I am an endurance horse, and racing has been my life.

It’s fun, and one of the most fun things about it is getting in to that trailer and never knowing where you’ll end up. Sometimes it has been the desert, sometimes the ocean side, or the mountains. Once in 1996 I went to Kansas for something called the WORLD GAMES, and I met horses that didn’t even speak English.

As long as my person (hereafter known as Lori) is with me, I know I’ll be fine ‘cause we’ve always been in it together. But when I hopped into the trailer one evening in July, I had a feeling the trip was something special. For one thing, Lori’s person (hereafter known as John) was coming along, and he seldom does that. And besides my favorite crew person, Cindy, we had a long-time friend, Dr. Dee, with us. But most importantly of all, just before she closed the trailer door, Lori said to me, "Gandie, this time we’re chasing a dream." And so began a trip of a lifetime.

Lori and Gandie at the end of the ride. (Click photo to enlarge)

I’m not real good at putting things in chronological order, so as they come to mind, I’ll tell you places I viewed during my two weeks vacation, and my impressions of them from the window of my trailer. I saw hundred of miles of prairie land and realized that it was oxen, mules, and brave horses just like me who pulled pioneer’s wagons across the vast wilderness, helping settle our great country. I saw Pony Express stations, and heard Lori whisper with envy about how great it would have been to be one of those skinny riders who raced from Missouri to California in less than nine days. I saw the Rockies, and stopped at the Summit Rest Area, the highest point of Route 80, and to my surprise, there was a statue of Abraham Lincoln. He was from Illinois, you know. I saw the Sierra Nevada Mountains, and the ski slopes where the Olympics (that’s human, not equine) were held. I followed the Mormon Trail and learned how those poor people didn’t have livestock; they pushed all their belongings in handcarts from Illinois to Utah!!! And John complains about having to carry a bucket. I crossed Donner Pass where a party of pioneers got stranded one winter and ended up eating each other. YUCK!! There I learned a new motto: “Don’t take no shortcuts and hurry along as fast as you can." Pretty good advice for an Endurance Horse.

I saw downtown Cheyenne where they were preparing for the Grand Daddy Of All Rodeos, and I saw downtown Buford, Utah (population 2), but no one was home. I saw downtown Henefer, Utah where a really nice lady at the gas station left her cash register to run home and bring Cindy some white yarn, dye lot #316, so she could finish knitting an afghan. Lori said something about small town America not being dead, and everybody agreed. I saw 120 miles of SALT. I mean, I like my salt block as much as the next horse, but come on now!! And I saw a place where men drive their cars across this salt at speeds over 600 miles per hour. Whee! Wouldn’t it be fun to have them pulling my trailer. I spent the night in a round pen at Cabelas Outfitters in Sydney, Nebraska, and at a thoroughbred race track in Omaha, and at the fairgrounds in Laramie, and at a park right downtown Salt Lake. I spent four nights at the home of Kim and Mary Gastman and their horse, Joe, where I was treated like family. Aren’t I a lucky horse?

I sure met a lot of nice horses on my trip. I got to talk to Paladin, Bev Gray’s Anglo Arab who was going to Spain to the World Games in September (that’s equine, not human). I told him I went to the World Games once, and to watch out for tall vets with scowls on their faces. I met the Budweiser Clydesdales. They sure were big and strong and pretty, but quite frankly, they didn’t make good conversation. I met some rodeo horses (they were a little grumpy), and some rodeo bulls (way too virile for me!). I met ranch horses and race horses and barrel horses and a horse that pulled a tourist carriage. But my favorite of all was California Joe Gastman. For four days, he showed me all the fun places in his pasture. We stood under his favorite shade tree, drank from his pond, and ate his irrigated grass. We giggled as Mary chased us from the garden. We weren’t really going to eat her cucumbers, but it was fun getting her all excited. I stood beside Joe twice daily as Kim hosed his injured leg, and it was from Joe that I learned the real purpose of this vacation.

The Tevis. Sure, I'd heard the name; all endurance horses have. A few years back, four of my friends had done the ride, so I knew about it. So that was the dream Lori had spoke of; we were going to attempt the oldest and toughest 100 miler in the world. Joe was signed up to go, but he had gotten hurt a few weeks before and Kim had to pull out. But Joe knew lots about the ride and was friends with horses who had completed the trail. He told me all about it, just as my friends Sha-Win, Gero, Challanger, and Louise back in Illinois had, but nothing could prepare me except actually doing it. And on the Thursday before the race, Lori loaded me up in the trailer and we drove up to Robey Park outside of Truckee, California.

