With its massive chest and haunches, the cow stands there tense and flighty, looking more like a bull than a heifer. We’ve spent all morning searching for, driving, and blocking this brown cow and finally have her stopped and debating an open corral gate with her yearling. At exactly the wrong moment, the corgi sees that we’ve returned from the gather and comes bounding down from the trailer to join the fun.

“Amish, you dumb dog,” yells rancher Ed Hanks. “Get back!”
Amish cowers. The cow bolts, jumps a fence, and that’s that. Nothing could have stopped this frustrating scene from unfolding. Hanks is red with anger.

“I’m going to kill that cow,” he grumbles. This renegade cow has been giving him hell, evading him for two years. On another attempt the day prior, I’d seen her jump a four-foot fence like a deer.

“I never carry a gun when I gather cattle,” Hanks had casually remarked to me over his shoulder earlier as we rode across the northern Bradshaw Mountains. “I’d likely shoot a dog.”   There’s no doubt in my mind that Hanks, had he been armed, would have shot (or shot at) his beloved corgi this morning and possibly the cow, too.

Spend any time on a ranch, and you’ll quickly see that to earn a living, a cowboy needs to draw on a broad skill set—including self-restraint. He or she works the livestock market to buy low and sell high, farms hay, tracks animals, and repairs and maintains all manner of equipment: leather, metal, wood, and mechanical. Cowboys practice most forms of veterinary care, short of outright surgery, and deftly employ psychology to train and move animals. Perhaps not cosmopolitan, ranchers are savvy observers of nature, picking up chemistry (soil analysis), botany (the nutritive value of different feeds), and hydrodynamics (swales, berms, and ponds) to fit their land into—and maximize—an ecosystem.These were my essential impressions of Hanks. During the week I spent at the Arizona Cowboy College to, um, beef up my ranch skills, the guy showed himself to be overwhelmingly competent—an army of one. But boy did he have a temper.

Faced with a conundrum of ranching life, he’d spit his stock phrase before getting down to business: “What in the hell!?”
This morning, he regroups and continues sorting the cattle and newborns we’d gathered then sends us off to survey his lower pens and watering holes. When we return many hours later, Hanks is scratching his head before a corral. There stands the renegade cow’s yearling, bawling for its mother. It turns out the wild cow hadn’t bolted far, and Hanks had been able to quietly urge her and the yearling to join their friends.

“She jumped and got caught up,” he says, motioning to a pretzel of a panel. “Thought I was going to have to butcher her. Ran for my gun, but she was gone when I got back.”

Riding flank, Triangle M.

Americans are too fond of hamburgers to allow maverick cattle free passage. Hanks will eventually outsmart his livestock and win this game of patience and perseverance. But no one ever claimed that cowboying was easy, and that’s why I came. I’m a desk jockey by trade. Though my wife and I own five acres and a fledgling equine-assisted therapy business, my sensibilities are more computer than cow. The six-day Arizona Cowboy College is designed for people like me who want to go beyond the dude ranch. Call it cowboy boot camp. The trail rides here actually have a purpose, like gathering up cattle or counting cow-calf pairs. I’m a game enough ranch hand and can work a shovel and a post-hole digger and toss hay bales with the best of ’em, but this program expanded my field of view. It taught me to look beyond the task at hand and to respond better to the animals and land in my care.

Rocco Wachman and Lori Bridwell  run the Arizona Cowboy College from Bridwell Ranch near Scottsdale, Arizona, with a Wednesday to Saturday visit to Schmidt Ranch in Seven Springs, Arizona, serving as the final exam. (Hanks’ Triangle M ranch is no longer in regular use.) A cowboy evangelist of sorts, Wachman hosted the program Cowboy U for six seasons on Country Music Television, for which he once rode a horse under the spinning blades of a helicopter. He has appeared on the Biggest Loser with Dr. Oz, where he lost 51 pounds, and occasionally serves as a personality or speaker at various events, like the 100-year anniversary of the Oklahoma Land Rush at the Flying W Ranch in Sayer, Oklahoma.

“Train a horse, and you’ll quickly learn to never ignore bad behavior. Or you might as well be rewarding it,” he tells me in one of our first encounters. A former grocer from New York, Wachman had a come-to-Jesus moment 20 years ago when his grocery chain moved him to the Phoenix area and a friend got him into riding. By training a horse, he was himself trained to listen and learn in an entirely new way. He was a changed man. These days, Wachman signs his emails: “The cowboy knew his life had a purpose. It was a gift from God to be steward of the land, livestock, and the people he loved.” It’s a sentiment fully expressed at the college and in his book, Cowboy: The Ultimate Guide to Living Like a Great American Icon (Harper Paperbacks, 2010).

“Cowboying is not a job, it’s a state of mind,” he likes to say, and from day one Wachman had us doing barn chores and practicing ranch safety. “I need to teach you, so I don’t get hurt.”
For three days, we rode slalom around saguaros and learned to shoe and care for horses. (“Any chance I can get to practice my craft,” is another of his sayings.) Then six of us, four clients and two instructors, set off for the hills in a Ford 350 Powerstroke, hauling a six-horse trailer stuffed to the gills with four leggeds, tack, camping gear, and food. Air conditioning on full blast, we roar out of the Phoenix basin and climb from 2,500 to 4,500 feet near Prescott.

