Mongol Derby Part III: Sometimes You Just Have to Close Your Eyes

Only partway on my sleeping pad, I woke up to the sound of a downpour, with a pit in my stomach over the dream: I was mounted on the silvery gray gelding and we were somersaulting, head over heels, down a big grassy hill. Rolling over on the sleeping pad in a ger at HS28, I drifted back into fitful dreams of crashing and burning with just the final leg—a mere 18 miles—of the 600-mile Mongol Derby to go.

Covering ground on Day 6
Bill Selwyn/Mongol Derby

The next morning, my gloves couldn’t grasp the slippery suede reins as my horse thundered down the steep and slick slope in the rain, throwing clumps of mud behind us, his neck outstretched, his nose nearly touching the ground. I shut my eyes tightly for a moment thinking back to my dream, just hours before. I took a deep breath, pushed my legs way out in front of me and leaned back as far as I could. I was on a naadam, or race, horse—one of my best horses of the whole race—but we were in a dead heat racing against another rider to the finish line. My mount was damned if someone was going to pass him—or worse, stop him.

“You OK, Joc?” yelled Ed Archibald, upon probably seeing that my eyes were closed on the downhill. “Is this what a panic attack feels like?” I shouted back.

My team of six, including Ed, his two brothers, Rob and Jack, their cousin Henry Bell, and Michael Turner hadn’t seen another rider for 3 or 4 days when Valeria Ariza, who had been riding solo, caught up to our group coming into HS28, the last station before the finish line, at the end of Day 7. We had an amiable evening, swapping stories, sharing a meal and ger, but now the six of us and Valeria were in a heart pumping, or for me, heart stopping dash to the finish.

The “Archibells,” Mike and I had come a long way from HS15 and the trials and tribulations of Black Beauty—13 stations to be exact, and each leg was unique as the horses.

On the morning of Day 5, our horses weren’t on the line when it was time to head out, and so we piled into some vans with our saddles to find them. At the next station, there was no vet there to check our horses once we arrived and so we waited for 45 minutes debating on whether or not we should just head out (we waited). We had duds, we had bolters, we crossed rivers, we covered ground.

By the evening of Day 6, I was pretty worn out. I wrenched my back at some point on Day 5, when I overcompensated by pulling my horse up and sharply to the right after he took a clumsy digger in a marmot hole. My back had held up pretty well, but as we prepared to ride out from our fourth station of the day, the pain was pretty intense. Mike gave me a couple sugar tabs to perk me up, and I shuffled over to the horse line.

I usually didn’t ask the herders for help selecting horses, but this time motioned that I was very tired and needed a calm, but fast horse. One of the herders must’ve sensed my desperation and seemed to say “Aha, I have just the horse for you!” as he walked immediately over to a cream-colored gelding with an endearing little fluffy forelock. As soon as we were galloping out of the horse station I knew I had an absolute gem. His gaits were smooth and rhythmic, and he followed the horses in front of him, not caring in the least that one of my hands was pushed forcefully into the side of his neck, holding jumbled reins and the other clutched a fistful of mane as I mustered my best impression of a two-point, flopping along like a rag doll and gritting my teeth.

The horse that the herder chose for me on the evening of Day 6, and one of my favorites of the race. He even let me pat him and hobble him without a fuss!
Courtesy, Jocelyn Pierce

We were aiming for a well that was marked on the map, thinking we could water our horses there and hopefully there would be a family nearby to take us in. There was a collection of gers on top of a hill close to the well, and Mike headed up with his note to see if our large group could stay. The young woman began jumping up and down with excitement about the prospect of guests and sent her husband into town to get supplies for dinner. We grazed and watered our horses and then put them in the small, convenient corral behind the ger.