"It's just another ride," Lori and the gang kept saying. But they weren't acting like it. I had more stuff hanging off of my saddle than a pack mule. I had a sponge AND a pour jug. I had my saddle bags crammed full, and Lori had put a cantle bag on the back of my saddle. She was carrying water bottles. I'd never seen her do that, not even in the desert. And she was wearing a fanny pack. I wore boots all the way around. Just another ride?? And the start was unlike anything I've ever encountered. There were 216 horses, and I only knew three of them. We had to wait in line for over twenty minutes on this narrow mountain road. When we finally started, you wouldn’t believe the dust. I was near the front, and it was bad. I couldn’t even imagine how bad it was for the horses in the back. Most of the time, the trail was so narrow that you couldn’t pass or be passed. You had to keep up or people yelled at you. About five miles into the race, I saw a small waterfall with a pool. I was really thirsty, and I decided right then and there that I was going to take care of myself. I took a good long drink, which made Lori praise me big time. From then on, I drank whenever I got the chance. There wasn’t a lot of water on the trail, but management had put out tanks at least every ten miles. My crew could only meet me at two places on the whole trail, but volunteers were everywhere. They had good California alfalfa hay and slurry - just the way I like it, all sloppy. Kids with carrots and apples, people with sponges and hoses, all willing to help out whenever and however they could. And all along the trail, they clapped and cheered like I was in front.

Sure, there were some tricky places. One four mile area called Granite Chief was pretty slow going. There was really no trail, and I had to be very careful where I put my feet. I’m glad Lori put boots on me ‘cause I saw some horses get skinned up when they got their legs in between boulders. A spot that Lori had been worried about was called Elephant’s Trunk. It was a narrow ledge alongside a sheer cliff. It twisted and turned so that at points you could see only sky in front of you. Big Deal. I got her through before she even knew she was there. And the Swinging Bridge----I didn’t have any trouble. I just had to make sure I was the first horse across, my friend Sha-Win had told me that. I chose not to go over Cougar Rock. Once again, I took Lori around it before she even knew it was there. It was a good decision; two horses fell. I had remembered Sha-Win saying, "I was there for a buckle, not a picture. It’s not worth the risk."

The canyons were a big obstacle. You had to climb down a series of switchbacks, then climb up, only to do it all over again two more times. And I’m not talking Midwest hills, I’m talking climbs of over 2,000 feet. One time it took us two hours to go only seven miles. Lori insisted on doing that climb on foot, which was pretty dumb. I’m much more agile than she is. She fell on her butt a couple of times, but she’s a pretty stubborn buckaroo, you know. No one could do those climbs very fast, so this is where I felt I had an advantage. The people seemed to think it was hot and humid. They’ve never been to our Midwest summer rides; they have no idea what humidity is. Sure, the climbs were tough, but at least I didn’t feel like I was breathing through a wet blanket. When I came to the last climb, I saw a pretty little bay mare standing at the bottom. She was so tired, her legs were shaking, and the girl on her back was starting to cry. I told her to follow me, that she could do it. Slow and easy. Up the canyon I went, up into the sky. After what seemed an hour, the bay mare said, "Look Gandie," (we were on first name basis by then), "It’s Devil’s Thumb." I saw the rock formation that stands atop the canyon wall, and I knew I had reached the vet check. Three young boy scouts from the troop that mans this top started sponging me and feeding me carrots. But Lori told them to stop while she listened to my heart. Right up to the vet we went. It was Dr. Jim Baldwin, finally a vet I knew, and he agreed that I had met the 60 beat pulse requirement. He watched me trot and smiled at Lori and said, "Lookin’ good." Then I got to eat and have the boy scouts sponge me. It was my favorite check.

We got to see John and Dee and Cindy one more time at a place called Forrest Hill. I got to rest for a whole hour. Lori ate more food than I’ve ever seen her eat. My friends, Mary and Kim Gastman, were there, too. I could smell Joe on them, and wished he could have been there with me. I had a Cardiac Recover Index (CRI) test at that check, and my heartbeat went from 60 to 56 after the required trot-out! I had never felt so strong and happy. After Forrest Hill, they told me the last thirty miles were easy. Compared to the first seventy, I guess they were. But all of this part was done in the dark. I’m glad Lori couldn’t see some of the ledges I was trotting on; in the dark she just let me take over. Crossing The American River was fun. There was a whole party of folks camping out just so they could be there to cheer us on. But it was on this section that a couple of horrible things happened. A horse fell from a cliff and was killed; another fell 700 feet, but was not hurt. A rider fell and was drug, and Lori rode behind him for a while, watching him sway in the saddle like he was going to pass out. They had to send an ambulance for him, and I hope he’s okay. That’s the risk we take in this sport, horses and riders alike, but I for one would chose no other career.

