A Ride With Manolo

            by Isabel Callejo-Brighton

 

            The time flashed 9:00 AM on my little iPod alarm clock, and the energizing beats of The Beatles “Eight Days a Week” began to increase in volume.  I sprang out of bed and double-checked the orderly pile of horse-stuff at the base of my bed.  Just as I set them out the night before, my riding clothes were all in order and my white dressage pad was still clean and crisp.  Everything was just in its place.  I sat down at the breakfast table and ate a healthy but light breakfast of toast, orange marmalade, fresh-squeezed juice, fruit, and a glass of milk.  I was careful not to spill anything on my white polo shirt, since I was participating in my first clinic with a world-renowned dressage trainer named Manolo Mendez, who, in his earlier years, rode and trained the horses at the Spanish Riding School in Vienna.  This one-hour session was a rare opportunity for a student like myself to work with such a knowledgeable professional.  Only six other riders were participating in the clinic, which made this a very special experience.  Thankfully everything was going smoothly in preparation for leaving the house on time. 

            As I was tying up my hair into a neat and tidy bun and hair net clasp, I glanced at my clock once more.  Thirty minutes had passed and I still needed to get my gear to the car, which I was sure, would take more than one trip.  My mom grabbed the video camera, collapsible tripod and a couple of juicy apples from the fruit tray as we headed to the car.  My arms were full with my riding pad, an extra pair of shoes, a digital camera to snap a few photos of the other rides before mine, and a Focus Vitamin Water.  I was able to balance everything and miraculously make only one trip out to the car.  My dad called out to us as we walked though the gate, “We’ll be out there for the beginning of your ride. Good Luck!”

            I briefly nodded and said, “See ya’ out there!”

            As soon as my mom and I took a seat in the car, she said, “These are for Windsor, after your ride.”  She handed me the two luscious apples.  I marveled at their rather flawless appearance. 

            I thanked her and said, “Yeah, I hope it’s a good one.”

She reassured me and said that no matter what to stay calm, and have fun. 

            We listened to the traffic report at 9:48AM to find out if there was a back up before the Caldecott Tunnel out to Walnut Creek.  The report didn’t tell us, so we crossed our fingers and hoped for the best.  We made it across town surprisingly fast and as we accelerated onto the freeway, we saw the traffic board list, “Walnut Creek     28 min.”   I was shocked.  This was more than twice as long as it usually took to arrive in Walnut Creek. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

            The traffic was bumper to bumper for several miles until my mom and I noticed a fender-bender in the right-hand shoulder.  All the rubber-neckers gazed at the dented bumper of a new Toyota and moved on.  Once we passed the accident, the traffic cleared up and we were able to exit onto Ygnacio Boulevard. with in about 20 minutes.  The weather was warming up quite a bit and the low morning fog and burned off for the most part.           Once we arrived, I greeted everyone on our side of the barn, and gave Windsor our traditional “Hey big guy, how are you?” Of course my conversations with him are always one sided, given he’s a horse. He was munching on his breakfast, his big chestnut body covered in his warm, tartan colored blanket.  His bright eyes were alert and surprised to see me so early on a Saturday.  He snuffled my hands and pockets, fixated on finding the sugar cube hidden in my jacket.  As always, he found it, and blissfully crunched down, already looking content with his accomplishment for the morning.  Thankfully, his big white blaze was still clean, and his pink nose was soft from the baby oil I’d added to it the day before.  He looked like a champion ready to win again.  I quickly put his halter on him and removed his shaving-covered blanket.  He shook as I clipped the lead on to the halter and led him to the tack-up area across the corridor.  Grooming wasn’t a labor-intensive task this morning since he hadn’t rolled during the night.  I quickly picked his hooves, brushed his body down and took out my clean dressage pad.  After putting his saddle on, I wrapped his legs with support bandages in preparation for a strenuous workout.  Next went on his bridle and the shiny bit into his mouth.  I put an extra layer of socks on to fill the space between my feet and my slightly large boots.  I gathered my spurs, helmet, gloves and whip and we were on our way.  He looked absolutely magnificent.  His well-muscled chest and powerful neck and hindquarters rippled in the sun as we walked toward the arena. 

