At the start line, each rider is assigned their first mount at random. I was handed a chunky dun with a kind face. When I mounted, he was mellow and unfazed-which is not necessarily a great sign when what I needed was a demonic psycho runner, ready to launch for the front of the pack.
All 47 riders gathered at the start line-the countdown began. Deirdre and I had planned to ride directly as the crow flies to HS1. We didn’t know any better and it seemed like a fine choice, those hills weren’t so big after all. Wrong.
It was a good lesson to learn early, but ended my first leg with a rather demoralizing scene.
Alex joined us on our unique navigational choice, and en route we three truly had a lovely time. It was beautiful a first leg of the derby and nothing could have made the landscape more idyllic. We rode with purpose and enjoyed each others company.
My horse who had been a good boy off the start, cantered for a good 6km but quickly offered not much more than a plodding trot. At one point he threw out a few lackluster bucks. That was odd I thought, but I chalked it up to a fly bite.
We arrived at HS1, Deirdre and Alex’s horses vetted straight through, with heart rates in the 40’s. My horse vetted at 68. Vets Cozy and Sarah assured me he would drop quickly.
After 10 mins his heart rate stayed at 68 and 15 mins into my 30 min max, he began showing signs of colic. My heart sank, this was not looking good. I walked him and kept him up from rolling. But at the 30 minute mark, my horse was definitely unwell, the vets moved forward to treat him and I was given a 2 hour time penalty to sit straight away.
I was deflated, my whole body felt heavy and I felt so guilty for putting the horse into that position. I had made only one derby goal for myself and that was to prioritize horse welfare. Here I was on my very first leg, with an ill horse!
I gathered myself together and tried to mime to the herder what was going on. He was acting very embarrassed and wanted to take back the horse. As the vets were returning with an IV bag, he grabbed hold of the rein, pulled the bridle free and turned the sick horse loose.
Now what? I forced back my tears as I explained to the vets what was going on. I think the herder just wanted to make it all better.
In turn it was agreed to just let things go, I’d sit my penalty and then continue in 2 hours. I was in last place, had my first penalty and was feeling rather down.
I sat inside the ger, tried to cool down and pull myself together, closing my eyes trying to focus on the next leg.
Everyone had left HS1 other than Cozy and a driver. At an hour and a half into my penalty, Cozy came to fetch me. He had spoken to HQ and they wanted me to push onward.
We went out to the line and there was one horse left. He was flustered and upset, and without any herders around, Cozy and I tried to saddle up the tense little guy. He was not pleased, I wrestled his head as Cozy tried to get the saddle over his back. He wriggled and fought and eventually broke my rein and bolted off over the hills ditching my saddle as he leapt away. It was quickly decided that I’d be driven to HS2.
It was a strange start, not one I could have anticipated. But now writing this, I’m amused by my own ignorance, as the only thing that anyone riding the derby should expect is the absolute unexpected. There’s no telling what twists and turns await you. That’s the beauty!
I got a good nights sleep and was able to start fresh day 2 at HS2 7am sharp thundering south on a little bay.