As we cross the Agua Fria River, Wachman melodically recites one of his favorite poems, Sancho, by R.W. Hampton: “In the Arizona desert where the tall saguaros grow; Where the Purple Bradshaw Mountains rise and the Agua Fria flows; Down in a lonesome sand wash where no man should ever go; A buzzard picks the sun-bleached bones of a horse that I called Sancho…”

Lashes the horse at sunset.

My first sight of Hanks is of a wiry man bent to his work, shoeing a rank mare.

“What ya doin’?” Wachman asks playfully, jumping out of the truck.

Usually quick with a glib response, Hanks smiles and shakes his head but recovers quickly, “Well, I could have shaved with the old ones,” he says. Ask him how he slept, and he’ll say, “lying down.” Or how he feels? “With my hand.” Or where he wants that salt block? “On the ground.”

Not long after we unload the animals and set up camp, Hanks comes over to visit. Wachman gives him a new rope as a thank you for having us, and Hanks deftly spins it through his hands, feeling its weight.

“Does it catch?” he asks. Hanks can go weeks without seeing anyone but his wife and a neighbor or two, so he’s delighted to have company. We get to talking about the wisdom of breeding older mares for the first time. (A bad idea, unless you’re planning to breed her several times. A mare’s first and last foals are typically her worst.) He speaks in the measured, thoughtful way of someone who has all the time in the world. We spend the next three days horseback six to eight hours a day, gathering with Hanks. His 30-acre spread and 36,000-acre lease is steep and rocky. He had to spend his first year on the property hauling water, installing watering troughs, and repairing many, many miles of fence.
John, one of the college’s clients, displays the “when not if” axiom about riders eventually falling off their horses. A wandering mind and an unfriendly tree branch had knocked him on his butt.

“Are you hurt?” Hanks calls back.
John would never have answered “yes” to this cowboy, even if he’d broken his femur. Remounted, we ride on and “mash rocks” and “bash brush” past Indian ruins and blooming cacti to survey the cattle. Hanks pulls a tiny notepad from his breast pocket whenever he sees one.

“If I see a bull a few times without cows, he’s gone,” he says. Hanks grew up in Boulder County, Colorado, and has been ranching all his life. His father ran cattle, too. It’s in his blood. He was even an extra in a Western, the Father Keno Story.

“You’ve got to farm what you see,” he comments about working with nature, perhaps harkening to his Indian ancestry. Hanks has Hopi blood from his mom’s side and Cherokee from his dad’s. He smokes a steady stream of Marlboros, of course, and likes to point out “bald-headed crows” (Bald eagles).
Rocco and his string boss, Elaine Pawlowski, meanwhile, carry cell phones, which they answer regularly. When your office is a saddle, you make due.

“The fastest way to move a cow is slow,” says Hanks. “Otherwise, all you do is chase.” And work the weight off them. He’s also adamant that ranching benefits the desert.

“Cattle improve watering holes,” he insists. “Their hoofs aerate the soil and promote plant growth.” Who else is going to care for all this acreage? The BLM could never pay staff to do what ranchers oversee themselves on the nation’s hundreds of millions of acres of public land.

In the evenings, we practice roping. (Pawlowski, a former Chicago firefighter, dismisses my technique: “You throw like a girl.”) Come nightfall, we sit around a fire corralled in an oil drum and nestle the cowboy microwave (aka Dutch oven) into the coals. The stories meander, as we ogle the constellations in the darkness.

Back in Scottsdale, Wachman takes me to the Scottsdale Gun Club, a nondescript box store in an ocean of air-conditioned  malls. The clothes and home décor you might have expected inside have been replaced by a deadly arsenal. I’m asked to watch a five-minute safety video then handed a 45-mm Magnum revolver, ammunition, and ear protection and pointed to the indoor shooting range.

To my left, a young woman in a tank top and flip flops fires an array of weapons with her boyfriend. To my right, a small child fires his rifle with an instructor. I raise a handgun for the first time in my life and fire booming reports at the human-shaped target.

“You’re a natural,” Wachman encourages and gives me tips.

He holsters a loaded Ruger Vaquero .45 Colt at all times and brought a cannon-like Smith & Wesson AR15 to the Triangle M. “It’s a matter of principle,” he explains.

The funny thing about Wachman is that he’s a cowboy by choice, not birth. This former New York grocer is particularly keen for the Cowboy Way, because it’s given him so much. He believes whole-heartedly that nothing could be more natural—more American—than to re-imagine yourself and make a better life. That’s the promise of the West: new beginnings.
Describing the cowboy’s lot in life, Wachman says: “Failure is not an option.” No one pays a rancher for effort. He must deliver sound cows. Period. Successful cowboys show results. The rest quit.

For my part, I can now rope my dog with ease, and I can fork a horse long after it has stopped being comfortable. Though I’ll likely never be faced with producing livestock to survive, the time I spent in Arizona taught me not to be a nuisance on a ranch and to perhaps lend a hand—better than Amish the corgi, at least.

For first time in the event's history, the Adequan/FEI North American Junior & Young Rider Championships, held at the Kentucky Horse Park and presented by Gotham North, played host to the North American Young Rider Endurance Championship. The North American Young Rider Endurance Championships included both CEI2* and CEI4* divisions which were completed yesterday, and team medals were presented today in both divisions.