            About half way down the corridor, Windsor stopped and perked his ears.  He heard Manolo’s voice from inside the arena, and looked eagerly toward the sound.  I was excited too, although I was a bit nervous since I wasn’t able to formally introduce Windsor and myself before our ride.  I was also unfamiliar with the thick Spanish-accented English that was being spoken, and was hoping I’d be able to understand the instructions he would give me. 

            As Windsor and I turned to face the arena entrance, I saw him.  A tall, wiry man with tanned skin and formal riding attire stood at the center of the arena, observing the woman on her gray horse. His boots were shiny and his salt and pepper hair was neatly combed to one side.  Windsor saw him too. 

            For a few minutes, we just stood there, watching him coach her, and observed how wonderful it looked.  He was instructing her to perform a difficult movement called the half-pass and encouraged her to relax and enjoy herself as she rode.  She did as he told, and the pair looked as one as they moved sideways across the arena.  She and her horse were much more experienced than Windsor and I, and I suddenly realized this fact.  Manolo was very pleased with the results at the end of their ride and praised them profusely.  What a ride to follow.

            I looked at Windsor, expecting to see some sign from him that he was as nervous as I.  But as I looked back, all I saw were two ears pricked forward, and him patiently waiting for me to lead him forward into the arena.  Seeing his reassuring eyes gave me the boost I needed to take him into the arena. 

            Surprisingly it was a bit chilly as we made our way to the mounting block.  I noticed Windsor’s neck muscles tense up as he sensed the temperature change also.  As I tightened the girth and placed my well-oiled boot into the stirrup, I saw Manolo head over towards Windsor and me with a welcoming smile on his face. 

            “Welcome!” he called over to us.  “You must be Isabel, and this must be Windsor.”

            I confirmed with a nod and a straightforward “yes,” and said, “I’m really looking forward to working with you.”

            “I’m glad,” he replied. “You have a beautiful horse.  How old his he? What is his lineage?”  Windsor paid close attention to our conversation and began to snuffle Manolo’s hands for sugar. 

            “Thank you, he’s just turned four in April.  He’s out of Wolkenstanz and Weltmeyer,” I replied.

            Giving Windsor a pat on the nose he said, “OOhhhhh, very good. Talented parents.”

Then he looked at Windsor and said, “Silly beast, sugar is for later, when you’ve done well.”  We both laughed at this, and watched Windsor give up his attempt for treats and praise.  I was laughing on the inside, too.  All my anxiety about the ride and been dissolved by Windsor’s playfulness.  What an icebreaker, I thought to myself.  Thank goodness introductions are over.

            As our conversation continued, Manolo didn’t seem nearly as uptight or strict as I was expecting.  He asked me to warm up as if I were starting out for a regular lesson.  He stepped back and watched from the center of the arena.  I was a little taken aback at this, since I didn’t really think of my warm-up as the highlight of my capabilities, but did as he said, and started out towards the rail.  I asked Windsor to supple his head down towards the ground and stretch out his neck and back muscles.  He did this very willingly, so I asked him to pick up the trot, so he could stretch them out in the faster gait, too.  He was especially responsive today which I was thankful for, and seemed fairly willing to do as I asked. 

            Windsor turned toward the entrance of the arena and followed the curve of the track toward the long side and mirrors.  Manolo called out to me, “All right, and take him back to the walk…” Since he was a good 60 feet away from me I couldn’t hear or understand a word he said.  His accent sounded thicker farther away.  I was at the point to where I swore he was speaking an alien language.  I thought to myself “Well I can’t hear him… should I asked him to repeat himself?” I had no idea what the proper protocol was in this situation and just decided to continue riding.  He repeated himself a little louder, but as I was about 100 feet away, it sounded even more confusing! When I was closer to him, I halted and said, “I can’t hear what you’re saying.” I was determined not to let this get in the way of my ride. 

            He smiled and said, “I’m sorry.  I ask to you to walk.” 

For the first time I noticed his broken English and realized that the alien language I’d heard from him earlier did somewhat resemble the instructions he gave me in English.

