Bad Decisions, or, The Time of My Life

The week before last, I'd caught some silly cold that then blossomed magnificently into a super gross bacterial sinus infection. It kept me flat on my back for a week, but when Thunder came home, I decided that I was all better and went back to doing whatever I wanted.

In general, I love our weather here. Winters are cold enough for cuddling but feature balmy, sunny days, perfect for the outdoors. Summer has afternoon thunderstorms but usually very beautiful, clear mornings. Even autumn is gorgeous and crisp. But August to September---technically late winter and early spring---are less pleasant. It's dry. It's windy. It's sort of hot, but you can still freeze at night. Above all, after months without rain, it's extremely dusty. There's pollen everywhere and all the animals are shedding like mad. It's all a necessary part of how our seasons turn, but it's not a good time to be a respiratory system.

Since doing whatever I want includes a lot of riding, teaching kids and general running around on the farm, racking up eighteen to twenty thousand steps a day and breathing all that glorious dust and pollen and hair, I will count this as the first of several bad decisions present in this post.

By Friday afternoon, I was no longer feeling particularly hotshot. I was tired and sniffly and really needed a day in bed, but we'd committed to a mounted unit event for Saturday, and I decided that I couldn't back out of it. (Bad decision number two right there).

I took Lancey out with Mawarda and his mom for a really nice, relaxed ride, wherein Lancey didn't put a foot wrong, which was a good thing given that my legs felt like noodles. As we were hacking around the freshly tilled lands, with puffs of fine red dust coming from Lancey's feet with every step he took, I did not pause to contemplate my actions. Much less so when a giant truck passed by on the dirt road and a huge cloud of fine dust floated across the farm.

I thought nothing of it. I did not pause to rub those two brain cells together. I just dressed Lancey up in his clown suit to keep him clean and went to bed.

My sister was my wingman for this event since we were shorthanded on first responders, so we both woke up at the crack of dawn on Saturday morning to load Lancey and Flash into the box for the short road trip to the event. It was relatively undeniable that I woke up sick, but I drank some water and decided I'd be fine. (Can you see how these decisions are starting to add up?)

Although Flash gave us a little uphill with loading, Lancey was content to waltz right in as usual, and soon we were off. Sister kept trying to feed me muffins but I was queasy and refused any (more bad choices).

The event was a fun run and hike, the longest distance being an easy 10km, but the venue's terrain was notoriously difficult. We hadn't had any injuries at this event last year but it was worth being careful. Once we arrived, groomed our ponies and got them tacked up, we had a quick rendezvous with the other first responders to decide on our positions. It turned out that our quad bike for the event had declined to start that morning so the horses were the only off-road vehicles we had.

I instantly made my next bad decision: to sweep the 10km on horseback, making sure nobody got hurt or left behind. We have learned with events that having a sweeper is absolutely essential - it's quite startling how many people will tackle a run or bike ride alone without their phone, and we've scooped up several injured athletes in the past who had nobody to miss them and no way to get help. Coughing up my lungs though I was, I thought the 10km would be easy. Even at a walk Lancey would cover that distance in two hours without any difficulty. The 10km was specifically advertised as a run, so I doubted we'd be walking the whole thing. It would be a nice, relaxing hack, I thought to myself.

We set off with Lancey on a loose rein and Flash looking very chirpy. Lancey was acting a bit nappy at first, snorting and staring at random stuff, so Rain took Flash up ahead and Lancey contentedly followed. 

He settled almost immediately as we rode across a field, following the runners, and took the lead when we headed into the most beautiful, peaceful little wood. The trail wound between the trees, and we had to duck in several places.

Lancey was bold here and stepped over logs and things easily, having hit his stride. We dismounted to go around a little bridge that would never have taken a horse's weight, but then hopped back on and continued through the trees, keeping the runners just in sight. There were splashes of colour everywhere as trees had begun to bloom.

vest stuffed full of basic first aid supplies

We emerged from the little wood onto the gravel road and followed our runners along that, waving to friendly volunteers along the way. This event had such a great vibe. It was a charity event for an extremely well-deserving local organisation and everybody was friendly and fun. The photographer caught us as we headed past, Lancey leading the way on a long rein.

Next we rode around another field, and it was here that things began to get frustrating. We were sweeping the group and had been moving at a slow walk since we left the trail, having given them plenty of space. Since it was advertised as a fun run, I believed the competitors would have no problem staying ahead of the horses. We were now not yet 2km into the run and there were two participants who were moving more slowly than a horse walks.

In hindsight, this is the point where we should have turned back to camp, grabbed something to eat and some water, and given it a rest. If we sweep a group of runners again, we'll give them several more minutes' head start. It's always worrying, though, because if someone near the back without a companion twists an ankle and is out of cell range, you never want them to lie there waiting for ages. So we opted to carry on.

there were many snack breaks, albeit not for me

We headed up the hill next, having to abandon our runners on one loop and wait for them at the end of it as the terrain was too rough even with us both on foot. Lancey and Flash were content to graze while we took pictures against the breathtaking views.

