Close to the spot where the Donner party infamously perished from the snow 150 decades back, my alarm starts its persistent beeping at 3:45 a.m.. It needn't have bothered, Ihave been on and off all night, and'm already awake, under the ponderosa pines at my own tent at Robie Park. Now, without getting out of my sleeping bag, as I struggle–it's cold at 7,200 ft on July 31--I can hear the camp beginning to stir to life. Two hundred and fifty endurance horses, 250 passengers in varying states of nervous tension, heaps of veterinarians, journey officials and lots of hundred rider support personnel ("team" in endurance terminology) are beginning the endless day which will eventually become the 50th running of the Tevis Cup Western States Trail Ride, the earliest, most famous and most ambitious 100-mile horse race on the planet.
I Hope I am ready. I've a great horse at Rett Butler, an 11-year-old, 15-hand, bay Arabian gelding. I've a vastly experienced coach, Tammy Robinson, from whom I purchased Rett in 2002. At age 62, I've ridden 14 endurance races including Californios and 2 100-milers-20 Mule Team a few months earlier, in California. So I'm no stranger to mountainous, precipitous terrain; in actuality, this is my second attempt at the Tevis, but as adherents of this sport like to state, they would not call it "endurance" in case it were not tough.
-> https://github.com/campinglife/Sleeping ... or-Camping
By 4:45 our group is mounted and going out toward the 5:15 a.m. start. Envision 250 endurance Arabians, in the dark, in the cold, jammed to a track high in the mountains, waiting to be unleashed! I'm riding with Tammy (on Charutu), Tammy's husband, Charlie (riding Rett's complete sister Lady), and Don Bowen (on Rett's half-brother Whyatt). Behind us at the start lineup is a legend of the sport, 80-year-old Julie Suhr, making her Tevis Cup attempt on the younger, complete sister Tarrah of Rett. (See "I Have Been Blessed" on page 63.)
The Onset of any race is pandemonium, and this one is the same. Tammy's goal for our team is to begin fast enough to avoid getting trapped behind hundreds of riders, jammed in on the dust-choked lone trail. In the grey half-light of midsummer dawn, dimmed by excellent swirls of dust thrown up by hundreds of screaming hooves, I pull on a bandana over my head. Painter's masks are worn by some cyclists, and within minutes of the beginning of the race, all of us are brown with dirt. Horses galloping past with equanimity, but ahead of me can be tolerated by Rett, Whyatt canters sideways in anxiety. Down and down we go, weaving in and around the trail avoiding trees which threaten to remove cyclists' kneecaps. After about nine miles, we emerge into Squaw Valley's respite. Then it's up, up, up through forests of huge pines, skirting the edge of this mountain high above the lodges till we
emerge under the Squaw Valley ski lift.
Now We climb using our horses' core screens to modulate the severity of the effort.
We Adjust our ride to the heart rate of the weaker horses in our little group, because Charutu is a heart rate "monster," always about 20 to 30 beats per minute lower than normal horses. "He should have a huge heart such as Secretariat's," speculates Tammy. Normally she will not tell us what Charutu's pulse is, in order to not discourage us.
I See some heedless riding riders racing this mountain that is grinding up as though they're on motorcycles instead of horses. My friend and riding companion from back East, Nancy Roeber-Moyer, predicts this type of blind attack "the reddish haze" that overwhelms the obvious thinking of many highly aggressive personalities. The vet test--Robinson Flat in 36 miles--sees the elimination of a lot of these riders who are too extravagant.
Finally, Above the elevator, we reach the summit. If we'd take a moment, it is a setting of splendor, I am sure. We don't. We are going to plunge into an dangerous and unforgiving stretch of trail that is hopeless; it is my least-favorite section of the entire Tevis Cup: the Granite Chief Wilderness.
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Have You walked onto a granite jetty thrusting in the Atlantic Ocean, clambering over shards and slabs of stone that was tilted and twisted, out across the Maine coast? If that's the case, you have any concept about what this stretch of trail entails. I don't let myself look down; should I do, I attempt to guide the path between the stones, which may throw him off his own decision of Rett. I look up, hang on, return and hope he stays on his toes. All around me, I hear clanging, scraping, clashing steel-clad hooves on stone.
I Know this without a doubt: None of all my hundreds of friends and acquaintances in three-day eventing would ever consider taking their event horses within this 20-mile stretch of the Tevis Cup trail that I've just negotiated--and we're not even a quarter of the way home! Since each mile upon mile that is tough looms, we are doing those hard miles on horses that are tired it is only going to get a lot tougher. This, I believe, is exactly what gets the Tevis Cup so much more arduous than all of the other endurance races I have done (some 38 within the previous seven years). There's no respite, just one challenge piled upon another.