              When I finally understood what he wanted I was a little surprised.  I’d expected him to watch more of my warm-up before giving me any guidance.  Riding in front of such a well-known and knowledgeable dressage trainer was an honor, but of course, very daunting.  I was sure he would criticize my riding technique, but to my surprise, his initial reaction was quite the opposite.  He complemented Windsor and me as a team  and said that he was a very talented horse, as his parents are.  He told me to keep Windsor on a “long and low” rein, to encourage the stretch and forward motion of his gait.  He said it slowly and loudly, trying to articulate each and every word.  I did as he asked.  Windsor moved a little faster, and stepped a little more underneath him, and responded perfectly.  Manolo’s comments came as a flurry of encouragement and praise.  He seemed proud of himself for making his instructions understood, and proud of Windsor and me for performing the first task so well.

            Next we picked up the canter, which didn’t go as smoothly as I’d planned.  Windsor threw his head up in protest of having to work harder but I pushed him forward and he settled into the gait.  Windsor was already sweating as I brought him back to the trot, which surprised me since he could usually go for about twenty minutes with out breaking a sweat.  It was good to see him working so hard for me and for Manolo.  He must have known this was a special occasion for us to learn and progress.  I patted him on the neck and told him he was a “good boy.”  After guiding us through many canter-trot transitions Manolo asked me to come to the center of the arena and halt. 

            I quickly glanced at the clock on the wall as I headed over towards him and saw that half an hour had already passed.  Unbelievable, I thought to myself.  It seemed as though we’d been riding for ten minutes at the most!  As I brought Windsor towards Manolo, I noticed that my brother and dad had arrived and were sitting with my mom in the corner.  The video-recorder was set up on the tripod and the red light was flashing on the top indicating that it was recording.  I waved towards my family in the corner, and they all enthusiastically waved back to me, big smiles on all of their faces.  They knew how well it was going, and kept encouraging me to keep up the good work.

            As I halted at the center, Manolo looked at me very seriously.  I suddenly felt a wave of worry wash over me.  Sensing my tension, Manolo said we were doing a great job and to just stay relaxed.  He only wanted to know if he could ride Windsor for himself.  I understood that request very clearly and felt gratified that our communication difficulties were over.

            His justification for riding Windsor was that he looked like a wonderful horse, and Manolo wanted to feel what I experience every day.  I was completely taken aback and couldn’t believe he wanted to ride Windsor.  Never wanting to refuse anything for such a famous trainer, I said of course, and hopped off in one fluid movement.  Windsor looked a little perplexed and swung his head around to the left to look at me straight on.  I patted his neck and told him he was a good boy again.  This seemed to resolve all of his worry and he moved his neck back to its regular position and waited for Manolo to mount.

            Manolo effortlessly slipped his boot into my stirrup and lifted himself onto Windsor’s back.  He asked me to hand him my whip incase he needed it.  Windsor shot me a rather puzzled look and snorted in apprehension for having a stranger on his back was not something he was used to.  Manolo prodded Windsor with his spurs to get his attention and make him focus.  Surprised, Windsor shot forward and threw Manolo back into the saddle.  I jumped back and headed over to where my parents were.  They already had a seat out for me.  As I sat down I watched Windsor and Manolo start their session together.

            Windsor began testing Manolo for control and challenged his authority by swishing his tail and stomping his hooves.  To avoid any further confrontation, Manolo moved Windsor into the trot.  The transition between the walk and the trot was flawless.  Windsor finally began to cooperate.  It looked as though the moment Manolo pressed his legs on Windsor’s sides, he moved forward and did everything as he was told.  Manolo made everything look so effortless.  Windsor looked like a show horse with a master on his back.  As they moved into the canter, they passed the corner I was seated in, Windsor’s tail billowing behind him.  Since I’m always the one riding him, I never see what he looks like when he’s moving, so this was a real treat.

            After riding him around a bit more, Manolo pulled Windsor up right in front of us and looked me straight in the eye. 

            “You have an amazing horse here.  He is very talented for four years.  I want to come back and work with you two again.  Soon.  Spring will be soon enough.”

            I beamed with happiness.  Thanking him I took the reins from his hands and he slid down from Windsor’s back.  He vigorously patted Windsor’s neck and stuffed sugar in to Windsor’s mouth.  A little overwhelmed, Windsor stood frothing around the bit, his ears flicking back and forth.  My mom took my digital camera and asked Manolo to stand next to me for a quick photo.  He jogged back to stand by my side with Windsor and we smiled. 

            As I led Windsor out of the arena, I was smiling ear to ear.  With each step, Windsor seemed to have a bit more spring in his stride and we both looked proud of each other for a job well done.