Now there was only one way left to go: down the mountain into the river valley. Thus commenced two of the longest hours of my existence. (One more bad decision).

The trail was gnarly - so gnarly that there is no way I'll ever do that again. Steeply downhill, extremely rocky, and very windy. There was no way we could have ridden it; we tackled it on foot, the horses behind us, Lancey and I leading the way much of the time to give Flashy confidence. Rain, an avid hiker, did an admirable job and Flashy behaved so well for her. As for Lancey, he barely lifted his nose away from my back for more than a second. It was steep and dodgy but not in a fall-down-the-mountain-and-break-your-neck way. Taken slowly, it wasn't dangerous, just a little nerve-wracking.

In fact, it might even have been fun if it wasn't for a handful of fairly miserable factors. The first was that my riding boot's zip stripped ten minutes in. If you've never had the pleasure of scrambling down a mountain in knee-high boots while one does its best to fall off, I do not recommend it. The second was that, as we scrambled down in the incredible heat, I felt myself growing steadily sicker. The third was that our friends up front were going at an impossibly slow pace. Every time we made two minutes of headway, we found ourselves catching them, and took a five-minute break halfway down a mountain to give them time to go ahead and not feel like we were breathing down their necks.

It took us two hours to cover the 3km down the mountain. Throughout this whole thing, Lancey was absolutely impeccable. He tackled the twists, turns and rocks with aplomb, followed me wherever I went, and was always content to stop, rest a hoof and nibble some grass. I was shaky by this point and sitting on every convenient boulder, and he just stood over me, chilling.

We finally reached the halfway point, confidently expecting that our struggling competitors would hitch a lift back with the water point people. They did not. Having taken three hours to cover 5km, they decided to carry on. One more bad decision on my part: I didn't have this conversation with them or leave them to their fate and go back. There was absolutely no phone signal at this point and I didn't want to just leave them. Besides, who knows what finishing this 10km meant to them? Maybe it was something they felt they absolutely had to do.

At least we got some water, which perked us up somewhat, and the trail turned absolutely beautiful. It wound along the riverbank between blooming spring trees. Given the difficult terrain we'd just covered, we trotted the horses a short distance to see how they felt. Both still had plenty of pep in their step and no signs of soreness. All of the breaks had clearly been good for them. So we wandered along the lovely trail on loose reins, taking in the views.

This would have been an absolutely gorgeous ride if it wasn't for the fact that we had to stop and let the horses graze every few minutes. We took a few fun little detours to canter up and down a trail here and there and give the competitors some space. At one point, we lost the trail completely - the organisers had already taken the markers down, thinking everyone was done - and Lancey and I cantered on ahead to find the rest of it. He was bold, happy and chilling on a loose rein, being absolutely perfect.

By this point, my body felt like a wad of well-chewed gum. I was desperate to get back but well aware that nobody knew our friends were out there. With no signal, there was no way I could leave them or arrange for a sweeper vehicle (since we were now on broad farm tracks).

If Lancey had acted up in the slightest I would never have been able to hold him with my noodle arms. But bless his perfect soul, Lancey trucked along on the loosest of reins, contentedly taking care of his potato sack of a rider. Rain and I were fitting in some really quality sister time - despite not riding frequently, she was an amazing sport about it all - and despite my wobbly state, all of us were honestly having a really fantastic time.

We left the river behind and headed up and down some gentle hills, passing right by the bottom of Shaila's rider's home.

Finally, 8km and nearly four hours in, my phone binged. We had signal. I sent a location for our two competitors and asked for someone else to bring them in. We headed off at a brisk trot up the hill, only to find that the gate at the top had been closed and locked, since everybody thought that all the participants were done.

It was only a few minutes before an organiser arrived to open up, and with our participants having now caught up to us, we were within sight of home. We set off at a brisk trot and covered the rest of the distance in about ten minutes flat.

This part felt incredible. Lancey said that this very slow 10km had barely warmed him up; his head was high, tail flagging, and he ate up the ground in an easy, swinging stride. I'd thought he felt a little tired coming up the last hill, but the moment we moved out, he was delighted to go. We had one spook at a scary piece of black pipe, but while he cantered sideways a few steps, he had settled down before I could really pick up the reins.

The organisers gave us prizes and plenty of thanks, and we spent some time hanging out with the happy crowd. Flashy was irritated by this point so we gently redirected curious people to Lancey, who found himself being petted, poked and cuddled by everyone. He soaked in the attention even after four hours of riding.

Both horses drank deeply and loaded up without batting an eye. I was worried about them after the length of time we rode and the rough terrain, but they were both absolutely fine. In fact, even non-riding-fit Rain was off to her ballet class as usual the next morning. The only one worse for wear, it turned out, was me. By the next morning I was back at the doctor's being told that I now had a raging infection and ordered to stay in bed for a week. Of course, given the number of truly questionable choices I had made, this was entirely my own fault. It's a week and a half later and I still haven't been back on a pony or fully functional yet.

Looking back on it, though, it was a truly awesome experience. I have never had more love and admiration for my incredible horse or for the people with whom I'm so honoured to share my life.

God is good.