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It seems as if morning has become tired of all the early rising, and now that the cooler nights have come to finger the curtains and lull us to sleep with the song of the cicadas, morning lies around in bed like the rest of us, reluctant to rise until the very last minute. The ponies are beginning to blow their summer coats, and put on some new, thicker duds for the coming winter. Libby has topped 12.2 hands, and is still growing -- all legs and youthful exuberance. Flag and Andy are being put to work in harness more that the last gasp of heat and humidity are rapidly becoming only memory, and my rides to keep Itch fit for the Renegade 50 coming up on the 22nd (---News Flash (9/23): We completed the ride in relaxed style for our first recorded 50 miles! Hooray! Had a super time, with Itch still well within the CRI standard for "fit to continue" at the end. As a matter of fact the next morning he was running around with his tail in the air, all jazzed and raring to go another 50 miles, as we watched the ECTRA riders starting out on their 25/30 mile competition. What a character!---) , and the Fort Valley 30/50 in October, are now happily mid-day with a warm sun at the zenith, and the world spread out around us like a rich, emerald feast.
It was just such a day that my endurance friend, Adrienne, joined me as I headed over the Blue Ridge towards the Shenandoah River. Adrienne had for years wanted to make the trek, and she brought along her marvelous 100 mile endurance horse "Chance" who will be competing at the AERC National Championships this month in Kentucky. Needless to say, it would be a "walk in the park" for Chance to make it to the river, and back home, in five hours.
In no time at all we had left my farm behind in the midmorning brilliance, and three miles later were trotting up the Old Mountain Road behind Trappe Hill, sidestepping the summer wash-outs from the heavy rains, and breaking back the overgrowth that had pushed it's way out into the path. With a minor walk halfway up to give the horses a breather, we finally crested the ridge reaching the paved Rt. 601 that ran along the top of the Blue Ridge between Loudoun and Clark counties.
Almost immediately we were heading downwards, back on the graveled road traveling the western side of the Blue Ridge towards the Shenandoah River, waiting until we reached the nice wide grassy margins alongside the route to roll along at a spanking trot and canter. As she enjoyed my monologue on the landmarks that had now become familiar to me, including the wonderful old stone schoolhouse (see last month's story) that now sported the beginnings of a second floor in progress, we kept up a good pace, making excellent time to reach the area where we were going to have to slow down and keep our eyes peeled for the location of an old path (shown as a dotted line) on our map that rambled cross-country towards the river, rather than compelling us to keep to the public roads.
As we trotted around one bend, Adrienne pointed out a wide path through the trees that seemed to be the very item we were looking for. Delighted with our luck, we plunged into the woods, happily trotting along until the path abruptly dropped us off into the middle of a machined clearing, directly below a massive new house that had been plunked on a hillock just above us. Undaunted, we wandered the perimeter of the newly scrapped land until we found what we hoped was a continuation of the path. I knew at that point we were less than a mile from the river.
To say the least, I was elated. But after fifteen minutes of following the delightfully wide path, we came to a screeching halt, astonished to find ourselves standing on a narrow precipice. In dismay we peered down the sheer walls all around us, unable to fathom how the path could just suddenly peter out of existence, ending without cause or explanation in a trackless scramble of impenetrable shrub and wilderness.
After attempting to worm our way through the unforgiving growth that promised that the plunge downward into the ravine would be no picnic either, we reluctantly turned and retraced our steps back to the new house to reconnoiter. After checking the time on our watches, the census of agreement was to follow the new driveway back towards the road and take the well defined, but less exciting, public road down to the river.
Still, the change in plan didn't take away from the excitement we felt as we rounded the final corner of the road -- and glimpsed the wide waters of the Shenandoah directly in front of us. A quick trot across the paved road that fed the summer traffic cruising the byways of the river found us on a wide, beautifully landscaped spot of land that rolled a carpet of sweet green grass right to a wide spit at the river's edge where a fallen tree beckoned us to sit a spell, and enjoy our lunch as the river drifted in a gentle currents by at our side. We laughed, delighted at our success, and jumped off the horses to hit our lunch bags.
We had made it to the river.
