, but had washed out some of the lime.

And then I saw a glo-stick on the ground. Hmmm, someone must have already dropped one of theirs. Oh, there's another one. Maybe someone's cantle bag isn't zipped up? 

Uh, Lucy, those are *trail* markers (she's kinda cute, that Lucy, but not the brightest bulb).

About a mile or two into the ride, we passed a guy coming back in - his horse had tied up running in the front and he was going back to camp.

Roo felt really good and we trotted almost continuously for the first five miles or so, when we hit the first water trough, which he of course dove into. He might have even peed - and then went into his "must drink at every opportunity" mode and peed, I think, seven times during the entire ride. There were three troughs and a pond on that "green" loop, so there was plenty of "opportunity".

Most of the loop was easily trottable, so we tried to make as much time as we could. The trail marker crew (Crysta's husband AJ, and her mom, Lynda Moulton) had done a great job, including marking "BUMP" on one particularly high hump, and putting down stripes of lime either side of a couple of narrow spots that you wouldn't want to fall off of. There was one cattle grid to circumnavigate, which worried me when I heard about it during the ride meeting, but when we arrived there was so much lime and so many glo-sticks there was no way you could get into trouble. There were some rocks - many individually marked with lime (Lynda told me they even removed some rocks - what is this? the UAE? <g>), a few sandy sections, and a really fun, twisty wash which was a little rocky so you had to pick your way through it. 

About half-way through the loop, the glo-sticks started to show up a little better in the gloom and we soon realised that they were already cracked and glowing. Whoo! This started the Hansel and Gretel-like feeling of following the trail of glo-sticks - scanning the trail ahead for glo-sign, enjoying the feeling of security as they'd suddenly pop up from behind sandy hillocks.

In the wash, I suddenly had the alarming thought that if we cracked our glo-sticks on our breast collars now, the horses might spook at them and lamented why hadn't we done it when it was still full daylight so they'd have a chance to get used to them as it got darker? As it turns out, neither horse paid the slightest attention to them - except for taking advantage of us hanging around their necks by trotting off, reins flapping.

By the time we came off the loop, it was full dark, and we followed the markers through the subdivision back into camp. Ann had been conscripted to do In-Timing and was sitting with Crysta's younger sister, Alissa, with chips and brownies having a nice time.

We learned that vet Rob Lydon was unfortunately having to treat the tied-up horse (the horse was doing much better by the following day, thankfully). While we waited for Rob to get a chance to get to us, we let the horses munch on hay. At one point I asked Peggy to hold Roo while I went to get more hay and she said the whole time I was gone he wanted to go with me and looked after me. Could have been the attraction of food <grin>, but I'm hoping that all our hanging out together is meaning he's beginning to see me as his main buddy.

Loop 2 
(The Small Blue Loop)

We had a 15 minute hold before heading out on the "blue loop" which was the short one. It was really dark out there by now and the moon hadn't yet come up. Dakota took a violent dislike to the glo-sticks on the road, so we had to persuade him that they were OK - apparently they are much more dangerous if they lurk in groups. 

We followed alongside the road on the wide gravel verge. At one point a car passed, so I turned Roo and I away from the headlights so that it wouldn't ruin our night-vision. We turned onto a dirt road under the powerlines and luckily, this was the same trail they'd used at Rides of March, so I remembered it some and knew that the footing was pretty good, so we tentatively started to trot.

When Roo gets out in front he sometimes deteriorates from a Steady-Eddy to a Spooky-Scaredy, so I'm grateful that Dakota tends be the pathfinder. This is OK, but it's something Roo and I need to work on - however, after my fall at Washoe Valley, I wasn't keen on working on it this particular night.

Out in front I heard Peggy waver "I can't see a thing". Following them, I could make out their glo-sticked form, so it wasn't so bad for me. I would watch Peggy dip down suddenly and squeak slightly - and then moments later I'd hit the same hole and let out a squawk.

As they picked up confidence, they speeded up and we dropped further and further behind until finally I could only just make out their faint form up ahead. 

Roo was swerving lightly every time we passed one of the blue glo-sticks, since it would light up any bush right next to it and they would loom up out of the darkness. This was not good - I'd hoped he'd be less spooky in the dark, but it was going to be a long night if he veered off at every marker. My butt muscles were starting to cramp from "being ready" in case he took evasive action. But as it turned out, he settled down and began to feel pretty steady.

At one point, he moved over to the far left side of the road and I caught a glimpse of some deep ruts as we passed by - but not until we were level with them. This really gave me confidence that not only could he see far better than I (no surprises there), but he was also thinking and making good trail-footing decisions.

Soon we were in the deep sand along the top of this loop, so we mostly walked, breast-collar glo-sticks softly lighting up the sand under us. Roo's head went down and I had an inkling what he perhaps had in mind and suggested to him that rolling would be a "Very Bad Idea". 