A Great deal of riding is hanging in there. They let you ride "chunks" of the ride, from 1 vet check to the next; it's too mentally overwhelming to think, "I've got 67 miles to proceed." It is simpler to think, "I have only got 13 miles to visit Michigan Bluff." That you can manage; another is emotional overload. Or, it is possible to break it down to even smaller bite-size bits. "I will trot 25 more strides to this broken tree stump--no matter how much my knees are still burning--then 50 more posts to the black stone." Do it. And again.
What is Hurting me at this point in the ride are my feet, my back and my knees from having them braced outside at front for the trotting. There are a million stones, from small fist-sized ones to rocks. There is an endurance stating that "among them has your name on it." Rett has gone down hard on his nose and his knees a few times so I know the significance of that expression. A railway can end my ride in a heartbeat. I don't want Rett to somersault. I attempt to stay vigilant; I don't wish to get out of balance with him, and the physical and mental toll increases with the hours.
There is A toll on the horses, too, that's the reason for vet holds. The race includes nine vet tests (such as the end), but two of them include a real essential rest–a one-hour hold. The nine checks Each have a criterion that prior to if he can continue the veterinarians will even seem to decide your horse has to reach. Since the pulse of your horse is raised from work to the trail, this means his heartbeat has to come down. At the tests that require a rest, your one-hour hold time does not even begin until you get to the criterion, a moment that's called "pulsing in."
At Robinson Flat is 60. To help Rett get "down," Bry Cardello and Tina Fransioli, my team from back East, sponge his throat and chest with cold water. Then we proceed in the front of the vets. They listen to Rett's gut sounds, press on his teeth to get capillary refill, do a skin-tenting pinch check for hydration, see him trot for soundness and monitor a cardio-recovery indicator to be certain his heartbeat remains down, and isn't spiking (a sure indication of distress).
Subsequently I go sit in the shade, while Rett with an smorgasbord tempts, therefore that he can refuel to the miles.
Canyons: Only Dangerous If You Crash
About Halfway through the ride, we come to the infamous canyons, which are essentially huge bowls inside the mountains carved out tens of thousands of years back by glaciers. To this day, the American River runs through those canyons.
There Is much lore and legend about the dangers of falling off the edges of these narrow paths that skirt these canyons, and as we ride switchback after switchback into the guts of the mountainscape, I could see why. It's true that there is constant danger, but without downplaying it, I'd say that it is precisely the hazard. If you wreck, it is only dangerous. These horses don't need to crash than we riders desire them to. Accidents happen, but very rarely once in a fantastic while, it's true. How else to say it? Riding the canyons is dangerous. No, accidents do not occur. I could say the same thing concerning my 43 seasons of three day eventing. "Yes, even a horse could reverse past a fence and land on me. It hasn't occurred yet." On the places, I don't look down. Like a few people are I'm not terrified of heights, but I'm not in love with these!
Clawing Out of the two canyons is the part of the ride. In the summit of each pull is a opportunity and a water hold. We'll come to our second one-hour hold. (We've given our horses unrequired rests, too, at a few of the other vet checks. The winning riders likely have not.)
Making Haste Slowly (https://github.com/campinglife/Sleeping ... d-I-Get%3F)
Riding Changes the whole equation. The time is magical and peaceful, too, as well as the rock with your name on it will become invisible, although it's ever so much slower. Unless I am lost or it's raining, I really like riding at nighttime. The moon that is enormous white is just like a searchlight this night. Far below, we grab a glimpse of the silver ribbon of river and peek. We can hear its roar now fainter, as the trail drops or ascends.
At The Francisco's vet test (mile 86), Rett stimulation in at regular, 68, but then his pulse rate fails to maintain dropping. It warms down and up--69, 69, 70, 73--but remains higher than I enjoy. He's also hungry. Let him eat, I choose to stay and wait patiently until his heartbeat becomes consistently into the 50s before going on. I've gotten so far; I don't wish to sabotage our chance of finishing with a lesser time. (it is a good time to recall the American Endurance Ride Conference motto: "To finish is to win.") Tammy and Don press on. I stay.
In About hallway one hour, Rett's heartbeat is down and I venture out, stressed that he bonded to Whyatt and Charutu that he will whinny and worry with them. Luckily, I drop in using Kelly Blue, whose horse, such as Rett, is tired but OK. Kelly tells me that at each of the two Tevis rides, she has gotten the Quarry at mile 94, into the previous vet test, and been hauled. We agree that we are planning to ride smart and never suffer that fate. We walk or trot; "make haste slowly" would be our motto. We know the ride cutoff isn't until 5:15 a.m., and we are well within the time frame.
Tevis Cup vets are known to give no quarter, nor should they. It is too unforgiving a race to allow horses that are compromised continue. Kelly and I are increasingly optimistic but afraid to voice it. There are cancerous gods waiting to crush you. Hubris. The Greeks called it "pride accompanied by
destruction." We aren't likely to ditch these lightning strokes, this night!
We Pulse in and jog through the vetting at the Quarry. Now we could taste it. Six miles. We start one climb toward the fairgrounds Auburn and the finish line and cross No Hands Bridge from the moonlight. "Just around the corner" takes forever.