CE14*
In the CEI4* divisions, Team USA took home the Gold medal after accruing a collective ride time of 25 hours, 25 minutes, and 31 seconds at the Kentucky Horse Park.  The young rider team was made up of Lindsay Bean and Tektonic, Devan Horn and DJB Sameill, Kyle Gibbon and Missu Koran, and Kelsey Russell and My Wild Irish Gold, who successfully negotiated the 75-mile track of the Kentucky Horse Park despite the intense heat and humidity of the Kentucky summer.

Individually in the CEI4*, Russell took home the Gold, Bean the Silver, and Gibbon the Bronze.

"I just took it slow and easy," Florida-resident Russell said. "I tried to let the horse pace themselves because they're good at knowing how fast they can go."

"They were really nice trails, really well marked," she said, adding that although the grass was "a little slippery," she used a combination of Renegade boots and mud nails to gain traction.

Russell was able to preserve "Irish" well throughout the course and by the end, the horse still had enough steam to give Russell a memorable finish: "We trotted all the way until the last turn and then cantered around the last turn. There were horses behind us, and the horses just wanted to race, so we let them."

She also explained that leading up to the 75-mile ride, she used other competitive rides to prepare, as well as lots of walking and hill work in warm temperatures to build up Tektonic's endurance.

The rolling hills of Kentucky were also a change of scenery for Vermont-resident Gibbon, but he enjoyed his ride through the Bluegrass.

"It was a really pretty course...nice scenery," he said. "[The track] was really well marked; there was no way to make a wrong turn. That gives you a lot of confidence for the course."

Team USA Wins the CEI4*

Photo by SusanJStickle.com

Gibbon said in preparation for the NAJYRC, he and Missu Koran have been competing on a regular basis and did a few 100-mile rides, but interspersed adequate rest and some interval training for a rounding training program.

Also in the CEI4* division, Tektonic received the Best Conditioned Horse Award, which was decided earlier this morning.

CEI2*
In the CEI2* class, the Team Gold medal was awarded to Team USA Northeast A, whose collective ride time totaled 25 hours, 40 minutes, and 57 seconds. Team members included Bean and Tektonic, Gibbon and Missu Koran, Forest Green and LR Amana Tabi, and Steven Hay and Khalil Asam.

"[The track] was easy to follow," Hay said. "The heat was a big deal. It required smart riding."

The Team Silver was awarded to Team USA Southeast with a collective ride time of 25 hours, 49 minutes, and 19 seconds. Riders included Russell and My Wild Irish Gold, Mallory Capps and Precious Beaunita, Mary Kathryn Clark and DA Al Capone, and Cassandra Roberts and SA.

Capps said that the heat influenced how the competitors cooled their horses out after each loop, and also the pace at which the ride was completed.

"We did lots of electrolyting and lots of ice water," she explained. "People took it slow. Usually we have faster times but we had a lot of people go slow."

Team USA Wins the CEI2*

Photo by SusanJStickle.com

Unfortunately for Capps, the heat was too much to handle: "The ride was too hard for me and the horse, but the one loop was nice. It was out in the sun and you just get pounded with heat all day long."

Conversely, Roberts said that her horse handled the heat well and that she enjoyed riding the well-marked trails.

Finally, Clark said she used a heart monitor during the ride to keep close tabs on her horse's heart rate. She also said, like many other competitors in the ride, she used a cell phone to keep in touch with her crew during her ride.

"I used a Bluetooth headset," she explained, adding that her crew called regularly "to check in, see how the horse is doing, and know what they have to have ready" for when she arrived from a loop. She also said she kept in touch with the team veterinarian throughout the ride and updated them on Al Capone's condition.

"That helped a lot," she said.

Individually in the CEI2*, the Gold medal was awarded to Sophia Bashir from Team USA Central and Dazed and Amazed, the Silver was presented to Roberts, and the Bronze to Hay.

Bashir, a Texas native, traveled to Virginia to train with Dazed and Amazed with lots of "fast walking in mountains and hills and intervals." Additionally, she was pleased with how her horse handled the heat.

"He handled the heat well," she said. "The first loop was better because it was cooler. We started slowing down throughout the day. I tried to keep a consistent pace and that seemed to help us out."

Bashir added that this competition was her first 75-mile ride, and that while she isn't sure what she'll do next, she'd like to continue and try a 100-mile ride.

Sir Valient, who represented Colombia in partnership with Camilo Andres-Villa, received the Best Conditioned Horse Award in the CEI2* division.

For more information, visit http://www.youngriders.org.

For photos, videos and more, visit USEFNetwork's NAJYRC page at: http://www.usefnetwork.com/featured/NAJYRC2011.

I'm glad I permanently removed my horses' shoes a few years ago. Since then, I've learned a few things about helping my horses transition to barefoot trail riding.

A horse saddle switch that I made at the same time was well-intentioned, but off the mark. (See "Limping Along," Cactus Country, September/October '05.) The horse saddle problems were detected and soon corrected, although it required professional help and a new saddle. Here's an update.

