It's shorts weather and evening bike riding time again. A train had blocked the tracks on the road leading to town, so last night I decided to bike over to the fairgrounds. I was hoping something might be going on in the outdoor arena. Sure enough, as I pedaled closer, I could see at least a dozen rigs with horse trailers.
It was barrel-racing night, and the high-tech timers were set up in the ring. As families and friends of the participants sat scattered in small groups in the bleachers, an announcer called off names of the next rider along with those on deck. Like clockwork, each racer came through the in-gate, loped a few small circles and then started the pattern.
In some cases, it was hard to think of "racing" while watching a few horses lope leisurely around each of the three barrels, some taking extra-wide loops, ensuring they'd never get penalized five seconds for knocking down a barrel. The extra ground covered, however, more than made up for any five-second penalty.
After watching about three horses finish the pattern in just under 30 seconds, I figured this must be the beginning of the season, and they're just going through the motions to get a feel for the course.
The announcer called off a few more names. I recognized them from my own horse-show announcing experiences and knew they were more than competitive while participating in pleasure and equitation classes. It would be interesting to see if that same spirit drove them in the speed events.
Sure enough, they didn't disappoint. One rider on a short, stocky chestnut flew around the course, looking a lot like the barrel racers who almost took our breath away when we attended the San Antonio Rodeo earlier this year. A rider immediately afterward gave her a run for her money. Their times were down in the teens. I imagine the competition between these two throughout the season is going to be pretty hot.
The scene took me back to the days of our mare Ol' Largo. Adare's Countess Largo was a Saddlebred-Morgan, born in 1948, just a year after I was. Mother bought her from Dub Lewis and kept her in a lot behind our house on Euclid. The neighbors didn't like having a horse living in town so it wasn't long before Mother purchased the North Boyer farm where Largo could have a corral and fields for grazing.
When it came time to "break" or "train" Largo, Mother called upon Guy Hesselgesser who also had horses in town but neighbors who didn't care. "Hessie," as he was called, was an old horse trainer from way back. Folks in Sandpoint saw Hessie plodding along on a horse far more often than behind the steering wheel in a car. He was one of those perennials like Gertrude Racicot who looked the same for decades. They never changed.
Anyway, once Largo was trained, Mother started riding her in horse shows and in parades. She was a solid bay just like her father, Danny A'Dare, a purebred Saddlebred. The Racicots down the road owned Danny, and Catherine Racicot would always ride with Mother in the parades. They'd braid their horses' manes with green and white ribbons and use green and white matching coronas under their saddles. I don't know how many Fourth of July parades they rode in, but that used to be the highlight seeing them prance by.
Largo loved to run fast. By the time I got old enough to ride on my own, Largo was my mount. Mother had raised another mare named Cricket, so she turned Largo over to me with strict instructions not to run her on the roads. Well, Largo loved to run, and so did I. I had a friend who loved to run too. Her name was Susie. Once we were out of sight, we didn't always follow Mother's riding rules.
We took our horses to the old rodeo grounds on Baldy Road for our evening rides. And, we often put on our own spontaneous races. No barrels, no announcers, no audience. Just us and our two horses. Susie rode an ancient white gelding named Major. He had a long, slow stride, while Largo's full-blown racing mode was full speed ahead hitting the ground about four times to Major's one.
We'd take off at the starting gate and race opposite directions around the arena. Largo always won, and not because of her great rider. Largo won because she was a lot like my mother who owned her. She hated losing. Largo would kill herself before allowing herself to lose. Well, there was one time that I did lose against Susie. Largo didn't.
We blasted off on a hot race and Largo took a sharper-than-usual turn around one corner of the arena. I flew off head first, but Largo didn't care. She had to win, and she did. I'm still amazed to this day that I'm able to walk and talk, considering the speed she was going when I hit the ground. Largo could have cared less what happened to me.
I kinda miss the days of climbing on Largo and galloping through our back pasture like the Lone Ranger. Those were days of no fear. If I fell off, I simply moaned and groaned for a minute, gathered my body together and just got right back on. Nowadays, the thought of falling off spells certain doom for this well-worn body.
As I leaned on my bike and watched the speedier horses race around those barrels last night, I couldn't help but wonder if Ol' Largo were alive just how fast her time would be. It seemed, back then, like lightning speed and must faster than what I was watching.
But then, again, I remember how some people who were so imposing when I was little turned out to be kinda shrimpy when I saw them years later. Nothing like a convenient memory to enhance the visions of our youth.
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