Post by racaille on Sept 21, 2009 21:18:41 GMT
OK peeps, get a cuppa or a big glass of your favourite tipple, it's a long one ....... ;D
The weather forecast was hideous so I decided not to wait for the teenager to get back from school at about 6pm, but to set off without her. That meant the boy (aged 12) had to help me load the horses. He was an absolute star.
I drove the trailer down the lane to a flatish bit of road just up from where the festival entrance was. There was traffic everywhere which is mad since the lane is only wide enough for one car and passing is difficult. We walked the horses down and put on their travel boots etc and then the heavens opened. Think monsoon.
The noise of the rain on the trailer meant that P was in no mood to go in, he just planted himself in front of it with a look that said no way! In the meantime I tied R up to a post nearby but he undid his knot (yes, a charming new trick) and came trotting back to P. So I thought: well, we'll try R first. And just when you expect R to be an bottom, he's an angel. He went straight in so P followed a bit sheepishly afterwards.
The boy was a strong little man getting the bum bars in place sharpish and helping me lift the tailgate (it is an old trailer) and then we noticed that my bad boxer dog had escaped and was lurking, so the boy took him home again. When he returned he was soaked to his underpants and it is no surprise that he now has a chill.
So we set off and I was lucky in that the few cars we met down the lane pulled into passing places for me to sail past. But the rain got steadily worse and I decided it was really not sensible to take the mountain pass but to go around the Luberon the long way. But it was like driving underwater - there was zero visibility, cars were skidding off the road into the ditch all the time and I had to crawl along at snail's pace. It was the most scary bit of towing I have ever done in my life.
We eventually arrived at the host village, Villars, in the middle of the Colorado Provencal, where ochre is mined. The boxes had been erected in an old ochre quarry which was marvellously coloured but being a dip, was rapidly filling up with water (I keep saying the climate here is brutal).
The boy was great about unloading and we found two boxes together and settled the boys down (each box gets a bale of straw) - I gave them huge amounts of hay as otherwise P eats straw and it gives him bellyache. P also had two slices of luzerne and they both had a bucket of carrots, so they were very happy and soon settled down to scrunch-scrunch.
The OH and teenager arrived soon after and we had a jolly hour (not) driving around to find the mobile home that I had rented but finally we were settled in the dry and warm, listening to the rain and thunder with a glass of good red.
Saturday: up at 6am to check the boys and top up feed and water buckets, then a quick groom and queue up to pass the vet and farrier. The vet checked their microchips and papers and vaccinations - no horse can compete in anything here without all that - checked heart rate and had them trotted up, then the farrier branded one hoof to show they were adequately shod and feet were fine.
Then, clutching our 'pass' certificates we went in to the big top tent for breakfast, our route maps, goodies (including a much-needed umbrella) and the briefing. There was a twist this year: because we were going into an area of huge historical interest we had to find five marked places where there would be different patterned pincers to punch through our cards. The places were marked on our maps, but it meant you had to read your map as opposed to just thunder along following the markers. Then the pincers were off the piste, not far, but you had to look for them so you had to be absolutely certain of where you were. Now this was right up my street! And you would only be classed if you got all five. Yes!
We were told that the horse that set the bogey time was small (yes!!!!!!) and fast, so we were feeling very good.
We set off together at about 10.30am and P, stuffed with protein, was a little fizz-bomb. He became about 10ft tall and was prancing in a very Spanish way. R was a bit overwhelmed and was an angel. We walked out of the village, then had a long uphill trot and then, wallop, the first canter. Blimey, it was a hot one! P went all out - I had to work hard to keep his head up as he sooooooo wanted to buck and was made mad by all the thundering horses behind him (We were near the front of very nearly 200 horses).
We calmed down and the horses started to string out so I had a chance to have a look at them. I was surprised to see a lot of TBs etc - this is really not an ideal event for skinny legged horses. There were also a lot of pony clubs, a lot of cowboys and fewer than ever of the original competitors, the individuals who represent their own communities, like me and the teenager. I saw a few old faces and was glad to say hi.
