Experience the ENDURANCE of Foundation Breeding
SHUT UP AND RIDE
ALSO KNOWN AS....SHUT UP & PLAY CARDS
The longest 13.5 hours of our horses lives began at 6:15 AM. We all arrived at the barn in a fine mood, chores went smoothly and quickly, everything was already packed in the camper so we were actually loaded in the trailer and leaving the driveway at 7:09 PM YEA! This was a most exciting trip for Connie who was finally going to feed us the frozen chicken meal she's had prepared since we went to LBL in April.
We cruised to the gas station and put our souls in hock to the devil to fill the gas tank ($116) and headed on our way. We were happy, laughing and carrying on. It was all great fun. The smokers in the cab, the non-smokers in the camper.
Now, let me tell you, Mr. Steel loaded on the trailer, smashed on all sides by GIRLS and was very well behaved. He was quiet and munching hay, even while we were stopped at the gas station. No stallion manner problems at all and this is his first real trip in the trailer.
Okay - things are going well until we get onto I-81. Now it's hilly, and the truck is acting badly on the uphills. Loss of power, feeling of depression and overall lethargic. This is not like my perky truck at all. In fact, it's very reminiscent of the situation we had earlier in the year at Fort Valley where the truck just up and quit working. Remember that? We spent $2200 and had the O2 sensors replaced and both catalytics replaced. She's been running like a dream since that time so this was really surprising me.
Up and down we go on I-81. Downhill, she runs great, up hill she's bogging, bucking and being bad (the 4 B's). We get onto I-80 and things start to look up, suddenly her power is back and she's not giving me troubles. Well, about that time a trucker pulls in front of me, flashing his lights, putting on his brakes, and generally being a pain in my ass. Now that I have power again, I find myself doing 50 mph down hill because of this trucker. Just about the time I'm ready to pull around him and give him the universal sign for "You suck" another trucker pulls along side me and starts beeping his horn. Okay - I used to drive truck, my dad drives truck, and I guess they're trying to tell me something. The truck in front of me pulls off the road and so do I.
Well, well, well. We lost a bale of hay to suicide. It leapt off the top of the camper and smashed itself all over the highway. The other three were looking in fear for their life as they bob and weave to avoid falling off the side of the roof because they were tied to the one that couldn't take it anymore. (funeral services for the dead bale will be held on Sunday at the old combine). Thank goodness those truckers were bale huggers, they saved the remaining three bales from a death more horrible than being eaten by a horse.
I sent Jen on the roof to tie them back down. I checked on the horses and Steel is STILL being a very good boy, quiet and munching on his hay, he isn't at all concerned that we're stopped on the side of the road while huge noisy monsters rush by, rocking the truck and trailer like a sail boat in a typhoon at high tide. What a good boy he is.
All is well and we get back on the highway. Truck seems to be running fine and we're making time again. Suddenly, another trucker pulls along side us and is clearing the pipes on his air horns. What the hell? I pull over again, sure that this time it's a trick to see four women scrambling in a chinese firedrill, but alas, the other three bales of hay were so distraught at the loss of their friend, they were busy untying themselves so they could commit that final leap to freedom. Good Grief.
I send Jen back up to the roof, but this time I follow her to make sure she uses boy scout knots and not brownie bows to tie the bales down. After I am fully satisfied with the results, to which I added a bungie and a chain, we set out again. I swear, we didn't get three miles down the road until Jen said the bales were escaping to freedom once again. Turns out she was just paranoid. I stopped for the THIRD TIME, the bales were securely in place and sticking their tongues out at us as if to say, "NA NA, fooled ya."
On the road again.
About ten miles later, I notice that the full tank of gas we started out with was 1/2 gone. WHAT??? That's not possible. And about the time I'm thinking that, the truck starts bucking going up a hill. Now, the bucking stops and the truck resumes it's original steady whine (what? this truck never whines?) I turn off the radio, roll down the window and stick my head out to hear what the complaining is all about. It's just some freakin' hills, for pete's sake.
Yep, not only is she whining, she's also starting to refuse to work up the hills. I see a sign that says Bloomburg Fairgrounds and I decide I should pull off and see what's going on. I pull into the TA truck stop and get out. My entourage of baby ducks (riders) follows me into the service center at the TA truck stop. I felt very weird taking my ducks out of water like that, but it couldn't be helped.
I ask the nice lady with the scary tattoos on her forehead and baby pins through her cheeks, if there is a Dodge dealer in the area. She looks at me dumbfounded for a moment and then says, "Gee, I don't know. Let's look in the phone book." (Praise the Lord, she can read.)
She looked and looked but couldn't find a Dodge dealer. I helped her only a little by turning the page from FORD to DODGE and she then managed to locate one not too far away from where we were. Ah, and she can write, too, because she put a pen to paper and wrote the phone number. At least, I think those were numbers.