We had a few more vet checks. Most were Gate and Go, where we could leave as soon as we met pulse requirement and trot out. I never had a problem, but we stayed at least fifteen minutes at every check. Like I said in the beginning, I had made up my mind to take care of myself, and the food was too good to pass up. The last vet check was six miles from the finish. I had a CRI there, and I did great. The vet said, "Take him on in, he looks good." For lots of other horses, it wasn’t as good. I think the vets judged up rather hard at that check. They knew there would be lots of people at the Gold County Fairground in Auburn to see the finish. It would not be good if horses that were so tired they could barely trot came across the line. Even at the end of a race, we must still be "fit to continue". That is how the rule reads, and for the good of us all, we must adhere strictly to that rule.

At this point, Lori knew we were going to make it; her dream was going to come true. And she did a very strange thing. With only six miles to go, she told me we were going to walk. We had plenty of time, the moon was full, and we both knew we may never be here again. Small groups of riders caught up with us and Lori told them to pass. Four miles from the finish was the famous "No Hands Bridge". That was when Lori started to cry. God, she’s such a baby,. I figured it was up to me to lighten her up a little, so here’s what I did. About a half mile from the finish, the trail cut off of a two track into the dense woods. There was no glow stick there, but I knew where the place was. I missed it on purpose, and 200 yards later we were in someone’s drive way. That’s when Lori really lost it. "Ninety-nine and a half mile done, and I lose the #*$+ trail," she wailed. At that point, we had about a half hour until cut off time. Boy was she going crazy. She turned me around and went back down the two track. She almost missed the spot a second time, but this time I turned in. Soon, another small group of riders caught us. Quite frankly, I was tired of Lori letting people pass us, so I broke in to a trot and came across the line. You wouldn’t believe the crowd at 4:57a.m., the applauding and whistling. Don’t these people have anything else to do? Lori jumped off of me; she was crying again. I took a long drink from a tank and then we, John, Cindy, Dee, Lori and I walked towards the lights of McCann Stadium where we took our completion lap. Kim and Mary were there; Mary was crying, too. I guess it’s a woman thing. Then we did our completion trot, the vet smiled, and Lori threw her arms around him and, you guess it, she started crying again.

Lori got some sleep and Cindy took really good care of me, hosing my legs and putting poultice on them. In the afternoon, there was an awards ceremony. Everyone who completed the ride got a nice belt buckle. Of the 216 starters, only 94 finished. I was 71st. I sure could have done better if Lori hadn’t been such an emotional baby the last six miles. Next time, I’ll leave her at home. I’m only kidding about that. I could hear over the microphone as people accepted their buckles, and I heard our names called. I heard Lori say that, "lots of you have great horses, I have a great friend. And yesterday, I trusted him with my life. It wasn’t a mistake." Made me feel pretty proud. The trip home was fun. We took it easy ‘cause Lori thought I was tired. HA!!

I’ve told you a little about what we did already, but I must tell you this part. Somewhere in Wyoming, we took a detour to see wild mustangs. At first, we only saw their manure. But pretty soon, we started seeing little bands in the distance. When we stopped for lunch, Lori took me out of the trailer, and not one hundred yards from the road were several mustangs. The leader was a proud bay stallion, and we started talking, each of us convinced that our lives were better than the other’s.

"Who combs your mane?" I asked the bay.
" The wind," he answered.
" And who floats your teeth?"
" The sage," was his reply.
" And who protects you from disease and parasites and cares for you when
you are sick or injured?"

He looked a little sad at that point, but immediately perked up and said, "If we aren’t strong enough to withstand those things, we leave this earth."
" For whom do you run?" I asked.
And he simply said, "Ourselves."
" What do you love?"
His answer, "Our freedom."
" And who loves you?"

He told me proudly and with dignity, "Every person who loves freedom must love us."

Then he looked at me as said, "How would you answer those questions?" I thought but briefly. A lifetime of racing. Of wins and almost wins. Of shared trails and shared joys. Of tears on my mane - both happy and sad. I thought back on the awesome and incredible journey I had just completed, WE had just completed. I knew every one of those questions could be answered by just one word.

That one word would be my friend and my partner, Lori.