We started to climb into the hills and it was hard going: stoney tracks but some magnificent views. We soon found the first of the 'pincer' places: they were things like borries or water cisterns hewn from solid rock etc, unbelievably beautiful and the woods were really pretty (not like the desert pinewoods we have here), more broadleaf woods, giving onto the odd lavender field sprouting out of earth the colour of blood or yellow as mustard. Really stunning.
We went up and down for four hours, often walking our horses over great sheets of limestone or slithering down shale paths and quite a few horses lost shoes and there were some who quite clearly weren't up to it. At one point R went sliding and lost his back end totally, sitting down, but luckily only nicked the skin on his hock.
We finally arrived at the stopover where we had to do our speed test and I'm afraid it all went wrong for me. We had been given the test on paper earlier and it was simple enough: a horseshoe shape with the slalom between the first and second jumps. But the actual test was different and it was stupid. You had a standing start with two strides to the first jump, a right angle left turn to the second (which was a nasty 80cm upright), then sharp right into the slalom. Very few horses were getting through it. R was fantastic: he is agile and sporty so he got over the jumps but then just could not make the turn into the slalom, knocking over a cone, but not too bad.
Unfortunately the whole thing was too much for P. He managed to get over the first jump but he needs a run at a jump and there just wasn't the room - after the turn there were only three strides and he was just not up to it. We refused twice then tried heroically the third time but just crashed through it. I was terribly disappointed but I could hardly be cross: it was my fault for not getting him going better but there wasn't the room for a horse like him and we were both tired. Never mind.
We steamed back to base and hosed off the horses - I've forgotten to say that despite the earlier monsoon, as soon as our butts were on the horses the sun came out and it was hot! I put sweat sheets on the neddies and gave them food, then headed off to our caravan-thingy where friends had turned up with vast quantities of food and rosé.
However, I was a bit worried as P had not drunk anything, despite being offered, and he's a rando horse, he usually drinks whenever there is a chance. Still, I faded early and went to bed, only to be woken at 3am by some folk nearby having a riotous party. I tried and tried to go back to sleep but I had a nagging worry ....
So, damn it, I'm out again at 3.30am, driving back to the boxes and am alarmed to find P lying down, with his hay mostly uneaten. At least he had drunk most of his water so I refilled it and gave him some more carrots and he heaved himself up and tucked in so I chucked in his luzerne to tempt him and left him a little later stuffing himself, so I felt better.
Sunday: I was a bit fragile and we missed the briefing and the vet and farrier and had to wait until everyone came back
. Still the horses were on form - R was starting to get over-excited, he just wanted to run everywhere and the teenager had to work really hard to stop him going up. Every upward transition was begun with a large leap forward, he just could not bear to let a horse get away from him in front.
We set off into the ochre mining area and it was breathtakingly gorgeous but we made good time. P was really striding out , although R was jogging a lot, which is not funny when it goes on for five hours.
Again, we found that we were not in agreement with the marked paces on the map, although to be fair, the heavy rain beforehand had changed a lot of the terrain. But we simply would not trot downhill on rocky paths, although we found a good many more canters than marked (on the other hand you get penalised for going faster than the bogey time). There was one hairy one where P heard horses thundering up behind him and changed up gear from OK canter (slightly downhill too, normally a non-no for me) into wild gallop and I had to work hard to stick with him and then slow him before the control point. Another hairy moment was in mad gallop along the side of a field when something in the trees alongside spooked him and he leapt sideways into the muddy ploughed field where each canter stride was a sucking slurp. I though: oh bum, there go his shoes and his tendons ....
We climbed onto a ridge above the ochre mines, with amazing views on each side (the Luberon one side, the Lure and Ventoux the other) and then down into the mines, where great pinnacles of purple, crimson and orange ochre rose out of rose-pink earth - it was truly unforgettable.
We stopped for our lunchtime test, which was again the water test with a little baby 'jousting' and a chicane. Poor P was so thirsty that he wanted to drink the swimming water on top of the wine barrel where I had to pick up the jug of water so we lost points because we circled once. Despite his strop we did the slalom and I managed to put the jug back, upright, knocked over all the shields as hoped and did an OK chicane.
The it was just the mad dash for the finish. We pottered through some darling Provencal hamlets and then turned into the vineyards and just let rip. The final wild canter was about three kilometres along soft tracks and alongside vineyards, absolutely heavenly.
