Provo was a bit miffed because it was supper time (3:30) by the time we actually got there, but was soon feeling better when I stuck him in front of a very large selection of buckets and hay nets, for him to take his pick from. The verdict on the soaked hay was that it wasn't palatable... it never got eaten. The soaked beet pulp with carrot seasoning was quite acceptable. The borin' ol' pellets like we normally get at home was not at all interesting. The alfalfa was a definite go.
Vetted through without incident (after checking with Judy first to make sure Todd Nelson wasn't vetting :) (I'm scared of Todd Nelson ever since he nearly didn't let me start the Gold Country 30 because he was poking Provo in a superficial wound (without realising it) and saying he seemed a bit ouchy... [sigh]) - except for not remembering to get my vet card first, and having to drag Provo over under the awning to get it (he tried to eat the awning). Managed to get Katee Owens (who'd come up from Yosemite/Modesto area with Becky Hackworth to ride the 50) to hold him while I got myself sorted out. She took him over to the Australian Connection stand and proceeded to “scare the wits out of him” by having a rack of stock fall over right next to him (apparently he flickered slightly, when all this stuff was crashing around, but was disinterested) (probably already assessed that he couldn't eat it).
Provo, of course, hadn't been interfering until the weekend *before* the ride, so I'd assumed that he didn't do it any more (of course not, Lucy [sigh]). But now he'd whacked his left front and right rear fetlocks. I was most concerned with his rear fetlock, seeing as he'd only got his back shoes a week and a half before the ride, after being barefoot for the last 5 months, so I guess wasn't quite used to having such big feet (or at least, shoeless feet do less damage when you whack your ankles with them).
As it turned out, Australian Connection had rear boots on their stand, so I practised first with Katee's to make sure that Provo wouldn't have a fit (he continued munching) and then walked him down and bought some. I also bought a nifty smooshable bucket with handles - big enough for horse's faces to go into and small enough to smoosh into the pommel bag. So I was set - even if I couldn't sponge from the trough, at least I had a smooshable scoop I could use in an emergency.
So I loaded him up in his smart new boots. The conversation in my head went:
“Shouldn't use new stuff on a ride”
“But he's interfering and will whack the heck out of his fetlocks”
“Shouldn't use new stuff on a ride”
“Tell you what, I'll put them on and leave them overnight and that way, if they fall off or he gets annoyed with them, we'll know.”
So he stood in his boots all night (not the best idea, but it seemed sensible at the time) and in the morning, one of the rear ones had slipped down around his pastern. Huh. Popped it back on again (narrowly missing being kicked in the process).
Thing #2: just give up with the “walk him out of camp” idea. It doesn't work. We had to walk a quarter mile or so down a paved road to get to the out timer, and he was running circles around me from the start. He trod on my foot, and I managed to whip my toes out of the way before any real damage was done (*that* time). At the out-timer, I couldn't even get the reins clipped on, he was running around so much, and when I did manage to get one clipped on, he twirled around and got the rest of the reins jammed between the two EZ boots on the back of the saddle, which made him twirl faster, propelled by the fact his head was now stuck on backwards.
Predictably, my temper began to fray. Finally managed to get sorted out, and discovered that just as I was about to get on, one of those damn rear boots had slipped down again. So I found a handy lady to hold him, while, once again, I practised being kicked by a pony with a rather overactive imagination.
*Finally* got on and got going. At least everyone else was out of sight by then, so we were down to a barely controlled jogwalk (not quite a jog, but not a walk either). Phew, I thought, peace at last - until we came across two ladies coming down the road.
It was very odd. They didn't have numbers on their horses and they didn't start at the start, but they were definitely riding the ride. It later turned out, as far as we can work out, that they were along for a bit of free training. Which meant that although they politely said they didn't mind being behind me or in front, either way Provo thought he was racing them. Eventually they decided to go past (causing Provo to mildly flip out)(thanks guys), and they were still doing it 20 miles later - crowding behind then asking to pass, etc. It was just kind of rude, and I really could have done without it - Provo being Provo.
Eventually slotted behind two other ladies (both of whom were actually *in* the ride) who were going a nice pace - i.e one of them was doing big trot, and me and the other lady were cantering. But I could deal with that.
Thing #3: remember to take that pain killer before you start.