Bare Facts
My decision to remove my horses' shoes was based on saving money, improving the structural health of their legs and feet, and avoiding losing a shoe on the trail.

My tough little mare, Natalie, never needed any hoof protection after her shoes were pulled. My 2-year-old gelding, Clementino, has never worn shoes; he just gets his hooves trimmed. I pony him several times a week on rocky trails - proof that it's easiest to condition a young horse for a lifetime without shoes.

My other two horses, Porcelana and Alegro, have presented challenges in their shoeless transition. When their shoes came off, they walked gingerly, just as you'd do if you've always worn shoes then tried to walk barefoot on rocky ground. Alegro showed signs of soreness, as detected by my equine body worker. (See "Aches and Pains," Cactus Country, May/June '06.)

Both horses needed hoof boots. Courtney Vincent, who trims my horses' hooves, helped me fit Porcelana and Alegro with front-feet boots - horses don't usually need boots on the back feet. (Courtney has trained with natural-hoof-care pioneer Pete Ramey of Hoof Rehabilitation Specialists.) But I feared that the boots could be difficult to apply and remove, and might fall off during a ride.

Last spring, Courtney encouraged me to try the Renegade, a new boot in the testing stage. (Visit the company's website for product-release details.) This boot is easy to apply and has never come off during a ride. I keep a rubber EasyCare Comfort Pad in the bottom of each Renegade boot for extra cushioning to help prevent soreness.

Courtney also recommended that I put down several inches of pea gravel in my horses' stalls, and provide more turnout time for them on bedding sand/gravel. According to Robert Bowker, VMD, PhD, professor of anatomy at the Michigan State University College of Veterinary Medicine, gravel helps hooves adapt to being without shoes.

Saddle Switch
Since Alegro was still sore on rides, even with hoof boots, Courtney suggested I contact Carol Grubb, who's based here in Tucson. She specializes in saddle-fitting, and her own horses are shoeless. She traced an outline of each horse's back, then asked me to saddle each one.

I'd already purchased two saddles that I thought would better fit my narrow-backed Paso Finos. Although my purchases were well-intentioned, Carol demonstrated to me-by pressing on the saddles against their backs, then observing how the horses moved under saddle-that the new saddles didn't fit well and were causing soreness.

She recommended an inexpensive, lightweight, Cordura-nylon Western saddle, with full Quarter Horse bars, from Big Horn Inc. (One online distributor for Big Horn saddles is Horse Saddle Shop, www.horsesaddleshop.com. But you can find other sources via Internet?search engines. Also, check out?your?local tack store.)

I also acquired special pads to put between the saddle and saddle blanket to help cushion Porcelana, a former broodmare whose spine is like a ridge along her back.

Carol cautioned me not to buy a saddle with a seat bigger than 15 inches, because my horses aren't big enough to carry the weight of a person requiring a larger seat size. Veterinarians say that, in general, a horse can comfortably carry 15 percent of his body weight; a horse's conformation, bone structure, and condition may affect this rule-of-thumb percentage.

With an equine weight tape, I determined Alegro weighs approximately 970 pounds; 15 percent of 970 is 146. I subtracted 20 pounds for tack, leaving 126 pounds. I weigh less than this, so the Big Horn saddle works perfectly.

Saddle-Fitting Clinics
Carol Grubb offers saddle-fitting clinics based on research conducted by BALANCE International in England. This research focuses on saddle design and a saddle's impact on a horse's health, soundness, and natural movement. BALANCE representatives tour worldwide with information relevant to all riding disciplines; however, it doesn't demonstrate Western trail saddles.

Trail riding-and traveling to trailheads and horse camps to ride on trails-are relatively new activities. Yet trail riding has fast become the most popular equine activity in the country. Along with its evolution is a steep learning curve. There are very few authorities in the field, no absolute rules to follow, and no one judging your performance.

To stay safe, we need to take responsibility for ourselves and the way we ride, and to be cognizant of how our actions affect other trail riders. This is especially true on group rides.

Here's why: Over the years, we've improved our riding skills, training techniques, and communication between rider and horse. We've honed our individual abilities and our horse's skills to an incredible level.

However, when you're in a group setting-whether with a few friends or on a large, organized ride-everything changes. When individual riders get together for a group ride, folks generally don't ride as a group-they ride as individuals in a group setting.

Many riders are oblivious of how their behavior-and that of their equine friend-impacts others in their group. This lack of awareness can lead to problems not present when riding alone on home trails.

For instance, horses that are normally well-behaved on the trail may suddenly turn into a renegade when riding with other horses. His quiet demeanor can fly out the barn window when he's following a more energetic horse. This lively behavior, good or bad, seems to rev up even the calmest equine trail partners.

Then there's the ride back to camp. The one in which the riders say they're in complete control as they go racing back to the trailer. We've all seen them; they're the ones with fear in their eyes and a death grip on the saddle horn, as others are left to try to control their horses in some sane manner.

Here are a few tips to help you, your horse, and others stay safe on group rides.

•Be considerate. Be aware that other riders may be less experienced than you are. For example, if you want to pass another rider, approach her slowly, and ask her whether passing would be a problem.