“Spaghetti?” our charming hostess asked. And with an enthusiastic and simultaneous response from our group, she smiled, nodded and went to work. She prepared a spread like no other. We had a smattering of appetizers to hold us over—fresh jam, something similar to clotted cream, bread and what looked to be yesterday’s dinner of rice and meat accompanied with nori sheets that she motioned to roll up like sushi—while she worked on dinner, chopping vegetables on her cutting board on the floor. She was slicing and dicing everything with such precision and expertise that we might as well have been watching an episode of Top Chef. “She’s really going to town, isn’t she?” asked Rob. We sat around in the ger for close to two hours, as her friends and family stopped by to meet us and have a cup of milk tea. It wasn’t until well after 10:30 pm when she finally presented us with her masterpiece—Spaghetti Bolognese à la Goat, beautifully garnished with a cherry tomato cut in quarters on each plate.

When it was time to go to bed, she motioned to us that she, her husband and their 1-year-old daughter would sleep in their van and we could sleep in the ger, which we adamantly refused. We happily rolled out our sleeping bags outside, doing our best to avoid piles of goat poop. It was easily my favorite night of the whole Derby. I had a good horse, a full belly and there were more shooting stars in the night sky than I could wish upon.

Jack, Henry, Ed and Rob grazing their horses in the morning before our 6:30 am start.
Courtesy, Jocelyn Pierce

The next morning, we were up at 5 a.m. to graze and water our horses, but our hostess had already been up for who knows how long. She made us delightful cups of coffee with little chocolate sprinkles on top. Then, still in her chic nightdress, she strolled into the corral to help Rob, whose horse was so wild he needed to be hobbled to be saddled. Our seemingly dainty hostess held Rob’s horse by the ears, reprimanding him in a no-nonsense tone as Rob tightened the girth.

Rob saddling his difficult horse with the help of our hostess. 
Courtesy, Jocelyn Pierce

One of the things that struck me the most about this country was how, time and time again, the Mongolian people came to our rescue with a true willingness to help total strangers. In what other place in the world could you walk up to someone’s house, not speak the language, look totally different and know that, without a doubt, they would gladly take you in, feed you, feed your horses and let you sleep under the same roof? It’s truly magical. And I’m not just talking about the four families who hosted us overnight during the derby; we received help all along the way—that we didn’t even ask for. Like on Day 6, when Mike had, as he called it, “a bit of a slide and a dismount” when his horse stepped in a marmot hole and stumbled, breaking the girth in the process. We all dismounted and were standing on the side of the road, while Mike tried to repair his girth with zip ties, when a father and his three sons (driving past with two horses in the bed of a pickup truck) stopped to help us. They wanted nothing in return other than a handshake and a pat on the back.

A Mongolian man and his three sons stop to help Mike fix his broken girth. 
Courtesy, Henry Bell

After our night under the stars, Day 7 was so full of promise and we fully intended to finish the race by 8 p.m. that evening. But as we’ve learned, in the Derby, anything can and will happen. The next leg that should’ve taken us three hours took us over five and just like that our chances of finishing that day slowly slipped away.

From the outset of our final leg, it was clear it would be a racing finish between our team and Valeria. This leg’s horses were so fast and fit that we covered the 18 miles in about an hour and 15 minutes. For me, it was an hour-and-15-minute white-knuckled ride up and down hills, with plenty of opportunity for somersaulting. The horses galloped in a tight group and, at one point, Valeria’s horse and mine clipped heels and almost crashed, as hers made a beeline out the other side of the pack. Right up until the end there were four of us close to overtaking Valeria, but two of the horses in our group weren’t quite as fit and fell behind. So we pulled up and waited, so we could cross together. Well—actually—I couldn’t pull up, but Jack turned his horse sharply to the left in front of me, causing my horse to slam into his like we were in a demolition derby. This, for all intents and purposes, got the job done. Rob, Ed, Jack, Henry, Mike and I finished in equal ninth place—at 8 a.m. on the morning of Day 8, 170 hours and 28 urtuus after beginning this adventure—and later received the Best Team Award.