Judy Long came past after about five miles, and Provo suddenly went into “barely under control” gallop and I was afraid I'd lost him, but managed to gather him up again. My main concern at this point was staying on the horse (prime directive) and keeping the horse from tail-gating (secondary prime directive). Under better circumstances (less horses, less single track, less ladies-who-weren't-actually-in-the-ride, etc) I might have had some success controlling his speed, but in reality, it wasn't really happening.
For the future, I'm definitely considering a martingale for the first
section of any ride - admittedly I was hanging on to his mouth, but he
also wasn't listening a darn to me (along the lines of: “I can't see/hear/feel
you”) and was flipping his head up and down in the hope of getting away.
I also considered beating him with a big stick, but although it might make
me feel better, being able vent my frustrations, I really don't think it
would have helped. As other Lucy-saving devices, I'm also considering the
idea of:
[Patrick says option a) and b) are fine, but I'm not allowed to go the “spade bit” route... pah]
Anyway, there was a hand trot out at 10 miles at Beals Point - Granite Bay, where Provo ignored the drinking water, got sponged a bit and I managed to find Becky (who I was supposed to be riding with, but evidently decided we were a lost cause (perfectly true) and went on ahead without us) and a handy truck tailgate to get on from.
The next ten miles were marginally more comfortable (although I was already crushed, broken and sore by then... [sigh]). It was another ten miles of trying to avoid tailgating Becky's horse Marc (who moves differently to Provo, so it wasn't a good match - he has a slower trot, where Provo doesn't)(this is something I found quite interesting - the only horses I can comfortably ride behind when P is in this competitive mode are ones that *really* trot out, and he has to canter to keep up (namely Amtal and Buster, who we've been training with), otherwise he is just too difficult to rate at that stage of the game). The two non-ride ladies continued to pop up every now and again and wind up the horses.
We had originally planned for him not to go there. It's too hard to park and logistics are tricky to get in. But he decided to come anyway, and had hobbled two trips down to the lake to get us water, bless him. Of course, none of the horses would drink (ungrateful beasts), but at least we were able to use it to sponge them down. Provo's pulse came down nicely, but he was still a bit puffy, so we sponged him some more (during which time he trod on my little toe and really pushed me over the edge.) and eventually got him P&Red - Corky Young did it and said he was the lowest she'd seen all day (44), so maybe we were a little too conservative on that count (I've never worried about respiration before and find it difficult to measure, because he takes strange breaths that don't seem to be even). The vet told me to “encourage him to drink” because his hydration wasn't good. No surprises there, considering he hadn't drunk in 20 miles.
The vet also laughed at me for leaving my meal ticket stapled to my vet card, saying I must be pretty confident that I wasn't going to get pulled and have my vet card taken away. I explained that it wasn't so much that I was confident of finishing - more a case of being too stupid to remember where I'd put the meal ticket if I took it off the vet card.
Katee and Becky left (there was no hold), and Patrick took Provo away while I went to the bathroom. I don't think I really needed to, but it was a bit less sensory overload. Having Patrick there was a real godsend - so nice to see a calm face and a calm influence. He was wonderful all day, popping up with food and water and helping us with the horses, even though he was about done in from all the walking by lunchtime.
Still, I got a leg up and got going. Probably spent 20 minutes longer there than was necessary (for the horse), but I was pretty wobbly at that point and not dealing well with the world (well, Provo, actually :) Threats of dog meat were high on the agenda, accompanied by thoughts of “why did I ever decide to take up this sport”, “explain to me how this is fun”, etc) If I'd been pulled there, I probably never would do another ride in my life).
But I decided that that was that. From now on, we were going to proceed at *my* pace, or not at all, and if that meant we didn't finish, then so be it. So we walked (bobbly walk) out of the VC and along the trail. We were doing pretty good until an elderly gentleman on a gaited horse [Actually, it turned out to be a Kentucky Mountain Horse - whatever that is - and the rider was Bob Walsh who has been doing endurance rides for over 8500 miles...] came past (“oh, gotta chase him, gotta chase him!!!!”), but I kept my promise and did one-rein stops on Provo for quite a while (there was room - for once). Then the first 30 miler came past (they were set off about 15 minutes behind the 50s, so probably not more than 5 mins behind us (seeing as it took us so long to get going). That set him off again, but once again I insisted that he behaved.