So me and my groupies go back to the truck. A nice trucker with no teeth and who obviously didn't own any soap, stopped to tell me that my truck probably had a bad fuel filter. What I really believe is that when the fella leaned over the fender to peer mindlessly into the engine compartment, he curdled the gas and that was the problem.
The truck started right up, ran wonderfully with no trouble, 7 miles to the Dodge dealer. Using what little feminine wiles I had left after two harrowing hours in a truck gone mad, and that was after doing an hour of chores in a barn full of horses, I sweetly ask the service manager if he can help me out. The not-so-nice, green toothed hillbilly told me he didn't have enough techs to do the work he had scheduled and I'd have to go somewhere else. Hmmmm. I politely thanked him and asked him if he knew of a place in the area where I could take my ailing vehicle to get serviced. He actually took a full minute out of coffee break time to call a guy up the road and tell him I was coming to visit.
Once again, I climb into the cab and off we go. In the meantime, Steel is still being a very good boy. Quiet and behaved, happily munching on his hay.
We go two miles up the road to a small garage where I disconnected the truck from the trailer and had my crew of able minded women pull the horses off so they could mow the grass of the neighboring Sophie's Tiki Bar & Lounge. (No kidding). Again, Steel is acting like he's done this a million times. Regardless of the fact that his one polo wrap keeps coming off, he is very happy to eat grass. The whole situation was getting to be a little stressful and I forgot to leave a mowing and fertilizing bill with Sophie. If anyone sees her, please tell her I will send one in the mail.
This garage was full of wonderful men who were very helpful and very capable and very sorry they couldn't find a damn thing wrong with the truck. They ran diagnostics, calisthenics, acrobatics, and still could not find anything wrong. They test drove the remaining 1/2 tank of gas while hooking the truck to all kinds of crazy life support machines and the only thing they could find wrong was that the 02 sensors were dropping out for no apparent reason. They felt that I had a computer malfunction going on.
In the meantime, while I am enjoying myself watching grease monkeys proudly display their ass crack while bending over my soon to be dead truck, Steel was getting bored and wanted to do his own exercise program. This involves a lead-rope wrapped around Jen's leg, a dance on Connie's foot, and a three legged stretch to reach that piece of grass closest to the lady horse across the gravel driveway of Sophie's Tiki Lounge. Now he's starting to act like a young stallion. Whew. I was worried that the hauling experience had gelded him.
It's now 11:30 AM. The nice men at the garage filled the tank ($79) while they were out test driving all the gas out so I was all ready to go. While I was thoroughly enjoying the warm morning sun, I decided we needed to make a decision...continue on to the ride and pray, or turn around and head for home and pray. We all decided that we'd try to continue to the ride because if we got stranded there, at least we'd be in a different state and could say we did the ride and then we could all abandon our husbands and live in a camper with horses for the rest of our days. It was a grand plan.
Oh boy.
We hook back up to the trailer and load the horses. Steel is still being very good in the stock trailer with no partitions, surrounded by lovely spotted women. I'm very impressed with his manners. He hopped on, still in exercise mode, merely mowing Jen down with his enthusiasm to be on the road again. Image gave him the "I don't think so look." when he get beside her so he almost backpedaled it out and escaped.
Off we go into the ... what the hell???? 30 miles out and we're down another half a tank of gas. Man, at this rate, I'm going to be committed to debtor's prison and beaten to death by a man named Gus wearing a plaid shirt and coveralls. I can't believe this is happening to me. My Waltzing Matilda truck has NEVER let me down and how was I ever going to forgive her after this trip, I wasn't sure.
And now, the truck has stopped bucking and whining and is doing a full out scream. I pull off at the first exit that shows a gas sign and fill the tank. Again. ($66) I listen and listen to her whining and complaining but can't understand what she's so gretzy about. I figure we can head home and I'll take it easy and maybe she'll quit being such a baby about things and just get us to the barn. NOT!
5 miles later, we pull off the side of the road in agony of defeat. She has given up on us and isn't going any further unless we give her a full spa experience in a certified Dodge Dealer resort. You know, I think I have spoiled this truck in the five years I've had her. She is definitely getting on my nerves. Not only did she scream so loud she broke both eardrums, but she smelled really bad and I just gave her a bath so that was uncalled for.
We can only get the truck and trailer off the highway about a foot, and only on the wrong side of the highway (passing lane side) so we are in a very dangerous predicament. Fortunately for us, we were cruising downhill when she decided to take her nap, so I was able to coast her into a straight stretch of road where all the idiots could see us before they mowed us down. Unfortunately, there is an embankment that drops off and if I get too close, that camper is going to use it as an excuse to take a flying leap sideways and do some exterior decorating on the siding. I am not about to foot the bill for some silly whim the camper may have, so I use my best judgment about finding that fine line between sinking and sunk and get as far as I can from the hurling traffic of I-80.