From left: Jack, Rob, Jocelyn, Ed, Henry and Mike cross the finish line in equal 9th place.
Bill Selwyn/Mongol Derby

For a race with a lot of unknowns and what ifs, I couldn’t be happier with the way things turned out. I left Mongolia with the satisfaction of finishing the derby in the top 10 with no vet penalties, but more importantly, with five new friends, a greater understanding of Mongolian horse culture and nomad life—and a lot of wild stories to share.

Friends, family and acquaintances have already asked me if I would do it again. I’m not so sure about that, but there’s a rumor that a similar race in Patagonia is in the works, and I certainly have my eye on it.

Read Part I, ‘Everybody Has a Plan Until They Get Punched in the Mouth,’ here and here.

Read Part II, ‘Slow and Steady Does Not Win the Race,’ here and here.

For more articles, photos and videos on the Mongol Derby, visit Practical Horseman. 

Mongol Derby Part II: Slow and Steady Does Not Win the Race

The wind blurred my vision as I unknowingly careened toward a bog. I glanced over my shoulder at the row of sharp teeth snapping closer and closer to my right foot, as my riding companion Michael Turner shouted to me just in time. “Turn right!” Yanking on the rein toward the frothy-mouthed beast towing 4 feet of heavy-duty chain behind him, we skirted the bog in a flat-out gallop, gaining enough speed to outrun the dog that made Cujo look like your granny’s Bichon Frise.

Michael Turner and Jocelyn Pierce riding toward sand dunes on Day 2
Courtesy, Mongol Derby

In Mongolia, dogs usually are left to roam around gers (portable dwellings, much like yurts) and livestock, acting as protectors. Most of the time they trot alongside you, barking a very mild warning before returning to the perimeter of their territory with the satisfaction of fending off intruders. But this dog was something else altogether, and it didn’t take much imagination to determine why he had been tied up. Luckily, Mike and I were both on fresh and fast horses, who didn’t need any input from us to get the hell out of striking distance.

Throughout the 600-mile race, we rode a total of 28 horses. Statistically speaking, this means we were bound to get a mix of first-rate mounts, some certifiably insane ones and worst of all, duds. Thankfully our mounts on the leg with the vicious dog were the former, but by the morning of Day 3 we got our first and definitely not last, introduction to the dud category.

Mike and Jocelyn heading out from HS7 with less than an hour of riding time left. 
Courtesy, Mongol Derby/Bill Selwyn

Mike and I shot each other exasperated looks as three big kicks got him about two canter strides before his horse settled back into a listless walk, while mine was content to show off his best impression of a Western Pleasure jog. This might be desirable for a leisurely hack around the stable yard, but in the Mongol Derby it is nothing short of pure agony. Twenty-five miles of coaxing, kicking and “choo choo-ing” (the Mongolia equivalent of a cluck), takes a toll on already exhausted riders pretty quickly.

Mike and Jocelyn aboard horses taking their sweet time 
Courtesy, Mongol Derby

Hearing a sound like thunder behind us, we swiveled to see a large group of riders and horses galloping over the hill, costing us the little bit of a lead we had gained by camping between stations the night before. Mike’s frustration quickly turned to jubilation when he realized the group about to lap us was the polo-playing Archibald brothers from Australia, Rob, Ed and Jack, and their cousin, Henry Bell. Mike had gotten to know the “Archibells” (nicknamed so on the Mongol Derby live Twitter feed) in start camp and they had planned to ride together. The Archibells’ herd of galloping horses gave our two plodders the incentive to get moving that Mike and I could’ve never generated, and we began to close the gap to HS8.

The six us of ended up sticking together, making good time with relatively few hiccups through the rest of Day 3. At the end of the day, we cruised in and out of HS11 with about 45 minutes of riding time left on the clock, passing several riders who were there serving vet penalties. (Horses must all pass a vet check in which the horse must be sound and meet a heart rate of 56 bpm within a half hour of arriving at the station). We ate up the mileage on six well-matched “flyers,” sprinting toward a water source notated on the map in hopes of finding a family nearby to stay with. Our good luck continued as we spotted three gers by the river with less than five minutes of riding time left. Mike presented his note written in Mongolian to see if we could stay, and a shy 14-year-old girl responded in English that yes of course we could, and actually that three of the six horses belonged to her. We spent a serendipitous evening eating, laughing, miming and sipping Mongolian vodka with the family who so generously took us in and helped us care for our, er … their, horses.