We caught Bob again at exactly the wrong point. There was a very steep switchback bit (that I was dreading if it had been wet because it was clay) following by a short very narrow bit with a sharp drop off. Bob's horse had a red ribbon on its tail and Provo wanted to chase it. [sigh] I thought about the consequences of falling off the trail [gulp] and didn't feel too hot.
Came to a nice trough and decided to stand him there until he drank. We probably stood there for 5 minutes while Provo gawped after the gaited horse or peered through the bushes waiting for oncoming horses. No drinking happened. I began to sweat.
Got
to the pond where the photographer was. Ride awards were you photo, which
was really nice, except that in our photo, I'm scowling and Provo's cranked
down in “you better walk now or I will kill you” stance. But I'll probably
be able to laugh about it in a month or so ;-)
Tried some more one rein stops on him, and then some more people came along, so I just ended up slotting behind them. Provo was calming imperceptibly, but still hadn't drunk, and once again we were stuck behind a kicking horse. [sigh]
This section goes along a little ledge high above the American River. Lots of delightful drop offs for you to have admirable views of the river... if you can look at them. Not. But it is very pretty - if you can look at it.
Finally we came to a little creek crossing the trail. My legs were screaming. My back was screaming. My arms were screaming. And Provo had gone 25 miles, a good deal of which at looney speed, without drinking. I was figuring if he didn't drink at the next creek, we would basically be out at 30 miles through dehydration, because he was too stupid to remember to drink. I was about ready to kill him.
And suddenly he clicked: “Hey, look water! boy, am *I* thirsty”.
The three ladies I was following, thank goodness, asked if I wanted them to wait and I said yes please, thinking that if they left, Provo would stop drinking. I didn't even dare sponge him in case that put him off. But drink he did, and after that he was fine and drank from *everything* he could find - including inspecting a dried up puddle at the bottom of one of the hills, and spending several minutes trying to extract moisture from a slight dip in the mud - but who was I to discourage him? Thank you God.
When we came to the bottom of Cardiac Hill, I agreed to go in front, only to discover that we weren't actually going up Cardiac Hill, we were using the half mile longer, “by-pass trail”, which just goes up the road mostly and isn't steep or hard at all. [sigh] And we'd practised so beautifully on it. I was miffed.
But Provo was walking! and doing a nice job of it. And he'd started drinking, and the world was a better place. So in the process of walking up the hill, we managed to overtake 6 people (take it where you can get it! [grin]) and take a good drink and get into the 30 mile VC at 11:33, which I was very pleased about, especially seeing as I'd taken so long at Rattlesnake Bar.
Behold, it was Todd Nelson who vetted us through at lunchtime, and after the first trot out, he was abit unhappy. Not surprising, seeing as Provo's front boots were sliding down his legs, and were full of mud. He trotted *much* better without them on. :) So all was fine.
[When I reread this last night, I realised that Provo didn't sound nearly as bad in it as he was in real life. So I would just like to point out that he was a complete pill for *25* miles, and that I have never seen him so bad. I had figured that he'd take about 10 miles to settle down... nope... the fitter the horse, the further he can go before he starts to notice that he's actually *done* anything... :) ]
I decided, for the second loop, to leave his front boots off and only put on his back boots. I figured we weren't going to be going such a looney pace in the afternoon (well, I hoped), so he was less likely to need them, even though there was still at least another 5 miles or so of rocks.
Patrick tried to force feed me a cliff bar. I managed about 3/4 of it, before it began to make me gag, so I gave up on that. I'd refilled my Camelbak right when I came in, so I'd drunk well all morning, but only had eaten a few bits of banana up until then.
The 12:33 out-time came and went, and I sat there. I didn't feel quite all together quite yet, so decided to take my time until I felt a little more human.
At 12:50, I finally dragged the pony out. At the out-timer, he started reversing and not looking too keen on the whole idea. I flicked at him with the reins and pointed out some horses that had gone out a few minutes ahead of us, and he resignedly set off down the trail.
