Broken, Stupid and Stubborn

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.