From left: Jocelyn with three hostesses; Rob, Jack and Ed Archibald, and Mike on the evening of Day 3
Courtesy, Rob Archibald

The Derby has a way of taking riders from their highest high to their lowest low, and we had been running pretty high. The next morning we galloped toward HS12 on well-rested horses and continued moving smoothly through Day 4. And then we arrived at HS14.

It was slim pickings on the horse line at HS14. I settled on a small, scrappy looking black horse after I had pointed to three others that the herder inexplicably shook his head no to. Departing from the horse station, our group of six, usually somewhat harmonious, was in total disarray. My rough and ready horse was bolting to the front and didn’t have much in the way of steering while behind me Henry’s horse—latter dubbed Black Beauty—was bucking and zig-zagging like a spasmodic drunkard, looking like he had never had a rider on his back. Henry rode alongside one of the other horses, and then between two horses to keep him straight and moving forward. The horses settled in and things seemed like they were going to be OK.

But within an hour, our leg went downhill quickly. Black Beauty’s antics were replaced by the much worse dogged persistence to not move a muscle. He made the horses that Mike and I rode on the morning of Day 3, who arrived at the horse station with comically low heart rates of 44 (mine) and 46, look like Man O’ War and Secretariat.

You know the saying “you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink”? Well that definitely applies in the Mongol Derby, but more like, “you can select a horse off the line, but you can’t make him run.” We had already tried putting Henry’s horse in the middle of the group, ponying him off of one of the other horses, encouraging him from behind—all of which worked—but only for a few hundred meters. My five riding companions, all non-smokers, divvied up the cigarettes meant as gifts for the herders and began anxiety-ridden chain smoking as we discussed what to do next. Should Henry push his “need assistance” button on his tracker, thus prompting help from the Mongol Derby crew and an hour penalty? Should we keep at it and hope we could drag Beauty into the station in time? Should we take off his tack, smack him on the rump, look the other way and pretend like we lost him?

We noticed a ger at the bottom of the hill, and thought if we could make it there, maybe we could recruit a herder to do a little horse whispering, so we made our way down. Soon Henry was sitting on the back of a motorcycle, hanging onto his saddle with one arm and clutching the strong Mongolian man sitting in front of him with the other as they rode up the hill. We followed, ponying along Henry’s loafing black gelding.

Once at the top of the hill, we bid the Good Samaritan farewell and Black Beauty, well-rested from making his way to the top of the hill without the added weight of saddle and rider, was re-saddled and re-mounted. But he refused to move forward down the hill. Instead, Jack unsaddled him and began backing him down the hill, which much to our delight, seemed to work. Ed, still mounted on his horse, strapped Henry’s saddle to himself, while Henry rode Jack’s horse and juggled his saddle bag.

Jack’s strategy quickly floundered, but before long we devised new one. Another herder with a motorbike appeared so Jack hopped on behind, ponying Black Beauty off the back. Whooping and hollering, we followed along, taking our time with Ed and Henry’s added baggage. We crested a hill and saw Jack and the herder off the bike with—no surprise—the horse standing still. The herder dragged an aloof Black Beauty up to Ed’s horse, tied the reins around Ed’s horse’s neck and without a word set off on the bike with Jack toward the horse station.

The Mongolian horse whispering hero
Courtesy, Jack Archibald

It was the Mongolian herder horse whispering that we had all been waiting for. Just like that, we were off with Black Beauty happily trotting alongside Ed’s horse. We exchanged puzzled glances, not entirely sure how this was different than ponying him but, honestly, we could care less.

