Photo via BadEventer
Life has a funny way of happening when you make plans. This past weekend I had planned on getting out of town and heading up to Camelot Equestrian Park. Everyone from Dragonfire would be on the road to Rebecca, so a great time to go camping. I missed the Horse Trials they hosted the previous weekend due to lack of transportation, but had managed to arrange a hauling situation for this most recent one. The plan was to haul up on Friday to meet some old friends of mine, Sarah and Elizabeth, at Camelot. We intended to stay through the weekend giving us plenty of time to goof off on the cross country course Saturday and the option of catching a few of the early morning Jumper classes at their Hunter/Jumper show before heading home Sunday.
Of course then Stephanie’s boyfriend pointed out that there was going to be an obscene heatwave, my husband decided he wanted to go out of town and and Sarah’s truck exploded in to a ball of fiery better-not-haul-horses-with-that. A superstitious and transportation-less bunch, we called the whole thing off. It was probably a smart choice.
Thursday night, I found myself fretting over what to do with my weekend. Admittedly, I was disappointed. Camelot is one of my favorite places to go – we always camp out, talk trash and have an outstanding time. I needed to go – it would be the best place to avoid the constant reminders of the fun being had in Montana. Sadly, this weekend there would be no trip to Pony Tracks, no splashing in the water jump, no 5AM Feed-Me whinnies and worst of all no opportunity to create memories that would have the potential to become the kind of story that starts with “Hey, remember that time at Camelot when….”
Stephanie and I made alternate plans – hit the track on Friday, gamble and daydream about taking home some prospects. We’d get our show fix in by sneaking off to the Pony Club Benefit on the 27th at Twin Palms, transportation willing. These plans were good alternate plans, but something was still missing. I found myself agonizing over what more could be done with the weekend and somehow found myself coming up with probably the most absurd idea I’ve ever come up with.
I sent Stephanie the following text message:
This is why I'm not allowed to text after 11pm
This is proof that we are teenagers stuck in 30 year-old bodies. Writing George Morris a letter to ask him what his helmet cover would look like if he were to take up Eventing is clearly not the kind of thing that sensible adults do. Sensible adults ask deeper questions that have meaningful answers. My question is admittedly somewhat juvenile and borders on asinine. This is evidenced by the response that my other friend Kalli gave me when I floated the same idea at her.
Note - Kali rides Dressage
In all seriousness though, I am curious. I do honestly want to know. Even if it earns me a right hook from GM, I’m going to do it. Who am I kidding? Especially if it earns me a right hook from GM. In fact, I think I’m going to write a whole bunch of well known non-Eventing professionals and ask them too. The skull-cap and helmet cover is one of those visual identifiers for Eventers and getting it just right is one of those small joys of Eventing. Everyone who’s watched a horse race has idly daydreamed about what their silks would look like. The question is, how many of them will be willing to share? Even if not many of them write back, I’m still hopeful and curious.
Deep down I hope that in a few years, we’ll be sitting around a campfire and someone will pipe up with “Hey, remember that time when we were auditing that clinic and after Erin introduced herself, George Morris was like ‘Are you the one that wrote me the stupid letter about helmet covers?’…”
Go Team DF. Go Curiosity. Go Eventing.