That's probably the nicest he's ever walked out on that section. For some reason he thinks it is *most* exciting, and will jigwalk along the first half mile or so, HR up at 110. But this time he plodded along. We caught up with the three horses (Joan Ruprecht, her grandson Louis and another lady) and I was happy to walk behind them for a while. We were *walking*. On a relatively *loose* rein. *Walking*... :) Go figure - it only took 30 miles...
After a couple of miles, I realised they were going at a pace that didn't really suit us, so we overtook them and set off on our own. At this point I realised it was almost like doing a normal conditioning ride - definitely the disadvantage of riding a ride on your home turf - it was almost a let down. But I really think pre-riding the trail helped Provo's mental health - he knew (more or less) where we were going, and mosied along happily.
When we got down towards No-Hands Bridge, I had him canter a little and he was fine until we slowed and then he tripped a little on his back feet. I had quick mental flashes of him laming himself - and just after we'd started acting like adults, but he seemed fine. Later, I asked someone if his boots were still on his back legs properly and the answer was no, one had slipped down, so I hopped off and readjusted it (for the fourth time that day). When we got back to camp at the very end, I took at look at those boots and the one that had kept slipping down (left) was pretty mangled, so in retrospect I guess he'd been catching it with his other foot and pulled it down that way - so I was really glad I'd left them on, otherwise it would have been his fetlock that was mangled, not the boot.
I was even super-brave, and for the first time ever, stayed *on* the horse while going across No-Hands Bridge. I made him walk right in the very middle of it and looked straight ahead. And he was Mr. Perfect, walking along without gawping over the side and weaving (as he normally does). After the bridge, he perked up no end - can horses smell other horses that have passed recently? Don't know, but he definitely perked up and a few minutes later (and he couldn't have heard them, because of the noise of hw-49 below us, and the river) we came across the three people I'd been behind when we came in for the lunch hold. They were helping Bob adjust his tack. So I hooked in behind them and we trickled up the trail, leaving Bob behind. Provo seemed a little tired, but not badly so. He's been a *lot* worse when I've ridden him up that trail in training (after 4 miles, not 35), when he reckoned his legs were likely to drop off (even though his HR was only about 90) and would lag and could only manage to trot 20 foot at a time.
We went right past the bush where Patrick and I saw the mountain lion, but they'd done such a good job clearing the trail that it wasn't nearly as scarey as it had been (probably would have been brave enough to do it on our own, although I wasn't keen on trying, so I was glad I had company!)
Trickled into Spreckles Quarry and overheard one of the people I'd been riding with complaining about her sore leg and how she didn't feel very hopefully about them finishing in time because the other two wanted to walk all the time.
I was aghast. I'd been trolling along behind them, assuming they were going slowly because they were feeling mellow. Agh. Not finish in time??
I resolved to sneak away while they were busy. Didn't want to stay with them if they were lagging, and definitely didn't want to stay with them because they seemed to be getting abit stroppy and I couldn't deal with that.
So I let Provo drink and then took him over to the strategically placed barrel for mounting. About that point, I looked down and noticed lots of "red" in the grass. It looked kind of like blood, so I went around the other side to check the guy's horse's legs (who'd just been standing there) to make sure it wasn't from him - but no, no bleeding there. I was puzzled. Later I saw blood soaked bandages on the trail, and later still heard about the horse that had sliced open an artery on a rock. Ack. If the person had been riding alone - would they have noticed? Would you notice the spurting? Another thing to fret about. I later talked to the guy who'd ferried the horse around all afternoon (he didn't have anything to do with it, was trying to crew for his daughter (and, it turned out, his girlfriend who I'd ridden behind for ten miles after R-Bar)). He said eventually the owners took it back to Napa after they were unable to find anyone except UC Davis that could sew it up.
Anyway, Provo wasn't too convinced about leaving. He was, of course, by then, "best buddies" with those horses (having spent nearly *half an hour* with them), and was reluctant to leave, but leave we did and ambled down the trail. I met people coming the other way moaning about “that loop was longer than 5 miles!” - well, what did they expect? It was a 7 mile loop, or so the number taker had told us.
So off we went. I figured it was 2:30. I knew I could get from Spreckles Quarry back to Auburn in 2 hours... even if I had to get off and walk it (another advantage of training for the ride on the same turf...even if you were training a horse who reckoned his legs were about to drop off, so I best lead him for 4 miles). So I figured so long as I did that 7 mile loop in a couple of hours (I didn't know how sprightly he'd be, seeing as he seemed kind of tired) we'd just about be OK.