With a sigh of relief, we rode into HS15, passed our vet checks (even Ed’s horse who had the hardest job of all—towing the dud) and realized we didn’t have enough time to ride out. I think we were all a little secretly relieved to be done for the day. We hobbled down the horse line to select our mounts for the next morning. I was eyeing a flashy looking paint, when the herder and translator walked over to me. The herder pointed at another horse that I had already passed by. Even from where I stood, I wasn’t particularly impressed by him. I pointed at the paint and made a “is he fast?” motion with my hand. Conferring with the herder, the translator told me that the paint was a little faster than the horse the herder pointed to, but very wild. Again, I eyed the dull-looking horse that the herder seemed to be pushing on me. For an instant I thought about our miserable leg with Black Beauty, looked the translator square in the eye and said, “I’ll take the paint.”

For more of Jocelyn’s Mongol Derby blogs, visit: https://practicalhorsemanmag.com/lifestyle/mongol-derby

Read Part I, ‘Everybody Has a Plan Until They Get Punched in the Mouth,’ here and here.

Mongol Derby Part I: ‘Everybody Has a Plan Until They Get Punched in the Mouth’

Everywhere around me horses were spinning and shooting forward. Along with the other 43 riders, I struggled to keep my stout liver chestnut gelding quiet between the white start flags flapping in the wind while Mongol Derby Chief Katy Willings recited some “inspirational” quotes about the adventure we were about to embark upon. “Everybody has a plan until they get punched in the mouth,” Katy stated pointedly in her usual wry tone, citing Mike Tyson.

Forty-four semi-wild horses galloping off the start line. What could go wrong?
Courtesy, Mongol Derby/Bill Selwyn

Circling my horse, I thought about how we’d already been punched in the mouth once, and the race hadn’t even started. The day before and official start date, all 44 riders had finally mounted and were heading to the start line when the race was suddenly postponed. Waiting at the start line now for the second day in a row, I half expected the race to be called off any second, like some sort of sick Groundhog Day. With so much build up to the race—a year of planning and training, three days at start camp discussing protocols, sitting through briefings and learning about the Mongol horse, finally it was here, all to be swiftly pulled out of reach just when it seemed to be within grasp.

Later we would learn the last-minute call-off was for good reason—the satellites that communicate with the SPOT trackers that the Mongol Derby crew uses to keep tabs on riders had suddenly, and for the first time ever, cut out.

Breakfast of champions
Courtesy, Jocelyn Pierce

With a state of mind of “let’s get this show on the road once and for all,” an extra day in start camp seemed unfathomable to many. But as storms with (no joke) black skies and golf ball-sized hail came crashing through camp, I felt quite content to spend another day eating a bizarre breakfast of carrots, cucumbers and mayonnaise, and curling up on a comfy air mattress I could call my own.

Now, as my horse began shaking his head impatiently, the starting gun was fired, the possibility of Groundhog Day was gone and soon my horse was making headway from the back of the pack, weaving in and out of the others and galloping along with a mannerly professionalism that I did not yet fully appreciate. 2016 Derby veteran Maddie Smith of San Francisco and I had planned to ride together throughout the race if possible and had strategized to aim for horse station 4 (HS4) by nightfall to get ahead of the congested pack of riders. This meant blowing through the horse stations as quickly as possible. As soon as our horses passed the mandatory vet checks, we would refill our water packs, take a few sweet rolls to go and select our next horses.

From left: Maddie Smith, Jocelyn Pierce and Pam Karner leave HS1 with donut rolls securely in pockets
Courtesy, Mongol Derby

These rolls, I would learn, are at pretty much every horse station and would become a staple in my diet for the week. Picture a plain cake Dunkin’ Donut munchkin, sans glaze. Now imagine that donut has been sitting on the counter for 2 weeks. When you bite into it you worry that maybe you’ll leave your tooth behind. It’s dry, it’s flavorless, you definitely need some water to choke it down, but it is in fact edible and as a bonus, it’s pocket sized. Nuke that baby in the microwave for 10 seconds, add a little Nutella and it wouldn’t be so bad.

