Racing
in Mongolia: The Mongol Derby 2014
I am bent over at the waist, hands on knees, gulping air as
the vet checks my pony. His heart rate is 72 and will come down to the required
64 in about 5 minutes. Mine is about 200 beats per minute and no one cares. I
used to watch my basketball player son stand like this during timeouts, trying
to recover, and now I completely understand. I am exhausted and have about 20
minutes to recover before leaving on the next jet-fueled pony! This is Day 6 of
the Mongol Derby and the urtuus (horse stations) are starting to blend into
one.
I thought I was going to romantically name each pony and
remember every thing about the rides between stations. However, I not only
forgot to name them, as half the time I was hanging on for dear life as they
rocketed out of the stations and bolted for the next 10-15 kilometers, but I do
not remember individual stations. I remember moments of complete panic as I
thought I was going to die or moments when I feared my comrades in saddle were
going to die. Interspersed are memories of lovely meadows and fragrant pine
forests, incredible views across mountains and long, long rides when we
wondered if we would ever get there!
The Mongol Derby is a 1000-kilometer (or about 620 miles)
adventure, billed as the world’s longest, toughest horse race. It is every
thing they say and more. Absolutely the hardest thing I have ever done and yet,
one of the best highlights of my life so far. Childbirth hurt more but did not
last as long. I finished the race in eight days, riding about 80 miles a day. I
finished 9th, out of 38 riders. Eleven had to retire. Upon returning
to the States, one of my sons said it was, as if, I had galloped from Baltimore
to Chicago in 8 days. I realized I had no concept of such a distance, as all we
were concentrating on each day, was riding the 25-mile legs between horse
stations (urtuus). I was trying to ride 4 legs every day.
This race was conceived 7 years ago by Tom Morgan, the
founder of The Adventurists, a British expedition company that looks for really
extreme ways to challenge oneself. The adventure recreates Genghis Khan’s
empire building postal system or pony express route. Genghis Khan had devised a
system to pass information to his generals by sending riders with messages. They
changed mounts every 40 kilometers and could carry messages literally hundreds
of miles in a day. Supposedly some galloped 250 miles, changing ponies, before
stopping themselves. Genghis Khan reportedly had 10 devoted generals, who were
with him for 30 years or more, and this communication system helped them
conquer the second largest empire ever known.
These riders rode the same marmot-hole strewn, dusty plains,
crossed the same swollen rivers and looked for the same mountain passes that we
did. And they did it without GPS help. I read somewhere that the messages were
written in verse and the riders sang the song to the next messenger so the
instructions would remain the same. Even today the Mongolian herders sing to
their horses while riding. I tried it and it did pass the time on a slow pony. On
the fast ones you had no breath to spare and you just hoped they did not step
in a hole. More on that later.
We all arrived from various countries, into Ulaanbaatar, the
capital of Mongolia around August 3rd. The Ramada hotel had a rooftop bar and it was there that the
friendships started. The riders slowly introduced themselves and different
pairings began. The end of the race sorted the riders by ability more than
anything else, but in the beginning, I would have to say the ability to drink
copious amounts of beer or vodka was the deciding factor of companionship. After 3 days of pre-race training, where
we learned how to use our GPS navigators and how to call for help on our
trackers, we were deemed ready.
I don’t think anything really prepares you for being turned
loose on a bolting pony in a strange country. My first pony was great,
biddable, relatively fast and I started the race in front, heading down a
valley in a straight line. I had met two lovely New Zealand ladies that were
about the closest to me in age- every one was younger by decades- and I looked
to ride the next leg with them. While waiting for them, I picked my second pony
simply by asking for a strong, fast horse (I soon learned to add a few more
qualifiers to those criteria). The herder threw me up on this second pony and
he bolted at a dead run for the next 15 miles. I never saw my New Zealand friends
again until the last day! This pony ran and jumped and careened across a plain
that was full of marmot holes, sagebrush like bushes, and gravelly dry streambeds.
