There were a lot of scenarios I prepared for in the horse health arena – lameness (we’ve had stocking up with Guillermo), dehydration (I can’t get Juneau to eat his grain with electrolyte powder added), altitude adjustment (I’ve built rest days into our schedule as we ascend).  I didn’t however spend a lot of energy considering human illness.  I probably should have given that Kurt and I both drank bad water in India and had to spend a day riding in 104-degree temperatures after a night of vomiting.  Still, this is America.  We’d be fine.  So, it was a real bummer to have my time in Colorado Springs spent in a hotel room alternately rolled in ten blankets shivering and running to the toilet.  But, I get ahead of myself.

I was a little sad to leave my new-found heartland – Kansas – behind.  Admittedly, the terrain had gotten less appealing as we got further west.  I was driving since Kurt had dozens of calls.  We crossed the state line into Colorado and the road immediately changed from smooth concrete to total hell.  I slowed from 75 to 60.  This was our single longest drive day so that slowing wasn’t welcome.  Still, the washboard had us bucking.  The left lane seemed better.  So, I reluctantly moved into it and ignored the angry glares of everyone passing me to the right.  Sorry folks.  I’d be mad too. 

Pulling into the WZ Ranch in Colorado Springs after that exhausting drive was like landing in heaven if St. Peter was an ex-marine.  What is it with ex-marines opening horse hotels?  Tom Ellis looks every bit the cowboy with a huge mustache which I suspect is a silent f-you to years of complying with military facial hair code.  He did not however, leave behind a martial approach to horse management.  We were not allowed to unload our horses until their health certs were in hand.  It was the first time I’d been asked for these and I went into my emails just to find that Global Vet Link had sent me three copies of my other horse’s Coggins test but not the boys health certs.  What followed was Kurt making small talk with Tom and his much easier-going wife, Phyllis, while I feverishly called my vet in Maryland and GVL to get paperwork sent.  In the midst of all this, I got a call from Maryland that someone had found my dog wandering the road.  I’m pretty sure Tom and Phyllis think I’m the worst kind of animal owner.

Once the certs were in hand, the boys came out of the trailer and were led to their immaculate paddocks.  To say that Tom and Phyllis run a tight ship is an understatement.  Everything has been thought through and a protocol put in place.  There are a lot of rules at WZ Ranch. Now, I’m a ‘you can do it unless I say no’ person, not a ‘you can’t do it until I say yes’ one.  Still, it is utterly clear that Tom’s insistence on strict protocols is driven by a deep respect for the animals and concern for their well-being.  Assured the boys were in super competent hands, we headed into town to check in to our human hotel and meet up with our friends Keith and Marty who had driven their camper down here from Oregon and would be following a similar course to ours for the rest of the trip west.

The next morning, the boys seemed a bit lethargic, but that was to be expected; we’d gained 5,000 feet in altitude over the previous day’s drive.  Still, we saddled up and took them into the arena for a little exercise then rode the WZ property.  It was great.  Tom is creating a training field with berms and logs and other devices to get horses ready for the trail.  Our boys could have been instructors.  After the ride, we stopped in a cute little town called Monument to check out a tack shop and grab a late lunch.  Then it was back to the hotel for more calls for Kurt and pool time for me.  And that’s when all shit broke loose, quite literally.  By 5:00, I was a shivering ball of agony on the hotel bed.  My eyes felt like hot coals in my head and my stomach like I’d just done one of those ridiculous core burn workouts.  After 14 hours of sleep, I felt human again – be it a weak, very ill human -- and we were back on the road.

Lessons learned – bring GI medicine and Cipro on every trip (even in the US), don’t eat at that cute deli in the historic part of Monument, and – if you have to get sick on a trip like this – try to do it when you know the horses are being tended by an ex-marine.  By the way, we never told Tom and Phyllis that Kurt’s real name is Walter, and mine is Zsuzsa.  I’m not sure what the W and Z stand for in the name of their ranch, but it seems like fate that we landed there when we did.