Then we walked the last bit but we have perfected our racing dismounts so managed to shave some seconds at the finish by overtaking some groups who were faffing about dismounting - we just pointed the boys and slid off, hitting the ground, literally, running.
The boys were tired but not knackered: they drank and nibbled as soon as their breathing was stabilised, then we hosed them off, checked them over, sheeted them up and they practically loaded themselves.
It was an uneventful trip back until we hit the lane to my house where the ruddy festival was finishing. The first few cars pulled over to let me through but then I met a bottleneck of about 30 and tempers flared. Eventually I was caught front and back and had no choice but to drive into a neighbour's garden, furious. The boy and I (the teenager stayed for the prizegiving) unloaded the horses and walked them home then walked back to find the neighbour a bit perplexed at finding my car and trailer in his garden.
He was nice though, and even reversed it round a corner back out of his garden on a very narrow driveway with a ditch on either side and I got the festival's nice security guards to stop the traffic for me so we eventually made it back, exhausted.
We didn't win any trophies although I think I might have been in with a chance: we were stopped at one point by the organiser who had arrived by helicopter after reports of someone falling. We got chatting and he was tickled pink by me being foreign and by the fact I had managed to get my village mayor to sponsor me after 10 years of boycotting the event. At the next control he took my name and competitor number, so the teenager was sure I was on line for the 'special'. I think I was too, to he honest, but eventually it went to a girl whose father was the local mayor. Hmmm.
We haven't got the final placements yet and will have to wait a few weeks for them while they are graded. I think we were fast on the parcours de regularité (the distance stuff, which was about 80kms eventually), but we could have been too fast. At least we found all five pincers, and I know quite a few people didn't. We were rubbish in the speed and handling tests so won't be anywhere in those and once they are all put together we could be placed pretty low. Who cares!
It was a brilliant weekend, fantastically organised as always and although we are on our knees with fatigue, we are very happy. The boys are a little slimmer but back in their paddock having some time off and eating their heads off, none the worse. ;D
The weather forecast was hideous so I decided not to wait for the teenager to get back from school at about 6pm, but to set off without her. That meant the boy (aged 12) had to help me load the horses. He was an absolute star.
I drove the trailer down the lane to a flatish bit of road just up from where the festival entrance was. There was traffic everywhere which is mad since the lane is only wide enough for one car and passing is difficult. We walked the horses down and put on their travel boots etc and then the heavens opened. Think monsoon.
The noise of the rain on the trailer meant that P was in no mood to go in, he just planted himself in front of it with a look that said no way! In the meantime I tied R up to a post nearby but he undid his knot (yes, a charming new trick) and came trotting back to P. So I thought: well, we'll try R first. And just when you expect R to be an bottom, he's an angel. He went straight in so P followed a bit sheepishly afterwards.
The boy was a strong little man getting the bum bars in place sharpish and helping me lift the tailgate (it is an old trailer) and then we noticed that my bad boxer dog had escaped and was lurking, so the boy took him home again. When he returned he was soaked to his underpants and it is no surprise that he now has a chill.
So we set off and I was lucky in that the few cars we met down the lane pulled into passing places for me to sail past. But the rain got steadily worse and I decided it was really not sensible to take the mountain pass but to go around the Luberon the long way. But it was like driving underwater - there was zero visibility, cars were skidding off the road into the ditch all the time and I had to crawl along at snail's pace. It was the most scary bit of towing I have ever done in my life.
We eventually arrived at the host village, Villars, in the middle of the Colorado Provencal, where ochre is mined. The boxes had been erected in an old ochre quarry which was marvellously coloured but being a dip, was rapidly filling up with water (I keep saying the climate here is brutal).
The boy was great about unloading and we found two boxes together and settled the boys down (each box gets a bale of straw) - I gave them huge amounts of hay as otherwise P eats straw and it gives him bellyache. P also had two slices of luzerne and they both had a bucket of carrots, so they were very happy and soon settled down to scrunch-scrunch.
The OH and teenager arrived soon after and we had a jolly hour (not) driving around to find the mobile home that I had rented but finally we were settled in the dry and warm, listening to the rain and thunder with a glass of good red.