Up ahead, we kept seeing what we optimistically thought was the moon rising, but it kept turning out – disappointingly – to be car headlights on the dirt road coming up the hill. 

Coming off this loop, two riders passed us - which was no surprise as we really didn't make good time getting used to riding in the dark and settling ourselves down.

And here was a strange thing. The darkness and quiet made me very calm. In over 800 miles of rides, this was the first time I'd ever come into an hour hold where I found that *I* personally didn't need the whole time to gather my wits about me, let my body recover, and feel like I needed twice the time just to "get it together". 

It seems that riding a good horse does that to you <g>. 

Unlike at Washoe Valley, Roo took advantage of the break and spent the entire time with his head in a bucket until I had to forcibly remove it to take him to the out-timer so he could eat hay there while we waited for Peggy to join us. It had turned a little cooler, so I put on a sweatshirt and fleece vest which kept me toasty.

Loop 3 
(The Big Green Loop Anti-clockwise)

At midnight we were back out on the trail. The moon had finally risen over the hills and was lighting up the sagebrush all around us. As it was still a little low, we almost had to shield our eyes from it to make out some of the limed markers on the trail, but so long as you kept alert it really wasn't hard to figure out. We alternated trotting and walking where we could and both horses were working really well together, trotting side by side and keeping each other cheerful. 

And it was just beautiful out there. I had a moment of pure joy - how lucky were we? - to be out here in the dark, with the desert lit up all around us, instead of cooped up indoors, living stale predictable lives. All senses were on alert, soaking up the experience and loving every minute of it.

As we approached the pond, we saw lights up ahead coming towards us. It turned out to be some of the front runners who'd gotten turned around. They were frustrated and irritable - having been riding around for an hour and half without knowing where they were. It turned out a "helpful" person on a motorcycle had decided what fun it would be to sabotage the trail and send them off in the wrong direction. 

Roo took advantage of the discussion by going over and drinking out of the pond and having a quick snack.

We continued on the loop and they soon blasted by us again, leaving us to settle our horses back down ("no, we don't need to chase them"). We admired the twinkly lights over towards Reno and soon enough we were back at the cattle grid and then up the hill to the first water trough. Yay, says Roo, a hay stop. 

One of the front-runners had decided to drop back, so we continued along with her and another lady on an appaloosa who caught us up during our break. At times we were riding four abreast on the wide dirt road - trotting along with the moon behind us throwing our shadows ahead of us on the ground. Big fun.

We flew along this long, straight road (it seemed much less rocky this time around... if you can't see them, they aren't there?) making up for any lost time. I was really enjoying my new saddle which helped me stay centered and allowed me to feel vaguely like I actually knew how to ride. I must have one of these saddles!!

Roo finally let it all go to his head and tried to pull in front and then forgot all his manners in his bid to "win" and tried to kick one of the new horses. Nuh-uh. To the back with you, young man. Shortly after that, Dakota took a dislike to the appy and started getting stroppy, so we decided it would be better to let them go on ahead, so we dropped to a walk. 

I'd put my rump rug on for this loop, in case we ended up walking or it really cooled off, and it became untied on one side so I had to do some interesting distorted maneuvers to tie it back on. This reminded me why I don't like cantle bags - you get terrible cramp from twisting around to get things out of them.

By now it was about 2 am and Peggy was getting really sleepy. You could hear it in her voice. She'd brought along a Starbucks double-shot, so slurped that down, hoping it would wake her up a little. It seems that my late night/late morning strategy was working, as I still felt pretty good. Also take into account Peggy had to drive eight hours from Carmel Valley to get to this ride, while my journey was only two hours. She confessed to me that she hadn't slept well the night before, being a little apprehensive about the night-riding ahead. Funnily enough, although I ride at night a lot (mostly because I tend to set out in the late afternoon and don't manage to get back before dark), as the reality of this ride approached, I too had gotten a little apprehensive. It was one thing putzing along at night for a few miles on trails you knew, but quite another to be out there for 50 miles. But despite these misgivings, both of us loved the night riding and the horses seemed to enjoy being out there in the cool.

We were back in the deeper sand at this point, walking and another three horses passed us, causing both Dakota and Roo to have a couple of minor hissies - wouldn't it be better if we galloped after all those horses?? No. We were *walking*.

The whole night seemed to pass fast, but not in a blur the way it can during daylight hours. Soon enough, we were back at the radio masts - same route in as the (middle) blue loop - only this time with the moon up it was much easier to follow the trail and we let them pick up the trot again and they took off. Roo was flying along the single track after Dakota and I had to just trust him to keep his feet under him - which he did (far better than during the day <sigh>).

In the last 100 yrds or so, two more horses flew past, leaving me struggling to keep Roo under control as their passing added to the ever-stronger gravitational pull of camp. 

He must be exhausted, not. 

At the finish line, we found a sleepy Crysta and Tami waiting up for us (thanks guys!) and then wandered quietly back through the darkened streets to camp. It was 3:15.