So there we were, ambling along... and suddenly there were the Ruprechts again. Ack. Louis politely asked if they could pass at the next good spot, but I decided that we'd dawdled enough, so off we went. As it turned out, it was a shorter loop than I'd anticipated - I'd ridden a longer one out in there a few weeks previously, so it was pleasantly short. Hah. With the Ruprechts behind me, that was incentive enough to keep the pace up, and I kept him going - and go he did. I was quite amazed. He perked up a whole lot and by the time we got to the last section, which goes down a tunnel of manzanita, he was zooming along. For some reason he *really* likes that piece of trail, even though we've only been on it once before. I sat on top, clinging pathetically and let him do his thing. And then out we popped again at Spreckles Quarry in almost exactly an hour. Coo!
Across the road, over the dead snake we went, cantered up the hill, drank again at the trough he normally just tries to remove his bridle on, over the meadow (thought we were going to get got by a swarm of bees - all I could hear was buzzing. They must have been flies, because I never saw anything, but they felt loud... I wondered if Provo could still gallop if a swarm attacked us, and decided he could).
At this point (42 miles?) I took my feet out of the stirrups and swung them around and twirled my ankles and felt almost human. I made a bet with Provo that if they directed us across the meadow for the short-cut that they'd put in during the winter when it was really boggy, I'd get off and walk. If, OTOH, we carried on up and down the little hill, I'd stay on. They used the hill, so Provo lost the bet. Tough. He should have been kinder to me in the morning.
All the time, I'm going along, looking anxiously behind me for the Ruprechts to catch up, when, just as I'm going into the VC at Cool, I see Bob on the gaited horse behind us again. AGH! HOW HE GET THERE? He's *old*... :)
Patrick helped me at the VC, where I could hardly walk. I'd pinched a muscle in my back, so had to hobble about until it straightened out. Got some more water, got P&Red (horse was as relaxed as he'd been all day) and let him munch. It was supper time again for him, so he was allowed hay and grass and although I'd've liked to have stayed longer for him to eat more, Patrick said he was slowing down a little in the eating stakes.
But I felt really happy. Horse felt great. I felt... well, mediocre, but it wasn't getting any worse. We munched on some carrots. I watched his HRM with amusement - it was registering 185... (well, amusement once I figured out there was no way in hell he was walking at 185 while still looking so cheerful - but it gave me a bit of a scare for a moment, until common sense took over [smirk]...). Every now and again, I'd try to bend down and push the cinch electrode further down so it was actually touching him (and he'd take that as a signal to start trotting), but his cinch was too loose (it was as tight as normal - but he'd got so skinny during the ride (probably from stupid not drinking in the morning) that was looser than it should have been - just as well I didn't need to get on him from the ground, or I never would have been able to without taking up some slack on the off-billet, and, to be honest, at that point, really didn't have the energy) it just wouldn't stay. Ah well.
Oh, something else I discovered (OK, you may think “how come she only figured this out just now”) - he trots downhill much better than he walks. When he walks down, he really feels like there's something not quite right, he schleps along, practically dragging his feet, whereas if you let him trot down (reasonably slowly) he seems much more comfortable. I'm not talking really steep things, just long, downhill inclines.
About 2 miles out of Cool, I gave up and got off and walked him - or rather hobbled. My little toe that he'd scrunched at the 20 mile VC was killing me, so I was hobbling along, dragging him behind me, all the while looking anxiously back for the Ruprechts. There was a nice breeze coming along the canyon and the temperature was just about balmy, so that was nice...
We were nearly at the bottom, when guess who comes into view? Bob... ...And I was surprised?
Near the bottom, I spotted some old heavy equipment tyres - which were about thigh high on me, so I decided to use them as a mounting block. Unfortunately, I couldn't actually climb onto them, and I'm sure people would have been most amused to watch me trying to scrabble onto those things. Elegant it wasn't. But at least I managed to get back on the horse. He perked up. His buddy, the gaited horse was back. (Provo is so fickle - he makes friends in seconds...)