Jocelyn ready for the vet check at HS2
Courtesy, Mongol Derby

Throughout the day we stuck to our plan and before we knew it, we had torn though the third leg and about 65 miles. As we approached HS3, thunderstorms crackled all around us and the skies opened up. If there was one thing I learned during my brief stint at start camp, it was that the weather in Mongolia can change in an instant, in a way that’s unlike any other place I have been. One minute you are soaking up the sun, feeling like you’re on a holiday at the beach, and in the next, you’re looking on the horizon for Noah’s Ark to come to your aid.

Pulling up my hood, Maddie and I were soon on new horses and on our way to our goal of getting to HS4 with Irishman JD Moore in tow. We soon caught up to Michael Turner, an African safari guide in Botswana, who we had rode with for a bit on the previous leg, and Saif Noon, the youngest competitor in the Derby, of Pakistan. With about 15 minutes left on the clock to ride (riding hours are between 6:30 a.m. and 8 p.m.), we realized we weren’t going to make it, even though we could see the horse station on the horizon, taunting us. Not wanting to add time penalties for riding outside the prescribed hours to our rap sheet so early in the race, we headed to a ger (a traditional, portable dwelling) about 2 miles short of HS4. The five of us dismounted and feeling the pain of riding 85 miles, hobbled over to the ger like a group of 90-year-olds shuffling down the hall of the nursing home to get to bingo on time.

From left: Jocelyn, Maddie, and Karrin O’ Loughlin on Day 1
Courtesy, Mongol Derby

The family that lived in the ger graciously helped us hobble our horses—Mongolian horses are accustomed to being hobbled, which limits them from going too far away while they are grazing … for the most part—and then they ushered us inside. We sat around the fire while our hostess prepared dinner and the 6 kids crowded around JD as he showed them how to play a card game. After eating Mongolian “donuts” all day, I was happy for some hot soup. Already my vegetarian diet was going out the window as I eagerly slurped down chunks of goat meat. We must’ve looked like quite a wretched bunch to our hosts, water-logged and moaning while we mustered up the energy to do some pathetic stretches in the tight quarters. When finally I had given myself a little wet wipe bath in my sleeping bag and happily exhaled, ready for sleep, there was a knock at the door. Pierre, one the Mongol Derby vets, had swung by to check our horses. We begrudgingly got back into wet clothes, wet boots and tramped outside to present our horses, who all got the thumbs up.

The next morning, feeling refreshed from a night of sleep and 10 hours not on a horse, we pulled on still-wet clothes and set off to HS4, where we quickly chose our next horses. The five of us rode out together, and Valeria Ariza of Uruguay quickly caught up to us. We were more than halfway through the leg, trotting slowly down a slope, when Maddie’s seemingly docile horse swerved to the side and gave a couple bronc bucks, throwing Maddie and bolting for the hills.

A pre-teen herder riding bareback saw Maddie’s once seemingly good citizen of a horse peace out and immediately sprang into action, joining Mike and Saif in pursuit of him. Initially Maddie thought she was fine, nothing but a little bump and a brush with Derby disaster. But as the adrenaline wore off, she realized she wasn’t and pressed her help button to get checked out by the Mongol Derby medical crew. JD and Valeria rode on, while I waited with Maddie for Mike and Saif to return.

Start camp ger-mates. From left: Karrin, Kathy Gabriel, Maddie, Jocelyn and Pam. Maddie was so incredibly helpful with insider tips and tricks to all competitors, especially her fellow ger-mates. 
Courtesy, Jocelyn Pierce

About 15 minutes later, smiling triumphantly, like a white knight returning from battle was Mike, holding the reins of Maddie’s horse. But when he heard that Maddie wouldn’t be riding on after all, his face fell and I could tell he was just as crushed for Maddie as I was. Maddie urged us to keep going and after a few minutes we reluctantly said our goodbyes, hopeful that she was actually fine and that maybe she would be able to meet up with us later. I was so heartbroken for Maddie, who was taking her second stab at the Derby and was the absolute epitome of good sportsmanship. Days later we learned that Maddie had suffered a dislocated shoulder and fractured ribs, ending her goal to complete the Derby. Our plan to ride together had been thwarted, and it was only the beginning of the second day. Anything in the Derby can and will change in an instant, and nothing can be taken for granted. This was a reminder that I kept with me throughout the race, especially when I felt like things were going smoothly. Like the very wise Mike Tyson once said, “Everybody has a plan until they get punched in the mouth.”

