Fiction: Turbo Speed

Harley was a big tall chestnut with a huge mane and tail, sporting a flashy white blaze on his very pretty face. His brown eyes were worried and he was a little edgy. The horse noticeably calmed when my sister laid her hand on his neck. The crowd had gone silent, all eyes on Betsy and this new horse. 

The slim, leggy blonde sat through the horse’s abrupt movements with nothing less than perfect balance and cool poise. Everyone was in awe of her, for she had won the Congress Polebending in October on her usual mount, Sugar Bear.

Rarely had there been a team as talented as the Betsy/Sugar Bear combination. She had earned herself an incredible reputation in the Barrel Racing industry. People wanted to see her ride another horse just to see if she would excel, or fail. Too often we had seen riders on great horses, lose their success when they changed mounts. 

Betsy would not disappoint; competitive to the bone and sporting the skill to be a champion, she hesitated only a moment before sending the horse into a full gallop with no discernible cue. The weaving skill was unlike any the crowd had seen so far— except for her winning Polebending run 10 minutes earlier.

Betsy sent the horse into a full gallop...

The cheering transformed into a cacophony of whoops and yeehaws within seconds. Barely heard over the impressed crowd, the announcer declared a new time-to-beat.

“Betsy takes over the class with a 12.78!” 

The horse jogged out of the ring with his rider’s appreciative hand patting his arched neck. Both my sister and the horse wore nearly identical expressions of relief and pride. She accepted her congratulations with the pleasant, gracious smile of any high-end professional. The brat was going to have more additions to her fan club after tonight, I was sure. 

“Next up… Sarah on Turbo! Let’s see if she can catch her sister’s time!”

Though outwardly we were professionals, I wanted nothing more than to beat my little sister. It was a deep sibling rivalry that always lingered. 

I slipped away from that mild annoyance into the methodical mindset. I shortened my reins a little and steered Turbo towards the arena at a comically slow stroll. I sat as light in the saddle as my sister had, following the horse’s movements with effortless ease as we entered the arena.

I knew I was going to have to convince my chunky bay gelding, Turbo, to run the pattern more slowly than usual. Polebending involves a run-down to the far pole, weaving down and back in the middle, and a final run-down across the finish line. Poleweaving begins from the first pole and ends with that same pole, with no straight-aways. The pattern was set with six 6-foot-tall poles, spaced 21ft apart in a straight, vertical line, roughly 75 ft from the bottom of the arena. 

The big lights sent contrasting shadows against the black poles. Being half-blind without my glasses didn’t help much, especially at night, with poles that blended in. Turbo hadn’t done much work on Polebending, let alone Poleweaving. This could be interesting.

Smooth and controlled… slow if necessary, I thought, as Turbo sprang into a canter immediately, nothing less than a contained rocket.

“Easy, baby,” I said to him in a low voice.

The crowd gasped as what had begun as a fairly steady slow gallop turned into a runaway train. Turbo had been given his name for a reason. His ridiculously slow style of walking was very deceptive. He grabbed the bit and launched into a flat-out gallop.

At night, blind as a bat or not, a gallop on horseback feels faster than in daylight. Your eyes don’t perceive the movement the same way— sometimes everything looks like it’s coming 10 times faster. Turbo’s instant jump into “Turbo-speed” was breathtaking, and suddenly the first pole was right in front of us.

The second pole on our left appeared in less time than there was to think coherently. Turbo was still full-blast, and the reins felt like they were attached to a charging elephant.

As we passed the fifth pole in just the right place, only mere centimetres away from my shoulder, it all clicked. Apparently he had compromised: I let him go fast, and he listened. Sort of.

“Whoooa!” The frazzled thought that he wasn’t going to turn the end pole was silenced as the big horse slammed on his brakes, and whipped so sharply around the pole that it was credit to instinct alone that I was able to stay on.

Before I could even register that he had actually turned, Turbo had kicked it into gear again with such confidence and sheer speed that all I could do was react. The rhythm became so simple. I could have kept weaving forever, with this perfect smoothness and blurred thrill.

Turbo had kicked it into gear with such confidence and sheer speed that all I could do was react.The last few poles melted away; Turbo was clear. I all but dropped my reins in relief, thankful for the open space. We crossed the invisible finish line within moments. Turbo’s trademark terrified rattling grunt echoed with each of his breaths as he circled down in one corner.

We entered into the midst of the crowd as we exited the arena. I heard the cheers, the announcer’s shrill voice. The praise and congratulations came from the nearest group of bystanders in quick succession. I figured one or two “Thank you very much’s” were good enough to cover everybody.

“Congratulations, Sarah!”

Cool, at least someone remembered my name. After that speed, I certainly didn’t. 

“Thanks,” I said. I swung down from Turbo’s back, and turned to loosen the girth. “Where the hell did you learn how to polebend, baby?” I asked the horse, who ignored me and dived for grass. Horses… animals that are 90 percent lazy and 90 percent stomach.

“DUDE!” The abrasive, loud voice rang out above the buzz and the sound of the other horses' pounding hooves trying to catch Betsy’s time. The rhinestones on her zebra-patterned belt sparkled as she trotted Harley over. She wore a huge, shocked grin. “You ran a 10-point- 5.” 

My fingers slipped on the Velcro edges of the leg-boot. “I ran a what?”

Betsy’s grin widened. “You clocked a 10-second run. There’s only like four people left to run and they’re not gonna touch that. You even beat me!”