It's now 12:55 PM and I start making phone calls to find a tow truck. Geez, did you know that there is a shortage of towing services that will pull a loaded horse trailer? I need to start my own business, it's a scandal that a country so rich in horseflesh is so poor in towing services for the equipment that moves them around. No-one wanted to bring out two vehicles to get us, so we were getting NO after NO after NO. Once fella even had the nerve to laugh at me so loudly, the remaining hearing I had in that ear is now gone forever.
I finally call the nice men and the nice garage that tried and tried to help me out earlier and ask if they have a towing service. Now they don't, but they know a nice guy that is an independent and isn't bound by corporate American rules and regulations so he will probably tow me and my horses somewhere safer than the middle of I-80. Yea! I get the number and I call.
OH NO! If the fella that answered the phone isn't named Billy Joe Bob, then he's very closely related to Billy Joe Bob. And he's hard of hearing (or maybe my cell service sucks out here in the middle of nowhere surrounded by mountains, but rather than admit THAT bit of news, we'll all assume he was hard of hearing.) After several yelling matches, I finally explain my situation to Billy Joe Bob. He asks how many horses on the trailer. Four. He asks what size ball on the trailer. 2" He asks again, incredulous that a four horse trailer has such a small ball, and I repeat that size doesn't matter, 2" is all we need to get the job done. At this point I am beginning to think that Mr. Bob might have ball envy because he's asks me a third time if I am absolutely certain I only need 2 inches.
He also says that his truck is out on another call and it will be a couple hours until he can get to us. No problem, we'll wait right here for him and promise not to stand him up. He is relieved to hear that. (On a serious note. This was a very nice guy who called me a couple times during our wait to make sure we were okay and to ask if we needed anything like water or food. He was very conscientious of our safety and needs and for that, we're very grateful to him.) After promising me to bring his cousin in a second truck for the horse trailer, he says he'll see me soon.
Okay, now to find someone to haul the trailer home. Everyone I know is either at work, at school or at the ride we were headed to. (sigh) I leave messages everywhere for Alec because I know Alec will come and bring the Expedition, he won't mock us for breaking down and he will not get lost when he is given "mommy directions" which include turning left at the hickory tree where Jenna fell and skinned her knees and then go about 10 miles as the crow flies and turn left at the intersection where the mad dog was run over three years ago by a kid on a moped. True to his nature (which is more similar to mine than he cares to admit) he is even able to stop and ask for directions to that hickory tree if his memory fails him.
Connie called Ken and left him a message that we changed our mind and were going to compete in a 151 mile BBTR (Bucking Bronco Truck Ride) instead and that he could expect her home before Thanksgiving, assuming the tow truck guy didn't lie about being there in a couple hours. I was hoping that Ken and her son Tim could come up in two cars, one with the Expedition, so we could travel on to the ride. Yes, I am ever hopeful that things will work out. Unfortunately for us, it appears that Ken was enjoying his day off from Connie and took full advantage of that to go up to the barn and spoil Motley while she couldn't complain about it.
Oh, and Connie calls Patti to tell her we won't make it to the ride. We got her answering machine, which leads me to believe that she won't hear the message until Sunday when she comes back home, but that was the only number we had for her. PATTI! If you read this, I'm sure you'll appreciate why we couldn't come try the trails when they weren't soggy from 12" of rain. We were looking forward to trying out the trails dry, but decided there was no challenge in that.....
Now that I think I have everything covered, I notice the tension growing in my groupies. Think, think. AHHHH!!!! I have cards in the camper, let's play cards. The horses were watered, but due to the high volume of traffic and the lack of control by most the drivers throwing road grit on us, I didn't dare take them off the trailer to walk around. I figured they'd only be one there another hour or two, they'd survive. Besides, they were enjoying the soothing rocking motion of the trailer as tractors blew by at 80 mph.
Four women, sitting in the grass playing rummy on the side of the road next to a trailer full of horses must not be an uncommon sight on I-80. Three police officers passed us and didn't even slow down let alone stop to see if we were okay. Most remarkable. Remember ladies, if you get strandedo n the side of the road, do NOT play cards as that is a common sight and people will assume you are okay and just relaxing for a moment.
At 3:15 PM, Alec calls me. He said he got out his armor and polished it up and was wondering if he had time to wash his white horse before coming to rescue us. I told him that grass stains were okay, just hurry. In the meantime, Marc is concerned that I will be coming home to ruin his weekend free of wife and calls several times to make sure the truck is ACTUALLY broke and not just tired and needing a small rest before we continue on the way to NY. Marc just started a new job, so I couldn't ask him to leave it and come rescue us...and this was a Friday game night so I couldn't tell four grown men they couldn't come over and play with Marc because I can't stand to see them cry. Besides, Alec already polished his armor, I couldn't disappoint him by letting Marc rescue us instead.
