Friday was an absolute whirlwind, full of highs and lows (as every horse show is). Our schedule was a little bit different this day; instead of performing only once, we performed our Sound of Music in the morning and our American Girl drill team in the afternoon.
Our American Girl drill is one of our favorites, and that's saying a lot, considering that we've been doing drill teams for almost a decade. The first half of the drill is performed to classical music with our regular six drill team riders dressed in flowing, handmade dirndls with caps covering our helmets. About 3/4 of the way through the drill, we line up, strip off our dresses and caps to reveal an outfit covered with red, white, and blue and American flags. After a short voiceover telling the audience that while we like to ride in the Alps with the edelweiss in bloom, we'd rather be in the Rockies with Orlando Bloom, we finish the drill to Mellencamp's R-O-C-K in the USA. The stripping is fun and this drill usually gets the audience's attention and enthusiasm.
This all sounds good in theory, but in practice, things are a little bit different - mostly because of our flowing dirndls. These were made about five years ago when we originally did this drill, and while the effect of them is nice, the dresses themselves...well, they leave a little to be desired. Essentially, they're a bunch of old sheets sewed together with the odd bit of burlap sack, shoestring, or floral doily for decoration. And the caps are corduroy shower caps. Don't get me wrong, the costumes serve their purpose, and considering we only used them for one short drill performance, they were great.
But I think Stevie said it best. "Isn't it funny," she said, "that we're at the biggest horse event in the entire world, performing in front of everyone, and we show up dressed in rags?"
The drill went well, although the horses were getting tired by this point, as were we. The "WEG Plague" was making its way through the HOW contingency (a lingering, uncomfortable cold). But at least on Friday I got to do some shopping. While there were many beautiful things, most were out of my price range. Especially the $6,000 saddles that various sellers worked fervently to sell to me. I almost bought one because I felt bad before Ingrid dragged me away.
After settling the horses in, it was time for the big event: the Dressage Freestyle. After seeing the line to get some dinner, Brenda, Stevie, and I hiked the two miles there and back to get some delicious smoothies, and eventually settled into our seats along with some other friends. None of us had ever seen anything like it, and it was truly as amazing as we'd expected.
For performers like us who love riding to music, dressage freestyle is what it's all about. To us, every ride was beautiful, and while some were certainly better than others, they were all lovely to watch.
But none of the first rides prepared us for the highlight of the night: Fuego, a Spanish PRI grey stallion who danced with such passion and talent that it left many (me included) in tears. I knew the ride would be good when the rider let Fuego scratch his nose on his leg before entering the arena. I knew the ride was spectacular when his rider, Munoz, dropped his right hand off the reins and let go in the one-tempis. I knew history had been made when Fuego bolted after the salute because of the roar of the crowd. This is what it's all about.
There were a few rides after Fuego - beautiful as they were, Fuego was the crowd's favorite. Totilas, the dressage phenomenon known around the world for breaking records right and left, was fun to look at but didn't capture our hearts. Steffen Peters, the US favorite (and mine, as I've ridden with him), just couldn't bring what Fuego and Munoz had brought. And I wasn't alone in my feeling - when Totilas and Edward Gal took in a score in the 90s, the audience booed. They booed their previous favorite for this little Spanish stallion. And I can't blame them - the results felt a little too political to be comfortable.
But that's the nature of competition, and even though the results didn't work out as we wanted, we still had a great time. After checking on the horses one last time, I gathered up my girls and headed back to the hotel.
At least, that's what I thought I would do.
In fact, rather than heading back to my warm bed, I was heading into the biggest traffic jam of my life. Our truck literally stood still for two and a half hours. No one moved. Not a car.
In our truck, we alternated between crying and yelling and attempting to sleep. We called Ingrid (who had magically been able to leave right away due to Rachel's stellar driving skills). We called the police, who said there was nothing they could do. I called my boyfriend, Sven, who had little sympathy (more on that later). I attempted to sleep once in a while, but mostly just felt overwhelming despair. This was terrible.
And then, the renegades took over. Tiny sedans tried to ford massive ditches, bottoming out and leaving pieces of their car behind. Some cars drove into the grounds, scattering volunteers like popcorn. And then there was the mystery woman, first spotted by Stevie, who was relieving herself in the number two fashion plain as day in the middle of the field. Even more strangely, she pulled up her trousers and walked across the field using cross country ski poles. What on earth?
Finally, after three hours of waiting, we were rescued and followed a band of ruffians out to the main road. We got back to our hotel room after one am, and while it was a perfect day, this was not a perfect end to the day.
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