No grit, no glory

One of the best compliments I've ever received was when Peter Campbell said I had "grit." I'm not certain now if his comment followed Quincy breaking my toes from a full rear or some other stupid thing I did at the ranch clinic, but I remember the sentiment. The truth is that I didn't feel that worthy of it. But Peter doesn't bullshit people, so I accepted it.

Surviving the first half of this trip took grit. I'll own it. Again, the grit was necessary to keep going in spite of stupidity (lack of knowledge, experience, common sense …), but still. I haven’t blogged because I haven’t had time to do anything but make the next stop and try and sleep for a few hours. What follows is the highlights and lowlights of the first half. 

Day one: Blast off
It started well. Quincy loaded in trailer, Pam was following me in my car, and I only had to get to San Diego. How tough could that be?

·       The Grapevine on I-5 is nuts. With a horse in a trailer, it’s downright harrowing. Anyone who has any doubts as to my need for a 1-ton truck to haul my rig should have been in the passenger seat on this leg. Trust me, I needed everything Bridget had to get me over it. It wouldn’t be the last time I was grateful for her. 

·       I-5, through LA, rush hour. Bad idea. Stop. Go. Stop. Stop. Inch forward. Two hours. Change lanes? You would have thought I was asking for the first born of the driver next to me. I literally had to lean my head out the window and make eye contact to gain access into their precious lane. On the upside, there was a hotel in East LA named “Destiny Inn,” with a balcony that looked over the freeway, advertising a honeymoon suite for a mere $54.99. You need not pay me for this hot tip if you’re looking for post wedding bliss. 

·       Full, 20 gallon water tank tipped over in the tack room of my trailer. It didn’t spill, although it leaked. But there was no way I could lift it back up. I decided to postpone that problem until later, ala Scarlet O’hara. 

·       Driving into Little T ranch in San Diego in the dark. Another bad idea. Huge ruts, big puddles, dark and cavernous drive down into it. (My Air Force buddy Cynthia and her husband Barry rescued me here – He righted my water tank, they brought me dinner, and they remained cheerful and supportive as my anxiety spilled all over the place). The first two stalls the gal showed me were mud puddles. I wasn’t happy, nor was I buying off on the two options. We found our way to a stall on higher ground. OK, a victory.  

·       Driving off Little T ranch the next morning through obstacles too numerous to mention. It was a “circle” (i.e., advertised as an “easy pull through.”) The gate I had to drive through didn’t look wide enough to begin with. Add a very ominous piece of rebar that cut into my already tight clearance, and I was on my way to agitation. The boyfriend of the gal who owned the place offered to direct me out. He didn’t speak much English, but he was very enthusiastic. The hill I was on to get out was steep, rutted, and muddy. I had to drive through the first gate (with the rebar) and turn sharply to the right to get out to the street. He was gesturing wildly and shouting. Then, the gal came out. She started offering her advice on the project. They didn’t agree. They both believed they knew better. I was on the hill, Quincy was probably close to falling over, and I am now panicked. I got out, yelled “stop!” muttered a few obscenities, and said, “One person. That’s it.” I pointed at the boyfriend. I was swayed by his enthusiasm. We escaped.

Day two, Tucson

·       Drove to the mailing address rather than the physical address of Doubletake Equestrian in Tucson. This was after 40 minutes in downtown Tucson traffic. I came to the address, in a residential neighborhood, and I knew there was something wrong.  The owner came out and directed me to the ranch with “easy” directions. I set off. 30 minutes later, I arrived in the area where I’m supposed to be. Unfortunately, the name of the country road I was supposed to turn on was apparently a popular choice for the street-namers. There were three (count them, THREE) streets with the EXACT SAME NAME. They were conveniently located next to one another. So, of course, I went down the first two, which were the wrong choices. This wouldn’t be such a big deal, but for this rather large rig I have with a limited turn radius. The country roads weren’t wide. So, I had to find places to turn around. I did, but again with the panic. I set out on this trip determined to save myself from turns and backing up. So much for determination. 