Erik Cooper: Reindeer Adventurer and King of the Bloodwagon

Mongol Derby rescue crew member Erik Cooper shares his take on the longest and toughest horse race on the planet.

It was raining, it was cold and it was after the cut-off time for riding when Erik Cooper got the SOS call from a rider in the Mongol Derby. She was less than ¼ of a mile from the horse station, had gotten lost and was stuck on a high ridge. “We didn’t reach her until about 11 p.m. [2 hours later] because it was dark and we had to move at such a slow pace going up,” recalls Erik. “When we got to her, she was pretty hypothermic and a little shaken.” The team got the rider into the jeep, but they couldn’t just leave her horse there. So Erik jumped on the horse and slowly made his way down to the camp. “We got everyone back safe and sound around 2 a.m. or so,” Erik said.

“If it’s a medical emergency, the riders will press 911 and the medics will be dispatched, but if they press SOS, it just means they need some sort of assistance,” Erik explained. This is where he comes in. He heads the aptly-named “Bloodwagon,” and performs search and rescue missions for riders in need of help during the Mongol Derby. When the distress calls come in, Erik never knows what sort of disaster he’s about to walk into. “This is what we live for, these rescue missions,” he said.

A 2012 Mongol Derby veteran, Erik is spending his sixth summer in Mongolia this year. In addition to being part of the Mongol Derby race management, he also leads his own expeditions in Mongolia with the Tsaatans, the last tribe on the planet that ride reindeer. “There’s only 44 families left. Pretty rare,” Erik said.

Erik (center) leading one of his reindeer expeditions

I have Erik to thank for my spot in the Mongol Derby, as he interviewed and selected me to ride in the race. In preparation for my upcoming Mongol Derby adventure, I caught up with him and asked him about his experience and for some advice.

JP: Why did you decide to compete in the Mongol Derby?
EC: I was looking for something to motivate me to get in shape. I thought I’d do something like a Tough Mudder [a 10–12 mile obstacle-course race], but then I stumbled upon the Mongol Derby. I grew up on a horse farm in Missouri and I thought I could handle myself, and what better way to test that than by competing the longest and toughest horse race on the planet?

JP: What was your main goal going into the Derby?
EC: I think everyone wants to win it, but you don’t know what the hell you’re getting yourself into until you’re over there. All of us have maybe one thing we do instinctually really well, but maybe we’re too afraid of failing at that one thing we’re so passionate about. So we keep living in this safe zone with it because we never want to push past that and be told we aren’t good at what we love to do. My whole goal was I just wanted to prove to myself that I was as good as I thought I was. I wanted to just to throw it all on the line and see what happened.

Erik riding reindeer with the Tsataan tribe, which is the only remaining tribe that still rides reindeer.

JP: What was the biggest surprise about the Derby?
EC: There was one day when I was cold, wet and miserable, and I thought it’ll be fine, because there would be a fire [at the horse station]. That’s what I think of when I think of camping. But there are no trees and so [the Mongolians] burn horse poop as fuel and it doesn’t last too long. I realized I was going to sleep cold and wet and that’s just how it is. I also didn’t realize there are so many wild dogs that are trying to bite you over there. Literally every day you’re pretty much chased by wild dogs.

 JP: So you would recommend I get the rabies vaccine?
EC: Yeahhh. Ya know, either that—or just be fast.