Suddenly My watch begins to beep. It is my 3:45 alert from yesterday morning, 98 miles past. We climb the last form, and Kelly yells into the shadow, "Whoohee!" An answering yell from somewhere up above. We are there. Lights. People.
We Emerge from the forest's dense blackness, see the glow of lights in the fairground and listen to people cheering and clapping in our entrance. At 4 a.m., there is a small welcoming audience. We walk across a street and down the slope to go into the brightly colored oval. Rett comes alive since his lap of honour trots ardently once around the track sound, ears pricked. I dismount and lead him.
Dr. Ray Randle puts his stethoscope into his top pocket finishes his examination, smiles and puts his hand out. "Congratulations," he states.
We've Done it even though it will not actually sink in for a few days. As l put little Rett to bed in his stall after all of his gallant efforts over these past 23 hours, I remember once more Tammy's announcement about world-class endurance horses: "It's like riding a wonder."
Eighty-year-old Julie Suhr has completed the Tevis Cup 22 times and has the unique distinction of winning the Haggin Cup (for best-conditioned horse) three occasions with the identical horse, her cherished Gazal. She came close to finishing her 23rd Tevis year, but needed to terminate her ride because of vertigo, or disorientation, in the darkness, not. This is a part of what Julie wrote to her mare's breeder (and Denny's coach),Tammy Robinson, following the race.
"As This was the very first time it defeat me, also I think back on the weekend, I understand that I overcome that trail for quite a very long time, and I am OK with that. As I sat at Robie Point (in which the ride was to finish) using Tarrah, I was all alone sitting on the hard granite rock and she was facing me. I curling her forelock and tickling her lip and stroked her nose and telling her she had been a fantastic woman. The moon was setting and there was also the slight glow of a new sunrise to the east. It was very emotional. I really don't like to cry so I did not, but yelling wouldn't have been out of grief, but because I have been so blessed. I was given by this wonderful creature everything will probably be my ride that was great. When my path companion
Lori Stewart (a two-time Tevis winner) left me to go on into the finish, I was convinced Tarrah would tug on the reins and try to go, too, but she appeared as content as I was, and I knew then that all was right with the world."
I Started competing in 1954 at age 12 and rode my initial 100-miler (the Green Mountain Horse Association's Vermont three-day endurance journey) in 1956. Within an international three-day rider, I won a team gold medal in 1974. Did I get involved in endurance again, not until I was in my late 50s–and it was just like opening a big window. I began to realize the extent to which horses can be harder than I'd believed!
We've Read about pioneers who needed to ride 70 miles for assistance once the shuttle train was in trouble of cyclists pushing through a blizzard for home, and we cannot understand the encounter. But when I was out there climbing mountains along with my horse, then I understood that people rode around that nation in an age when they were totally alone and actually lived out there. These riders didn't have cell phones and there was no helicopter to haul them out whenever they got hurt. It was hard. They needed to choose and breed horses that they can depend on to remain sound, not simply to look good. I mean, imagine some old for trapper in 1820 attempting to escape from hostile Indians on a horse with a pretty mind ... and bad legs. Or think when they had a horse rock-tough sufficient to operate from the heat and about the hardpan footing about the cowboys who rounded up wild herds of
unbranded Texas longhorns following the Civil War. They wouldn't have gotten much with a few of the Quarter Horses, with toothpick legs their bulbous bodies and tiny feet.
My Endurance experience made me reflect on the moment, a little more than 100 decades ago, when horses were expected to perform toughness. They were essential for commerce (hauling loads), war (as cavalry mounts or for moving artillery) and private transportation. In such capacities, they needed to have the ability to get up and move, day after day. There were no equine sports-medicine veterinarians to help owners "manage" horses with chronic soundness issues. For instance, if the country doctor driving mare, which he relied upon to make his rounds, couldn't hold up under work, he'd get another one. Did not get bred. The standards of today emphasize aesthetics rather than the capability to remain sound. - (https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/what-typ ... ave-stenie)
To Me personally, endurance racing is one of the last vestiges of this demanding, regular routine anticipated of horses ... and people. The game demands physical toughness but even more crucial is that the mental toughness necessary to hang in there when it's midnight and pouring rain, and you feel missing and you know you have 26 kilometers. Good endurance riders learn to get through that situation and come out the other side. They combine empathy for what is happening with their horses without asking too 25, and just how much they can ask and toughness.
Denny Emerson has been compete seriously while campaigning Rett, in eventing Butler in endurance. "It is difficult to do two sports which are so distinct. My tack boxes are filled with completely different stuff!" He is this year Driving hopes, Loftus Fox and Jetting West, also two Prelim horses to Qualify for your USA East team competing at the endurance with Rett Championship at Fair Hill International. May and Denny Emerson's Tamarack Hill Farm is based in Strafford, Vt., and Southern Pines, N.C.