4 hours we played rummy sitting in the crispy grass on the side of I-80. We began to get a little tired of Jen cheating at cards and she's lucky that the tow trucks showed up at 4:15 PM because we were all ready to jump her, strip her naked and throw her out into the middle of traffic. It would be easily explained to a police man (assuming one actually stopped). We were playing strip poker, she lost and the humiliation was too much so she followed the example of the bale of hay and committed suicide. See? Easy!
Oh My God! All you single ladies out there, get in your car and come to Bloomsburg and break down. Billy Joe Bob is very cute, very friendly, owns his own business, is young and single and owns his own bar of soap and deodorant. What a find. He even has all his own teeth. And can carry on a conversation, I know because he likes horses and has a TWH gelding, he owns a new Dodge Ram with a hemi, and just bought his own farmette to keep his horse at home. (swoon) We could see his home from the highway and he pointed it out to me. GIRLS! It was neatly mowed and the house and barn were freshly painted white with red trim.
Now, I did explain to Billy Joe Bob that he needed to get over his ball envy and just bring along a 2". Apparently, like all men everywhere, he didn't believe the woman when she said size doesn't matter and he used the four hours we were waiting for him to quickly order an enlargement pill from the internet and feed it to his ball. He arrived with a 2 3/4" ball. And then, we found out he had to go get another one to fit the trailer because he was ball-less and doesn't keep his balls with him, and couldn't find his balls anyway. Poor fella. So off he goes to buy a new ball while his buddy hooks up the truck to the other towing vehicle.
While we waited for him to go BUY this new downsized ball, we get into a game of Go Fish. We find out that Karen cheats at this game and won every hand. We couldn't take the stress of losing Go Fish so we switched to playing Crazy 8. Of course, this is my ultimate game of cards and I know every cheat code for it, so I won. This stressed out my perfectly sane companions, so we decided to forget playing cards and just sit and wait quietly on our nap pads.
An hour later, Billy Joe Bob comes back with the right size ball, now more educated in the ways of women and he will never ever forget that when a women tells his 2" is better than 2 3/4", she really means it. I carefully explained the need to carry his balls with him at all times because one never knew when the balls would be needed. On a side note, knowing that I was totally without regard to size, he let me keep his 2" ball. I guess he preferred his 2 3/4" ball.
The drive back to the TA truck stop was uneventful. I'm glad we kept our all day passes and had our hands stamped when we were there at 11:30 AM, so we didn't have to pay admittance again. It's a wonderful place to spend a day with the family. They have all sorts of family designed activities including "Count your gas dollars" "Bless the Tow Man" and my favorite, "Peep into the trucker's shower room"
Alec and Ken show up, running a little late due to a detour they wanted to take through Bloomsburg Town Square to see if there really is a Santa Claus. Billy Joe Bob waited patiently with us until they arrived, and seeing that my son was capable and not a 15 year old snot nosed kid, he felt comfortable leaving us behind. I will always remember him because I have his towing receipt for $600.
BTW, in case I haven't mentioned it before, Steel is still mannerly and all four horses have been very patient standing in the trailer for 12 hours. They really impressed me.
So we transfer everything from the camper to the Expedition (try putting a full loaf of bread into a small tupperware and you'll have a good image!). Then, we stuff everyone into the left over spaces and tamp them down so they don't pop out. I see that the Expedition is low on gas, so I pull over to the gas pumps to fill the tank (again - $61). Seeing a Subway there, and knowing that the Expedition will be drinking for awhile, I send Alec in to the Subway to get me some real food. The veggie munchies and trail mix we consumed while sitting at our picnic were yummy, but did nothing for my rumbling hunger for meat.
We drive home, which took 1 hour and 45 minutes. I can't believe that's all the farther we were from home. Alec disturbed Ken, Connie and Karen with his more-than-loud music selections, but other than that, we arrive home safely and mostly sanely. I am glad we had a plnger handy to get the people out of the Expedition...otherwise, they'd probably still be in there. The horses came off the trailer with lots of hollering to the horses in the barn, I'm sure the stories they told were much better than ours. Numbers was ready to boogie. Reina was a little stiff. Steel had no sea legs left and was very unbalanced and Image acted like she's just been over the hill for a trail ride and back....remarkable, These Appaloosas never cease to amaze me in their understanding of situations and their patience.
And the moral of this story is....don't take Connie with you if she's bringing chicken.
Instructor/Manager: Dodie Sable
Located in New Smithville PA at 37 Fenstermacher Road, 3 miles north of Kutztown University
Call us at 610.756.3836 or email us at dodie@newpromisefarms.com