It all went by in a blur. I could only aim for the one rider in front I could
see and once we passed him I was just hoping that the distant peak I had lined
up in my sights was the right one. I could not pull out my GPS until this pony
had slowed after about 1 ½ hr of galloping. Luckily I remembered to keep
sipping water from my hydration pack, as that was all I could do- I just kept
the sipping end in my mouth. Riders who did not do this quickly succumbed to
dehydration and dropped out the second and third day completely exhausted and
sick.
So, I was all alone, about 2nd in the race, wondering
where I was and if this pony would stop when another rider galloped up beside
me. I remember saying, “Thank God, someone else!” It was Mary Lee, a fashion designer from Miami, whom had
seemed a little distant in pre-race training, but looks are deceiving, and she
and I became great friends and rode most of the race together. With a long. black braid affixed to her
helmet and her own exotic dark looks, the Mongol herders loved her. She and I
shared a similar riding style and outlook on life. No patience for the whiners,
it was “balls to the walls” and we rode like bats out of hell for the next 8
days.
My fox hunting background definitely gave me an edge on many
riders. The frontrunners all had either foxhunting experience or were race
riders or racehorse trainers in their respective countries. Mary had been
galloping polo ponies for a year to prepare and Catherine was just as fit as
could be. We were used to galloping long distances over rough ground and we had
clearly separated into the hardest riding group by the third day.
I did fall and face-plant into the dirt on Day 3 when my
pony stepped in a hole at a full gallop.
It happened so fast that all I really remember is popping back up and
saying some choice curse words. My companions had waited to make I wasn’t dead,
then said, “Try to catch up!” and they were gone. Luckily it was close to a
herd of ponies and a nearby herder returned my escaping horse. I did manage to rejoin them, to their
surprise (they told me later) and I earned a little respect. The “tough old
bird” legend was beginning! Actually, every one of us had falls. Some very
dramatic, some comical, but all of them made us hold our breath until the rider
was deemed OK. There were some serious accidents and some riders had to drop
out due to injuries. The guys in our group were definitely better than the
girls, at hanging onto the ponies, as they somersaulted. Brent, my wonderful
Australian friend, fell one day 4 times I think, and amazingly, never let that
pony get away. My second fall occurred on Day 6 as I tried to read my helpful
notes. Pulling that piece of white paper out of my pocket scared the ‘bejeesus’
out of my pony and he disappeared at a dead-run before I even hit the
ground. Charles, the South African
guardian angel of the riders, did rescue me after I called for assistance. A welcome sight indeed, he brought
another herder who returned my spooky pony, and I continued. That was the leg I
did alone, which my son reminded me
(as he watched my spot tracker) that I seemed to meander erratically.
That was because I could not pull my GPS out without the pony starting to buck
so I meandered. I finally hooked up with Bonnie Hutton, a fellow American, but
our ‘no-good, very bad day’ continued. Bonnie got bucked off again, breaking a
finger. Eventually, we arrived at
station 22 with time penalties.
The next day was a long one, fraught with attacking guard
dogs, marmot holes, and never-ending dusty plains. We had left the beautiful Orkhorn River after two legs and
seemed to ride forever. Coming into station 25, Cozy Campbell, the young
Australian vet, was a welcome sight. He had a jar of olives and peanuts out and
I think I ate the whole thing, thinking it was the best food I ever had. This brings me to the food, which was
pretty awful. We all lost weight
and lived on rice pudding for breakfast (not bad) and noodle stew with bits of
mutton, carrots and potatoes the rest of the time. It fueled us but that’s
about it. The herders were very good about having boiled water at every
station. Sometimes all we really wanted was a cup of cold water but, in
general, we just really appreciated the kindness and thoughtfulness of the host
families. Their generosity to strangers is legendary and part of the culture. I
can only imagine what they really thought of us crazy foreigners.
There were wolves, lightening storms, rain, hail,
never-ending bogs, long mountain passes and yet, what I really remember are the
wonderful days in the saddle with great people. The friendships I made were, for me, the best part of the
adventure. I could ride for ten days anywhere, but to do this challenge in the
wilds of Mongolia, one had to make friends and help and support each other. We
laughed and cried and encouraged each other through some tough days. I proved to myself that I could do an
extremely hard, physical challenge and that alone was a personal best. The biggest reward was hearing my kids
and family tell me how proud of me they were.
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