•Stay at a walk. If you take off on a dead run with no warning, all the horses behind you brace themselves for the enemy you're surely fleeing. If you whiz past horses in front of you, they figure there must be a predator nearby, so they'd also better run for their lives. Stay at a walk at all times. And don't let your horse take you back to camp at his speed. If this is a problem for you, work with him on your home trails to correct his barn-sour behavior.

• Increase your skill level. Some horses may kick, bite, buck, jump, and otherwise behave badly when they find themselves in the midst of strange horses under new circumstances. No matter how tractable your horse may be on home trails, learn how to bring him under control, should he act up in a group.

• Condition your horse. If your horse isn't used to riding long distances over difficult terrain, he's at a higher risk for illness or injury than a more prepared horse. He might colic, tie up, overheat, etc. Before a long group ride, condition your horse. Learn to take his vital signs (temperature, pulse and respiration, gum color, and gut sounds), so you know what's normal for him. Right before you leave on a ride, make sure he's physically ready. (For a checklist, see "Is He Ready to Ride?" Safe & Sound, September/October '04).

•Check his hooves. Before you embark on a ride, check your horse's shoes and/or hoof condition. (For specifics, see "7 Secrets to Hoof Health," Safe & Sound, July/August '04.) Be sure to carry a temporary hoof boot on the ride in case your horse loses a shoe or injures a hoof and learn how to use it.

	On the trail in Big Sky country. © Donnelle Oxley

Raising a posse-sized cloud of dust, I stood in the stirrups of my western saddle, jammed my Australian bush hat lower over my eyes and gave Grey Wolf his head. This was his turf; he could make the decisions. Through a blur of sagebrush I glimpsed rough ground and gopher holes - and decided not to look down again. Fanned out around me were eight other riders in full gallop and whooping with delight.

We finally reached the top of a ridge and stopped, our horses stamping and blowing from their run. Grinning, I caught my breath, taking in the pungent smell of crushed sage, and looked around. In every direction lay hundred-mile vistas of sky and open country unmarred by power lines, buildings or roads. After a bit of excited chatter, we all fell silent, each of us caught in our own thoughts.

As a youngster growing up horseless in the Southeast, I had pored over Western Horseman magazines and dreamed of galloping through sagebrush on a spirited cowpony. I saw every western movie twice and was inordinately proud of having the same first name as Roy Rogers' wife, Dale Evans.

This western fixation lasted until I was about 17, when I discovered the joys of English-style riding and jumping. I went on to devote more than two decades to training and showing hunters and jumpers professionally, with no regrets.

Then an invitation to a week-long ride in Wyoming revived the latent cowgirl in me. Here I was at last, galloping through the sagebrush on a pretty gray Arab. It had taken most of a lifetime, but I was finally living my dream.

My friend and I chose this particular ride because it was for women. Having participated in women-only sailing trips, we anticipated that the group dynamics would be very different than if we were on a co-ed ride. Women tend to "let their hair down," literally and figuratively, in the absence of males. Comfort becomes the main criteria for dress and hairdos. Women "bond" quickly and conversations are often intimate and candid. Quite unlike a group of men, they are more likely to be supportive of each other rather than competitive.

Even though it was a women-only trip, the outfitter made it clear that this was no beginners' ride. It would be geared to riders with enough experience to canter comfortably and manage six hours a day in a western saddle over rugged terrain. Our accommodations would be basic -- tents and sleeping bags -- but with gourmet meals from a well-equipped chuckwagon.

Wyoming, the "Equality State"
The location of the week-long ride was also a deciding factor - the wild and beautiful Big Horn Basin of Wyoming. Wyoming was a symbolic location for the ride, having been the first state to give women the right to vote and own property in a marriage. Our wrangler and cook had anecdotes to tell us about pioneer women of the "Equality State," from "soiled doves" (prostitutes) to missionaries to the country's first female justice of the peace. We would be riding in an area once frequented by women such as the legendary Calamity Jane, a consort of Wild Bill Hickock; and Wanda Savage, a turn-of-the-century sharpshooter and movie stuntwoman.

Our group of eight arrived in Lander, Wyoming, from different directions, with different equestrian backgrounds, and different expectations. For the sisters who lived on opposite coasts, it was a splendid reunion and a chance to ride again after many years. Two of the Californians, a teacher and a banker, spent most weekends as mounted park rangers, but wanted a change of scene. Also from California was the nursing instructor, recently widowed for the second time and hoping to renew her damaged spirit. The intensive care nurse from Wisconsin, who graciously accepted the nickname "Garbo," sought time alone, but not too far from our companionship. My Virginia friend and I were looking for adventure in the company of like-minded women.

	Passing through a ranch in the Wind River region. © Donnelle Oxley

We met our horses at the end of a gravel road that was once the main wagon trail into the Big Horn Basin. Bound on the south, east and west by the forbidding Wind River Mountains, the huge bowl was one of the last places in the state to be settled. (To my East Coast eyes, country where main roads are gravel is still wonderfully unsettled.) We spent the afternoon getting acquainted with each other and our mounts, and spent our first night in the teepee-style tents.

I woke early, my body still on Virginia time, and tied back the flap of our tent to watch dawn bring up the house lights. Our camp occupied a spectacular spot atop Cottonwood Pass, higher than the rest of our immediate world, with a dark smudge of mountains on the far horizon.

