‘It’s hot but it’s a dry heat’ – What BS.  It may be dry in Moab, but 100+ degrees is still blisteringly hot.  We decided to spare the boys another saddle pad soaking sweat like we’d had in Kansas and set out to ride early – in the saddle by 9:00 is early by Kurt standards.   The temp was probably already in the low 80s, but there was a brisk breeze that had the boys excited.

Moab is within 30 miles of two gems of the National Parks System – Arches and Canyonlands – but neither allow horseback riding on their trails.  Thankfully, the Global Endurance Center — where the horses were being boarded for a few nights — is a short ride to ample trails that climb a mesa offering great views into the Moab Valley.  Chris Schrock, who owns and runs the Center, had walked us to the trailhead the previous evening so we quickly found our way to the base of the mesa.  He’d assured us that we wouldn’t get lost because, though there are 25 miles of trails winding around the top of the mesa, there’s only one way up and down. It should be noted that Chris is an intrepid endurance rider who has won races in places like Mongolia. So, I took his assurance with a grain of salt.

We started in deep, fine red sand that had the boys high stepping like Irish dancers.  Chris had told us we wouldn’t need boots and I was glad we’d heeded his advice.  That sand in the boots would have rubbed their coronet bands and pasterns raw.  We wound our way between sage brush, twisted old pinyon pines, and junipers abuzz with bees.  Funny, I never imagined a juniper in bloom would smell as sweet as a carnation.  I’m going to guess that the mesa, at its highest point, stands about a 1,000-feet above the valley.  It was a stout climb; mostly moderate in pitch but with some steep stretches and tricky scrambles.  The boys did great – such heart!

It’s hard to monitor your mount’s level of stress in the desert because the usually most obvious barometer – how sweaty your horse gets – isn’t available.  These guys were sweating hard, but it was drying immediately; so, they looked cool.  Mindful of the thumping incident we’d had at Antietam, I tried to monitor Juneau’s breathing and found it wise to stop him every 5 to 7 to minutes during the climb to let him blow a bit and settle back into a steady respiration rate.

Once on top, we found some fun 4-wheeler paths in deep sand where we could trot and canter.  Still, many of the paths on the mesa were rocky or slickrock covered with gravel that had the boys walking like their feet were hurting.  To be frank, I enjoyed the novelty of the ride and the magnificent views, but the footing had me worried.  I’d worked so hard to get those cracks out of Juneau’s hooves; I had no desire to do damage now.  I got off and walked him over the roughest sections just to reduce the weight on his feet.  Kurt thought I was being dramatic, but I can’t enjoy myself if I think the price of my fun is discomfort to an animal who always seems so ready to trust and give me what I ask. 

After an hour on top, the breeze died and the heat hit us like a hammer.  We decided to head down only to find that we were separated from the trail to the valley by a deep draw.  We doubled back and worked our way to the trail by cutting down some steep grades, one pretty much sandstone steps.

When we eventually got back to Global, Juneau drained a 5-gallon bucket of water.  We’d been three hours on the trail and both horses had shown themselves very capable of desert travel.  Guillermo – true to his Andalusian blood -- had absolutely thrived under these conditions.  Released in his paddock, Juneau went straight for the shade of the run-in and his auto-watering tank.  Apparently, whatever booger was haunting that thing last night had gone ‘adios’ in the heat of the day.