Hungry, hungry, Roo's head disappeared back into his bucket while I de-clothed him and got him in his jammies. After he'd munched for a while, I trotted him over to the vet who gave him a good report card, commenting "You've got plenty of horse left" (yuh, tell me about it). And he even got "A" on gut sounds, so I was pleased. All he wanted to do was eat, so back to the trailer we went and I settled him in front of his hay and slurpie. 

I went back to sit by the fire and catch up on all the goings-on. We got word that a rider was out on the trail with a colicky horse and needed a trailer to help him in (it turns out it was my farrier). Rob's daughter Katie got turfed out of her post-ride stupor (she came in slightly behind us, with sponsor Jennifer Voight) while Rob and Crysta took the Lydon's trailer out. 

We all huddled by the fire, hoping it would work out OK. Roo suddenly appeared out of the darkness, wandering around, looking for hay. Apparently he'd managed to undo his high-tie snap and decided he was lonely. I took him back and installed him back in front of his food.

Jr. Katie was wiped and a little sad that her bed had disappeared along with Rob's truck and trailer, but when asked if she wanted to crash in Lynda's RV, she declined, saying she needed to keep an eye on her horse. 

The last couple of riders came in, and then finally, right as it was just starting to get light, here came the rider with the colicky horse. Rob and Crysta had missed him on the trail and he'd hand-walked in. We managed to call them back in and I suddenly got really cold and shivery and decided it was time for bed. Ann was long asleep as I clambered into bed, fully-clothed, and pulled all the covers over my head and was out like a light in seconds.

The Next Morning

At 7:30, after three hours sleep, I struggled out from my sleeping nest and realised just how grungy I felt, still in my grubby ride clothes. By the miracle of baby-wipes, I became clean and shiny again (relatively speaking) and dragged on shorts and a t-shirt - it was already warming up out there.

Roo was contentedly munching on his hay, showing signs of having laid down on his high-tie some time during the "night". His legs weren't filled at all - something that had worried me a little, given all the fast trotting we'd done on hard roads, but I'd not wanted to put ice-boots on him, since *I* felt so cold. The rubs on his back were no worse (I'd coated them in Nu-Skin to protect them) and although he wasn't remotely sore, there were some bumps on his back the cause of which needs resolving. I'm suspecting that the culprit might be the inserts in my pad that are separating apart, allowing for an unpadded area under my stirrups. The good thing about these bumps is that they were perfectly symmetrical, which means I was riding centered (unlike the earlier rubs, which were off-center, making me question my riding, big time).

Breakfast was being served (by Crysta's Aunt and Uncle - this was definitely a family affair) and the choices were extensive - breakfast burrito or ham/eggs/potatoes, fruit, bagels, sweet rolls, oatmeal, pancakes, yogurt, etc... etc... I was stuffed.

At the awards, we learned that Kassandra Dimaggio had won and got best condition with Buck Mtn Cody and I think most of the lost top-ten riders were able to regain their positions, more or less. The lady with the appy who we'd been riding with came tenth, despite starting the ride 30 minutes late... how'd she do that? She proudly told us her appy was also a Level 1 (? I think) dressage horse.

Roo was allowed to frolic in the arena while we packed up. He flopped down in the sand and flipped back and forth a few times (as Ann put it, "exhausted from his ordeal"), before wandering off to visit with other horses. 

Many thanks to Crysta Turnage and (seemingly) her entire family, plus the usual suspects that help out at NV rides for their perseverance and patience sitting up waiting for us all night. You all made it possible for us to have a really unique and wonderful experience in the moonlit NV desert that is shared by few people.

Also thanks to Ann who volunteered to come with me as driver for the way home (not needed, as it turned out) and ended up being an in-timer until about 1 am. Ann was the person who got me into this in the first place - mentoring me back in 1998 and taking me on my first ever LD. She proudly claims she taught me everything I know... until I screw up <g>.

The "next morning", my farrier's horse had improved slightly with treatment, but she got more crampy around 7 am, so Rob suggested she be trailered to her local vet clinic a couple of hours away in case the problem didn't resolve itself by extra fluids alone.

By strange coincidence, Ann and I were pulled over at the top of the canyon in Auburn on the way home, getting some food out of the trailer, when he pulled up next to us on his way home from the vet clinic. His mare was doing much better with more fluids and she was given the go-ahead to be taken home. He said she was tired, but looking alert and comfortable. Rob Lydon had treated my horse three years ago when she crashed, so I know how much fun it isn't when this happens, so we were much relieved to hear this. He told us that this was the first time in 28 years of endurance riding that he'd had a horse treated. Interestingly, he also mentioned that the last night ride he'd done a few years ago with his daughter, her horse had colicked - so he was wondering at the similarity. He tends to ride at 5 am. I told him he needed to practice riding at night more - say after he got home from work (shoeing my horses). He gave me his 'look'. ...Never mind.