Backlit by a salmon-colored sky, our wrangler moved quietly among the horses. We had warmed quickly to her for her horsemanship, her humor and her easygoing nature - critical elements in a person responsible for showing us a good time while keeping everyone safe. She had grown up in Texas, but put her riding on hold to earn an art degree and go climbing in Nepal before settling down to wrangling "dudes" like us. Having an educated, sensitive woman as our wrangler enhanced the experience, whereas a male would have caused us to temper our mildly risqué remarks and fireside confidences, not to mention our skinny-dipping when we camped by water.

With the first scents of coffee and bacon, the camp stirred. Women's voices rose on the air, culminating in a "Come and get it!" from our cook. I grabbed my hat, straightened my bandana and, as an afterthought, tossed my wristwatch into my duffle bag.

Clustered around the breakfast table, we forked scrambled eggs and peppers into tortillas with unladylike gusto. Our cook wrought culinary magic in the back of her motorized chuck wagon, and hauled all of our gear. When we rode into a new camp at the end of each day, our tents and the portable john were set up, and hors d'oeuvres and chilled wine were waiting. Dinners ranged from beef burgundy, barbecued chicken and stir fry to grilled steaks, all with lots of creative side dishes and fresh blueberry pie or cheesecake for dessert. Hopes of losing weight on the ride were dashed early on.

	Wrangler Belinda Daugherty visits with a sheepdog at the edge of camp. © Donnelle Oxley

On the Trail

Every morning we rolled our lunches into raincoats, tied them behind our saddles, and rode out. There was no agenda and no real schedule beyond getting to our next camp in time for dinner. We stopped to explore old agate mines (depressions in the ground with shiny bits of agate poking through the dust), and sagging settlers' cabins with bits of broken furniture and pottery, and the occasional rose bush persevering among the wild flowers. We sometimes lingered over lunch in what had been someone's front yard, and pondered what it would be like to live here, miles from other people.

The August sun was hot, but the air was so dry that perspiration evaporated before it had a chance to be sticky. I was grateful for my chapstick and the canteen of tepid water tied to my saddle horn. I poured a little on the bandana around my neck, feeling ever so cowboy-ish, and pulled my hat lower over my eyes. (I had refused to wear sunglasses like some dude, and had assumed a parody of a Clint Eastwood squint.)

The western saddle grew familiar and comfortable, as did Grey Wolf's stride, the short but smooth motion of an Arab crossbred. He also had the fire of his breed and a penchant for tossing his head, but I forgave him that. His mouth was light and he moved over rough ground like a dancer.

The other riders adjusted quickly to their mounts, too. All of the horses were lively but well-mannered, the sort you could drop your reins on without fear. And surefooted! Over eons, water had carved the plains into deep draws and steep, rocky cliffs which our horses took in stride, walking along the edge of precipices as if they were strolling through a park. We followed more than one trail that was little more than a foot-wide groove cut into a 45-degree slope. Without hesitation our horses tucked their haunches and slid down into ravines, then scrambled up the opposite side as we grabbed mane and let them have their heads. When we reached open plains, the horses seemed to enjoy a good gallop as much as we did.

To save our horses' energy, we often moved at a walk or easy trot under a huge blue bowl of sky. We passed herds of cattle and sheep, and antelope sometimes skittered away at our approach, but the gophers that dug all the holes seemed to be vacationing elsewhere.

	Wrangler Belinda Daugherty during a lunchbreak on what seemed like the edge of the world. © Donnelle Oxley

Wyoming - and Ourselves - Unveiled
We talked constantly when the going was easy, riding two or three abreast, always with Garbo off to the side like an outrider watching for Indians, and silently vanquishing her own demons in her own way.

The intensive care nurse brought us to tears with her story of losing two husbands - real soulmates -- to lingering illnesses. "I can't believe I told you my life story," she said afterwards. "I've never really talked about it before, but now that I have, I think perhaps the healing has started."

We discovered an incredible coincidence in the group - three of the women had been young children in Pearl Harbor during the Japanese attack, and shared vivid memories of the experience.

We talked about our horses, cats, dogs, husbands, children, houses and jobs; favorite books and movies; our fears; our vision for the world and ourselves. We talked until I felt that we had fast-forwarded from casual acquaintances to lifelong friends, and that our lives had been enriched in the process.

We rode all of one day in a constant dusty wind that whipped words from our mouths and caused us to ration the water in our canteens. When we arrived at our camp on Battle Mountain, we found the portable john tied to an old post. It had blown over twice - unoccupied, fortunately. Our tents flapped and rumbled just yards from a precipice overlooking Badlands-type terrain. A tribe of Indians had been massacred by the cavalry on this spot, and I heard their ghosts that night in the howling wind.

As the days passed, we became accustomed to the terrain and the 150-mile vistas, and began to notice small things. Along the trail grew Queen Anne's lace, yarrow, and tiny wild blue astors, daisies and buttercups. Sometimes our horse trod on wild mint, and the scent rose to blend with the smell of sage. We skirted dished out areas - ancient buffalo wallows where the great beasts had once taken dust baths.

