There is no doubt that 4* fences are big! ... This one's at Burghely not Adelaide!
It’s the night before cross-country and, at the Australian Three Day Event, a handful of Four Star riders are producing enough nervous energy to power half of Adelaide.
If they’re not hovering around the stables bothering their grooms by re-rolling bandages for the eighteenth time, then they’re out on course coming to grips with just how big Four Star looks when you’re less than 24 hours away from jumping it.
Once they’ve finish wearing a track on the line between the massive pair of apexes – covering the equivalent of the distance between Adelaide and Sydney in the process – then they’ll find themselves rushing to squeeze in an order before the kitchen closes at ‘the pub across the road’.
They’re not really hungry, but feel obliged to eat something given they’ll want to eat even less in the morning. On the upside, the schnitzel and salad gives them something to pick at while they avoid making small-talk with the unfamiliar hangers-on they always end up sitting next to on nights like this.
The schnitzel will give them some sustenance
When they’ve finally had enough of listening to a deep analysis of the day’s wayward dressage scoring they return to the solitude of their truck. They don’t realise it at the time but, by successfully negotiating the direct route back to the camping area through the middle of the roundabout, they’ve just survived the most dangerous moment of their weekend.
Once they’re in bed, they try to recite their minute markers as a means of going to sleep.
Frustratingly, they always get stuck at the seventh minute, struggling to remember if it’s at the road crossing, the toilet block or the white post fifty metres past the big tree with the green sign next to it. In truth it’s because they’re struggling to think about anything other than jump 11, and as they lie there staring at their fly-spotted ceiling their hands shake like the Equissage machine they bought in 2008 and used a total of four times.
Over at the stables, the grooms are doing their final checks on the horses before they head off to feast on a gourmet selection of two-minute noodles and half melted Tim-Tams. They’re carb-loading for tomorrow, because experience tells them they’re going to spend at least 12 hours straight staring at a horse with ice on its legs.
With the horse settled for the night, the saddle clean and the tack room tidy, they prepare to enjoy a rare moment of relaxation without their rider bothering them. The bright-lights of Adelaide tempt them for a minute, but when they nod off into their Cup-a-Soup they realise the party’s going to have to wait for another time.
Time for the Ground Jury to go Italian
Closer to those bright lights, the Ground Jury have just finished dinner at an Italian on Rundle Street. They too have spent the evening analysing the dressage scores, and satisfied with their handiwork they bid each other goodnight and head off to bed.
Back in the comfort of their plush hotel, they stop thinking about horses, and turn their attention to what colour pants they’ll wear tomorrow. Fortunately for one, the decision is easy.
Always bet on red.
See you somewhere out there.
Hamish