Saturday: up at 6am to check the boys and top up feed and water buckets, then a quick groom and queue up to pass the vet and farrier. The vet checked their microchips and papers and vaccinations - no horse can compete in anything here without all that - checked heart rate and had them trotted up, then the farrier branded one hoof to show they were adequately shod and feet were fine.
Then, clutching our 'pass' certificates we went in to the big top tent for breakfast, our route maps, goodies (including a much-needed umbrella) and the briefing. There was a twist this year: because we were going into an area of huge historical interest we had to find five marked places where there would be different patterned pincers to punch through our cards. The places were marked on our maps, but it meant you had to read your map as opposed to just thunder along following the markers. Then the pincers were off the piste, not far, but you had to look for them so you had to be absolutely certain of where you were. Now this was right up my street! And you would only be classed if you got all five. Yes!
We were told that the horse that set the bogey time was small (yes!!!!!!) and fast, so we were feeling very good.
We set off together at about 10.30am and P, stuffed with protein, was a little fizz-bomb. He became about 10ft tall and was prancing in a very Spanish way. R was a bit overwhelmed and was an angel. We walked out of the village, then had a long uphill trot and then, wallop, the first canter. Blimey, it was a hot one! P went all out - I had to work hard to keep his head up as he sooooooo wanted to buck and was made mad by all the thundering horses behind him (We were near the front of very nearly 200 horses).
We calmed down and the horses started to string out so I had a chance to have a look at them. I was surprised to see a lot of TBs etc - this is really not an ideal event for skinny legged horses. There were also a lot of pony clubs, a lot of cowboys and fewer than ever of the original competitors, the individuals who represent their own communities, like me and the teenager. I saw a few old faces and was glad to say hi.
We started to climb into the hills and it was hard going: stoney tracks but some magnificent views. We soon found the first of the 'pincer' places: they were things like borries or water cisterns hewn from solid rock etc, unbelievably beautiful and the woods were really pretty (not like the desert pinewoods we have here), more broadleaf woods, giving onto the odd lavender field sprouting out of earth the colour of blood or yellow as mustard. Really stunning.
We went up and down for four hours, often walking our horses over great sheets of limestone or slithering down shale paths and quite a few horses lost shoes and there were some who quite clearly weren't up to it. At one point R went sliding and lost his back end totally, sitting down, but luckily only nicked the skin on his hock.
We finally arrived at the stopover where we had to do our speed test and I'm afraid it all went wrong for me. We had been given the test on paper earlier and it was simple enough: a horseshoe shape with the slalom between the first and second jumps. But the actual test was different and it was stupid. You had a standing start with two strides to the first jump, a right angle left turn to the second (which was a nasty 80cm upright), then sharp right into the slalom. Very few horses were getting through it. R was fantastic: he is agile and sporty so he got over the jumps but then just could not make the turn into the slalom, knocking over a cone, but not too bad.
Unfortunately the whole thing was too much for P. He managed to get over the first jump but he needs a run at a jump and there just wasn't the room - after the turn there were only three strides and he was just not up to it. We refused twice then tried heroically the third time but just crashed through it. I was terribly disappointed but I could hardly be cross: it was my fault for not getting him going better but there wasn't the room for a horse like him and we were both tired. Never mind.
We steamed back to base and hosed off the horses - I've forgotten to say that despite the earlier monsoon, as soon as our butts were on the horses the sun came out and it was hot! I put sweat sheets on the neddies and gave them food, then headed off to our caravan-thingy where friends had turned up with vast quantities of food and rosé.
However, I was a bit worried as P had not drunk anything, despite being offered, and he's a rando horse, he usually drinks whenever there is a chance. Still, I faded early and went to bed, only to be woken at 3am by some folk nearby having a riotous party. I tried and tried to go back to sleep but I had a nagging worry ....
So, damn it, I'm out again at 3.30am, driving back to the boxes and am alarmed to find P lying down, with his hay mostly uneaten. At least he had drunk most of his water so I refilled it and gave him some more carrots and he heaved himself up and tucked in so I chucked in his luzerne to tempt him and left him a little later stuffing himself, so I felt better.