On Lightning Ridge the skeleton of a mother antelope and her baby lay beside the trail. We speculated about the balance of nature and imagined pioneers pausing beside human remains on their journey west. Descending into a green valley, we tied up our horses and climbed a cliff face to examine ancient petroglyphs. In the shelter of an overhang, the drawings of horses and men seemed as clear as the day they were drawn. I wondered whether they had some solemn significance or were simply the work of children killing time on a hot summer's day.

After a particularly dusty day on the trail, three of us hiked to a small watering hole to skinny-dip. I noticed a white ring around the sides where the water had receded, but realized too late that it was caused by alkali. By the time we got back to camp, the water had dried white on our skin and our hair stuck out like broomstraw, much to the amusement of our cohorts.

The next night we camped by a real swimming hole on the Nowood River and swam in a cold pool of mountain water beneath bluffs of red sandstone. I was inclined to explore the caves in the cliffs until I learned mountain lions lived there. That night we sang songs around a campfire as a full moon rose over the lip of our canyon. The next morning we learned that the cook had been awakened by the smell of coyote during the night, and watched a pair wander through camp looking for scraps. Our lunch break the following day was on the brink of Deep Creek Canyon, where colorful, sheer walls plummeted 1,000 feet to an unseen river. When we mounted up to leave, I again gave Grey Wolf his head. He calmly followed the narrow path that lay perilously close to the edge. For a while I forgot to breathe.

That afternoon we raced a storm rolling dark and thunderous across the plains, shot through with bolts of lightning. The ground seemed to open before us, and we dropped down into the shelter of a small canyon carpeted in thick grass and shaded by aspens. It was the sort of place we'd usually explore, but the rain made us hurry on to reach camp at the bottom of Cherry Creek Hill. The storm rumbled through quickly, settling the dust and leaving a sunset as brilliant as the roaring fire we built to chase the chill.

I said my goodbyes to Grey Wolf the next day. The others did the same, and we all tried not to show how attached we'd become to our horses - and each other. Our wrangler put our feelings into words: "People from different jobs and different lives find themselves on common ground here. We're not so different. We all have ties to the planet that nurtures us and when we get back to the land we find that life is really simple. We all want the same things--to eat, sleep and ride a good horse."

Before dinner I had rescued my watch and put it on, not missing the symbolism of the act. There were planes to catch and deadlines to meet in my real world. But for a time I'd lived my childhood dream. Best of all, I knew I could do it again anytime I wanted to fly to Wyoming--and leave my watch behind.

When you go

Wyoming's climate can fluctuate from the high 80s to the 40s, so take a lightweight down jacket or vest. If you're sensitive to the sun, pack long-sleeved cotton shirts and sunscreen. By mid-morning I usually shucked my long-sleeved shirt and rode in the sleeveless t-shirt I wore underneath. Rainfall is only 12 inches a year, but take non-bulky rain gear just in case. Don't forget your bathing suit.

Outfitters usually provide tents and thick foam pads; guests bring their own sleeping bags and towels.

Helmets are not required on most Western rides, and most of us rode in cowboy hats or baseball caps for protection from the sun. Make sure your hat has a cord so it won't blow away.

Water on the trail is a necessity, but don't buy one of those western canteens. They look good, but it takes two hands to hold one and remove the cap, and the water tastes metallic. A large biking water bottle is ideal for one-handed drinking and is easy to tie to the saddle horn.

A fanny pack is handy for carrying small items such as sunscreen, lip balm, eyedrops, a pocket knife, or a bit of string in case something breaks.

By all means, pack light. You'll be lugging your bag (make it a soft-sider or duffle) to the chuckwagon every morning. Because the humidity is low, you'll need fewer changes of clothes than you think. A sweatshirt and sweat pants will do for nightly camp wear.

Outfitters:
We rode with Belinda Daugherty, who has 22 years of experience in the area wrangling dudes and now has her own company, Renegade Rides, PO Box 575, Ten Sleep, WY 82442. Phone 888-307-2689 or visit www.renegaderides.com.

The USA is leading the eventing standings at the World Equestrian Games, but the squad took quite a trip to get there. Though John Williams is now number one in the individual rider rankings (a high), Amy Tryon, who has worked so hard to get here, suffered quite a fall in her first championship outing (a low).
Taking all that in stride requires practice. Jim Wolf, the U.S. Equestrian Team's chef de mission here, described cross-country day as being "like a military operation. Everyone is multi-tasking, but there's no duplication of effort. Everyone knows their job."

	John Williams on Carrick had only 2.8 time penalties cross-country to go to the head of the standings in eventing. © Nancy Jaffer

Following Jim's analogy, you can say that the U.S. eventers won the battle of the cross-country over a route that fought back. The outcome of the war itself, of course, must wait until tomorrow's veterinary check and the show jumping phase.

But Mark Phillips, the USET coach for nearly a decade, described this team as the best he's had in that time. And they certainly looked it over Michael Tucker's layout that thwarted many of the world's finest riders.

The famous Hoy family had an awful day. Bettina, who rides for Germany, turned in a brilliant 20.80 score in dressage. That lead went down the drain when her mount, Woodsides Ashby, had a refusal two fences from the finish line at The Brush. She is the only member of the German team, which was expected to be a factor here, who is still in the competition.

Things went worse for her personable husband, Andrew, a lynchpin of the Australian team. He fell at the fifth fence, a Trakehner, with Moonfleet, and had to be taken to the hospital with a concussion and leg injuries. (He's okay, we're told.)