Bob overtook us. Grrrr. I tried to talk to him several times during the day (each time we met up), but he was pretty deaf, so it wasn't too successful. This time, as he bobbled past us, I realised how it was that he kept catching up. DAMN! I WANT ONE OF THOSE GAITED HORSES!!!!!! GIMME, GIMME, NOW!!!!! [wail]
Bob's horse did that running walk thing that they do, where Provo trotted and walked and trotted and walked and cantered to keep up. And Bob just sat there on top, without moving. This is what Patrick needs for his knees!
I told Provo he was stupid, but if he insisted, he could try and catch that horse. So we went up the whole last hill into the penultimate VC a mile from the finish, chasing the damn gaited horse.
At the canal, we also met up with a guy with an appy. The appy was in the canal and wasn't getting out. But the guy was very nice and was cajoling him along, and walked him into the check.
At the check, Bob wanted to stay on, and I wanted to get off, but couldn't. Eventually managed to slither off and the vet taunted us as being the walking wounded. Neither horse was quite there respiration-wise - (I was lamenting to the vet that Provo was puffed from chasing the stupid gaited horse - what did he expect? :)
I think, at a push, we would have been, but we stayed for ten minutes or so, letting the horses graze until another bunch of people caught up, and then vetted out.
Bob got out a few minutes ahead of us (it took me a while to get back on ;-) and I'd intended to walk in, but lo, behind me appeared a bunch of people on mules and I just didn't want to be beaten at the last minute (oh, the shame of it [grin]), so I trotted him in, and in the last quarter mile, there was Provo's buddy, the gaited horse (and the appy) again, so he decided he'd better gallop to catch them.
Uh, hello? This is mile 49¾... shouldn't you be tired now? I tried to persuade him to go a tad slower, but he wasn't having any of it, so we came across the finish in good company at 6pm - 11½ hours...
I was trying to figure out my actual ride time. Bearing in mind I dawdled another 20 minutes longer than necessary at lunch, stayed at Rattlesnake Bar probably half an hour longer than I needed to (for the horse, I, OTOH, was a different matter), and was at Cool for 25 minutes, it was probably ~9½ hours, which works out at just over 5 mph - which is exactly what I was aiming for.
We let him drink, got his tack and boots off, let him eat a little, resisted the temptation to sponge him (I've finally learnt my lesson on that one [grin]) and took him over to the vet, where he vetted through absolutely fine. Vet said he was doing "something" with his right front, but, to quote Patrick:
“He trots out with legs flying everywhere when he gets up in the morning, and he trotted out at the finish looking exactly the same.”
:)
Yay!!!!!
Hosed his legs for a good long while to supress anything that might be brewing in there, picked off three ticks, and fed him again. Finally got him home about 9pm. he trotted down to his paddock, bossed Mouse around for a bit, drank, and then finished up his afternoon beetpulp.
When I'd tried to go and get food at 7 pm (after untacking, feeding, watering, vet-checking, hosing, etc the horse), I discovered that the meal we had so excitedly awaited had been all eaten up.
I'd made sure to pay $10 for Patrick's meal in advance, in addition to the one I got as part of the ride package, but all they had left was a few rolls and some bananas. AGH. Patrick said he reckoned they were finishing up around 6 pm (when I was coming in) - the 70 milers still had until 7:30 to finish, and there were still horses coming in then, so I guess they went hungry too. The woman at the food place told me that they had sold some meals to people who came with money. SO WHAT WAS THE POINT OF US RESERVING MEAL TICKETS EARLY IF THEY WERE GOING TO SELL ALL THE FOOD *BEFORE* WE EVEN GOT THERE?????? AGHHHH. That sucked.
Me, OTOH, hurt in my:
neck
shoulders
back
ribs
stomach
quads
thighs
calves
pubic bone (from crashing into the pommel on the downhills -whoever
said horse riding was a glamorous sport?)
feet
arms
hands
fingers
I can, today, 48 hours after finishing, nearly sit and stand like a real person (not quite, nearly though), and can hobble quietly.
My little toe looks like a cross between a tomato and an aubergine.
But, oh boy, I'm chuffed to bits with that horse, despite the threats of death if he didn't walk in the first 25 miles. He is much, much fitter than I dreamed. To my downfall - how come he got fit, while I seem to be worse than ever? Shouldn't we have got fit together?