Sunday: I was a bit fragile and we missed the briefing and the vet and farrier and had to wait until everyone came back
. Still the horses were on form - R was starting to get over-excited, he just wanted to run everywhere and the teenager had to work really hard to stop him going up. Every upward transition was begun with a large leap forward, he just could not bear to let a horse get away from him in front.We set off into the ochre mining area and it was breathtakingly gorgeous but we made good time. P was really striding out , although R was jogging a lot, which is not funny when it goes on for five hours.
Again, we found that we were not in agreement with the marked paces on the map, although to be fair, the heavy rain beforehand had changed a lot of the terrain. But we simply would not trot downhill on rocky paths, although we found a good many more canters than marked (on the other hand you get penalised for going faster than the bogey time). There was one hairy one where P heard horses thundering up behind him and changed up gear from OK canter (slightly downhill too, normally a non-no for me) into wild gallop and I had to work hard to stick with him and then slow him before the control point. Another hairy moment was in mad gallop along the side of a field when something in the trees alongside spooked him and he leapt sideways into the muddy ploughed field where each canter stride was a sucking slurp. I though: oh bum, there go his shoes and his tendons ....
We climbed onto a ridge above the ochre mines, with amazing views on each side (the Luberon one side, the Lure and Ventoux the other) and then down into the mines, where great pinnacles of purple, crimson and orange ochre rose out of rose-pink earth - it was truly unforgettable.
We stopped for our lunchtime test, which was again the water test with a little baby 'jousting' and a chicane. Poor P was so thirsty that he wanted to drink the swimming water on top of the wine barrel where I had to pick up the jug of water so we lost points because we circled once. Despite his strop we did the slalom and I managed to put the jug back, upright, knocked over all the shields as hoped and did an OK chicane.
The it was just the mad dash for the finish. We pottered through some darling Provencal hamlets and then turned into the vineyards and just let rip. The final wild canter was about three kilometres along soft tracks and alongside vineyards, absolutely heavenly.
Then we walked the last bit but we have perfected our racing dismounts so managed to shave some seconds at the finish by overtaking some groups who were faffing about dismounting - we just pointed the boys and slid off, hitting the ground, literally, running.
The boys were tired but not knackered: they drank and nibbled as soon as their breathing was stabilised, then we hosed them off, checked them over, sheeted them up and they practically loaded themselves.
It was an uneventful trip back until we hit the lane to my house where the ruddy festival was finishing. The first few cars pulled over to let me through but then I met a bottleneck of about 30 and tempers flared. Eventually I was caught front and back and had no choice but to drive into a neighbour's garden, furious. The boy and I (the teenager stayed for the prizegiving) unloaded the horses and walked them home then walked back to find the neighbour a bit perplexed at finding my car and trailer in his garden.
He was nice though, and even reversed it round a corner back out of his garden on a very narrow driveway with a ditch on either side and I got the festival's nice security guards to stop the traffic for me so we eventually made it back, exhausted.
We didn't win any trophies although I think I might have been in with a chance: we were stopped at one point by the organiser who had arrived by helicopter after reports of someone falling. We got chatting and he was tickled pink by me being foreign and by the fact I had managed to get my village mayor to sponsor me after 10 years of boycotting the event. At the next control he took my name and competitor number, so the teenager was sure I was on line for the 'special'. I think I was too, to he honest, but eventually it went to a girl whose father was the local mayor. Hmmm.
We haven't got the final placements yet and will have to wait a few weeks for them while they are graded. I think we were fast on the parcours de regularité (the distance stuff, which was about 80kms eventually), but we could have been too fast. At least we found all five pincers, and I know quite a few people didn't. We were rubbish in the speed and handling tests so won't be anywhere in those and once they are all put together we could be placed pretty low. Who cares!
It was a brilliant weekend, fantastically organised as always and although we are on our knees with fatigue, we are very happy. The boys are a little slimmer but back in their paddock having some time off and eating their heads off, none the worse. ;D
If you can't be a good example -- then you'll just have to be a horrible warning.
Can't wait to see the photos. 
although as for the 'special', thats always the way of it isnt it?!
) and the boys have no puffy bits. Bit proud of them, I am!
thank you for that!!
for so much hard work we thank ye!!