I love the Coachella Valley. The problem is that it is an unrequited
love; Coachella Valley doesn’t like me back.
Obviously, I’m talking about the winter and spring months. Summer
there is a hellish furnace and like a bad witch, I melt in the heat. The temperature is reason 110 I don’t go to the
Coachella Music Festival.
But I do love the valley: the landscape, the mountains and the
endless, dog friendly trails. There’s also a terrific winter horse show series.
It’s also a nice change from Los Angeles.
I’m there a lot. Not
only is Joshua State Park nearby, but for as long as I can remember I’ve
competed at winter horse shows in the area. The show series lasts for nine
weeks, I can only afford two or three weeks.
It is just as well. I’ve had the best, and worst
experiences in my life there.
Lucy made her last appearance as Blind Faith there after
sustaining a career-ending injury. But hey, we won money in the class! So, yay!
The following year Wes walked off the trailer with an abscess
and spent a week standing in his stall sulking. In all fairness, I was sulking
too. And drinking. Did I mention they
have a decent bar on the show premises? The next week his abscess was better and we were
Champion in two divisions. So, all well that ends well! Right?
Last year… well last year I should have fled the Valley and
never looked back.
Mom was spending the winter with me to escape New England
weather. I had the bright idea of renting a house in La Quinta. Mom’s arthritis
would be better, we could visit Joshua Tree a few times and I’d show for a three
weeks. It would be a win- win!
Worst. Idea. Ever.
Wes was acting weird and spooked badly in my very first
class. I twisted my hand over a jump and somehow managed to break it. My hand, not the jump.
That was the good news. Wes became more erratic and after
two more awful weeks and a village of veterinarians it was determined that he
had to be put down.
I left La Quinta with a broken heart and hand.
But never let it be said that I give up easily. Or learn
from the past. Not me. I need to be hit over the head. A couple of times.
Apparently because last year was so much fun, mom suggested
that we go for two months this year. It seemed like good idea. I’d show my new
horse for two weeks and then keep him at a low-key training stable and bum
around for the next six weeks. It would be a nice change for everyone.
Once again we headed to La Quinta Cove. I arranged for a physical therapist to work
with mom and an aide to stay with her while I rode. The house didn’t have a big
yard for the dogs, but it was about four blocks from the mountain trails. The
first week I took each dog out for about 40 minutes a day. We were all going to
get so fit!
I even leased a new horse. An older schoolmaster, Frederick had
been there, won that. He’d spent the last year chilling as a trail horse, but he was
so much fun when I rode him that I wired the money for a six month lease the very
next morning.
Precisely two hours later while jumping him I made the same stupid mistake I have made before on Lucy, Wes and Mickey. (I told you I don’t learn quickly.) Not surprisingly it had the same result: I felt off.
I got back on and fixed my error. I then rode the Frederick
back to the farrier to get spanking new shoes. That was the last time I sat on him.
I may have mentioned to my trainer that I thought I’d pulled
a muscle falling off. Two days of agony later I went to an Urgent Care. They
sent me to the ER and an orthopedic surgeon.
After X-rays and a super-fun MRI, it became clear that I’d fractured
my pelvis and sacrum. I was assigned a
walker which made me feel about 90, and told to walk as little as possible.
Like that was a choice.
We stayed in the desert about four more weeks. I hired a dog
walker (by the way she was the BEST! If you need a dog walker in La Quinta,
call me!) and sent both horses home to Los Angeles where they spent a month watching
the rain fall down while they ate.
Mom and I remained in the desert where I was unable to
drive, so I ate, slept, moaned a lot and occasionally our walkers became
tangled. It was just a barrel of laughs.
Four weeks after the accident, the doctor blithely announced that I
wouldn’t ride for at least another three to six months. I lost it.
I needed to get out of there pronto. Obviously the guy was
used to treated fragile ancient people – not crazy, determined, and very
stubborn, old people. Did he not realize I only have Frederick for six months?
Anyway, I have
learned something. My new LA doc says I can ride in three weeks. (Take that
desert doctor!)
Next year we’re not going to La Quinta. Mom likes Arizona,
and there’s a winter horse show series there too.