·       A beautiful barn, lovely people. Good. Nice dinner with friends. Sleep (sort of). Up at 4:00, determined to get to Fort Stockton, Tx, that day (a ridiculous goal, as it turned out). Decide that loading Quincy in the dark would be fine. (Note: my mentor and trainer Gina has said to me, on several occasions, “Cindy, when you find yourself saying ‘it’ll be fine,’ stop. Reconsider.” I didn’t heed her advice.) We started at 5:00 a.m. I finally got him loaded at 10:36. Yes, the math and the situation were ugly. I was exhausted. I had pulled, threatened, cajoled, used a flag, tried a long-line approach, gotten “help,” cried (a lot), called Gina every hour, and considered relocating to Tucson. When I finally got him in, it was due to drugs, his exhaustion, and God’s mercy. I was a wreck. I got him off the ranch, stopped on the dirt road a half mile later, and sobbed for 20 minutes. Then, I drove. I never made it to Fort Stockton.

Day 3: Sierra Blanco, Texas 

·       9:00 p.m. – It’s dark, I’m tired, and I can’t drive anymore. I pull off on a one exit town that boasts only one gas station, a mini mart, and a suspicious-looking hotel named “Americana Inn.” But it had a relatively big parking lot. I believed Quincy and I could be OK there for the night. There was no way I was unloading him before getting to Houston anyway (my trailer is big enough for him to lay down), so what did I care what the hotel was like? I pulled in. 

·       Abu, the hotel proprietor, didn’t look happy about my rig or where I wanted to park. We negotiated. I moved to a different part of the parking lot. Abu grumbled, but consented. I got a room ($50). I saw the room. I determined that there was no way I’d sleep in the bed there, but I made use of the electricity to charge my devices and the bathtub for cleaning Quincy’s buckets. I also watched an episode of “30 rock,” which was oddly satisfying. While I was scared of the place when I first drove in, I felt more comfortable after doing all my barn chores. I’d made a home for me and my horse in a two-bit parking lot. Bring it on, cheap motel people. Granted, I locked both Quincy’s doors and my own, but still. I felt a little badass by the time I went to bed in my luxurious camper, Betsy.

Day 4: Sugar Land, Texas (i.e., Houston). Pre-heaven (i.e., Kendal and Gretchen’s house). 

·       Long, long drive. 13 hours. Too long. Traffic, LA style, through San Antonio and through Houston. Quincy was antsy to get out when we got to Sugar Land stables. I wanted to turn him out immediately. The barn manager, Janet, was begrudging but willing to let him out in the pasture at the front of the property. The fence was electric. I was a little hesitant, but he was so antsy and needed to stretch his legs. So, I turned him out. He promptly hit the fence, got a wild look, took off, snorted, and was generally agitated. Poor guy. 13 hours in a damn trailer (albeit with a few nap stops in between) and then shocked. I didn’t cry, but I wanted to. We had left Abu’s hotel at 6 a.m. We arrived at Sugar Land stables at 7 p.m. After settling Quincy in (which included removing, unsuccessfully, a very fat tick from his neck), unhooking the trailer, dealing with the spilled chia seeds in the tack room that were soggy from the leaking water tank … I arrived in heaven (aka, Kendal and Gretchen’s house) at 10 p.m. A stiff drink, a dip in the hot tub, the good company of my hosts and one of my favorite people on the planet, Darren, and the first half of the trip seemed over.

Day 5: Sugar Land, Texas. Shea Stewart, my saving grace

·       I called Genae, Gina’s daughter, and was ready to pay for her time plus a $1,000 plane ticket for her to come out and finish the trip with me. There was no way I could go through another trailer loading debacle. I was terrified of that possibility. Bless her, she was willing to come. 

·       Shea Stewart, Quincy’s body-worker and generally amazing horseman, happens to live in Fort Worth, Texas. Because of my need to see her, she pulled together a few other clients that weekend in the Houston area, and came out to give Quincy cranio-sacral work and give me a trailer-loading lesson. I’d already gotten great counsel from Genae at Morning Sun Ranch, but apparently I’m one of the remedial students.  I needed help. Shea applied some no-nonsense principles with me, and with her help I had Quincy loading with no trouble.  I was so confident at the end of that session that I spared Genae from a crazy trip. You’d think this would be the happy ending, right? Well, it is. Except that Quincy is a five-year-old, which is the equivalent of a two-year-old child. 

·       Sunday night, Quincy pulled a four-foot board out from the front of his stall and onto his back. He grabbed the blanket bar with his teeth, which happened to be connected to the board, and worked it up until he could flip it up. When the barn worker came running to the stall (after seeing the board fly through the air), he was standing on the board and VERY upset. Idiot. He didn’t seem too worse for wear the next day, but it’s hard to know yet. When we left today, he seemed to be moving fine. God willing, he will be.

Grit. Yes. I kept going. The second half will be better. My session with Shea and my weekend in heaven has fortified me. Stay tuned.