Now Australia, second behind the U.S. by 15 points, is without the luxury of a drop score. The Aussies probably are wishing they had chosen Phillip Dutton for the team, instead of having him ride here as an individual on House Doctor, since he's standing second, 3.8 penalties back of John.

	Members of the U.S. eventing team got together after cross country, with the exception of Amy Tryon, who went to the hospital. From the left, Coach Mark Phillips, David O'Connor, Kim Vinoski and John Williams. © Nancy Jaffer

In fact, the U.S. is the only team besides fourth-place Britain that had all its members finish cross-country. World Champion Blyth Tait of New Zealand ended his defense of the title in the second water jump, where Ready Teddy fell, and New Zealand's team medal hopes went with him.

Obviously, the day didn't lack for drama. But the biggest moment for the U.S. probably was Kim Vinoski's brilliant trip on Winsome Adante. Kim had been tabbed for championship teams before, but something always intervened to keep her home.
This time, she was so superstitious about finally being a participant that she didn't put her USET patch on her dressage coat until an hour before her test, when Karen O'Connor sewed it on for her.

It was a pressure situation for Kim, the last person on course here at Garrapilos, a government horse breeding installation in the hills about a half-hour from downtown Jerez.

	Kim Vinoski had a sterling ride cross country on Winsome Adante to save the U.S. team's hopes for victory. © Charles Mann

O'Connor, the lead rider, found out while he was on course that the studs in Giltedge's shoes were insufficient. So the horse was slipping and came home with 30.40 time penalties.

The Olympic gold medalist's reconnoitering of the layout, however, gave good information to John Williams. He set out on Carrick with the right studs, though without his spurs, which he forgot. Never mind. John, like David, jumped everything but did it faster, earning only 2.8 time penalties.

All was looking good until Amy fell at the Euro combination, a little less than halfway around the 30-obstacle course. Her horse, Poggio II, took off but was captured by an intrepid spectator. Although she was in pain from what she described as a bad bruise on her hip, Amy remounted and completed the course.

"I wanted to finish for the team, in case something happened to Kim's horse," she said before going to the hospital, where she was checked out and released. Amy was disappointed about her mishap, but shrugged, "It's part of riding. What are you going to do? A fall happens to the best of us."

Her 157.20 penalties, however, made it crucial for Kim to be on the money. In fact, Kim was told she had only 35 seconds of leeway; if she was any slower, the USA would not end the day in first place.

Amy Tryon (USA) and Poggio II take a tumble during eventing's cross country test at the World Equestrian Games in Jerez, Spain. © Charles Mann

She rode mostly to orders, taking the long way in a controversial water jump where the footing had deteriorated during the day. The only time she veered from Mark's instructions was going right at a spot where he told her to go left, but it all worked out.

She was only six seconds over the 11-minute, 37-second time allowed, putting the USA first, and making Mark proud.

"This is not the last time you'll hear of Kim, trust me," he said.
We had a moment's heart failure, though, when a mistake in printing the results showed Kim had been charged with 20 penalties for a refusal (another low). A conversation with officials straightened that out, Jim Wolf told me, and we could all breathe again.

Just as impressive as Kim's performance was John's place at the top of the heap. He's modest and soft-spoken, but you could see how much he enjoyed what he achieved today.

Asked if he thought he would be number one after cross-country on his Canadian-bred mount, John said, "I guess I would have considered it was possible, but not probable."

He's not a real big name, but he did compete in the 1991 Pan American Championships and was second at Rolex-Kentucky this year. His background as a course designer undoubtedly gave him insight into how to handle the challenge here.

"The course designer was determined to slow us down," he maintained.
Some riders didn't like the course, contending the constant turning in combinations meant they had to interfere with their horses too much, constantly adjusting them.

Darren Chiacicchia, however, who is riding as an individual, had a beautiful trip with RG Renegade, whose effort was marred only by a single refusal. Darren compared the route to a preliminary course, a statement many others who fared worse than he did undoubtedly would dispute.

The focal points of the layout were the two water complexes. The scenery up here isn't much, to put it bluntly. We saw mostly rocks on the way to the venue, and the dominant color definitely was brown.

The water complexes were the absolute highlights of the course and drew a good portion of the crowd of 30,000 who turned out to watch the horses and picnic on the grass. The first water jump was spectacular to look at. Horses climbed up a steep hill, popped a log at the top, and then slid down into the water, where they jumped out over a two-part bounce if their riders chose the short route.

The second water complex had horses jumping in over another log. No one chose the short route, which would have taken them across an over-turned boat. Instead, they went up a bank and over another boat before exiting over a bank and a bounce.

I had my own cross-country challenge today. For some reason, the bus driver parked in an area where the only exit was under a fence. So all of us media types crawled through, dragging our cameras and computers in the dirt. Then I encountered a stone-lined ditch that barred my way to one of the obstacles on course, so I jumped it. After that, I (unwisely) climbed up the side of a hill to get a better vantage point for a photo. I know how David felt when his horse slipped.

Want to know my score? I had no falls, but I was slow.
Oh, and by the way, in case you haven't figured it out, we didn't get rain after all. It seems the weathermen in Spain are as wrong as they are at home.