JP: What was one of the craziest moments of your race?
EC: My year was the year that the rider broke his neck, and I was there when it happened. It’s kind of crazy because you sign up for this race and kind of sign your life away. It takes forever for the SOS team to find [riders]. You are in the middle of Mongolia, you are in the wild. So seeing this dude laying there with the broken neck—it became real. When you see it first-hand it’s a game changer and you realize that could be you. It’s not that the person can’t ride. It’s just that the rider was unlucky. Unlucky shit happens.

JP: What was one of the most inspiring moments or something that has stuck with you?
EC: The people of Mongolia. We are complete strangers. We look weird as hell riding up to their homes. They’re just so generous of what they have, even if they don’t have much and they are so hospitable. In what other place in the world do you see strangers taking in strangers, regardless of race or where they come from?  In Mongolia they just take care of you. Now I live there every summer and I get to experience the generosity and hospitality and it’s just incredible. Riding the horses was amazing and so was being in the beautiful scenery—but the people really made it.

Erik with a herder during the Mongol Derby.

JP: Do you consider the Derby more of a mental or physical challenge?
EC: It’s a combination of both. It will take its toll on you physically, but I think the biggest thing about it is that the human body is able to adapt to certain things, more than what you think. If you’re physically fit and you’ve been riding your ass off, yeah you’re still going to be sore, you’re still going to be tired. But mentally, it can wear on you especially if you’re getting lost all the time and you start letting that get to you. If you start letting yourself get dark-sided, you’ve got to find the light. Mental fortitude and the power of positivity is important. You have to make light out of situations. Try to find humor in everything that happens.

JP: How did you train for the race?
EC: I was living in California riding endurance horses out in the desert, and then I moved back to the East Coast and trained on polo ponies. Then I moved to Missouri and finished training on my own horses back at my parents’ place. The biggest thing is to train on as many different personalities as possible. I think you get more out of riding a variety of horses because that’s what’s really going to give you that power to adapt. You’re riding 28 horses in Mongolia. Each one has his own personality, his own tick. Once you get to Mongolia and you’re on those horses, you can find each one’s match with a horse you trained on at home.

JP: Do you think it’s possible to build a relationship with the horse in such a short amount of time?
EC: (Laughs). You need to connect and understand that individual, I’ll say that (laughs). I don’t know how close of a bond you can build. The biggest takeaway from racing a horse in Mongolia is don’t control him too much. This is his home, he knows what he’s doing. I think we micromanage way too many things [in the U.S.] and we don’t let the horses have their own head and lead the way. Sometimes you just have to let go. Sometimes the horses are going to want to bolt. You think you can control that horse? You can’t. Let it go and just hope that you’re bolting in the right direction.

Erik on an adventure in the Altai Mountains with a Kazakh Eagle hunting family learning about the ancient Golden Eagle hunting training process.

JP: Do you have any tips on selecting horses?
EC: Look at the terrain that you’ll be crossing next and pick a horse based on that kind of terrain. If you’re going to be in a lot of hills or mountains, pick a horse that looks a little more steadfast and looks like he has some fuel in the tank. If you have flat ground, pick that horse that looks like a speed racer. But then again, it could just be that that horse’s body looks amazing but he decides, ‘I’m not running today.’ And he won’t. So sometimes it’s a crapshoot.

Erik and his translator, Yanja, looking out on the horizon for riders during the Mongol Derby.

JP: Was there anything in your kit that you brought and wish you hadn’t?
EC: Fruit snacks. I was like ‘Oh this will be great, I’ll ration these.’ I ate them all by Day 2. Don’t bring those comforts of home. A small roll of duct tape is amazing, obviously some painkillers, anti-chafe cream, a solid rain jacket.  If you’re white as hell, sunblock.

Less is more. You don’t need it. Also, the horses are hyper-sensitive. Think about your gear in respect to the noise it makes, the color and brightness. Does your jacket have a lot of Velcro on it? Don’t bring it!

JP: Any parting words of wisdom?
EC: The biggest thing is having a positive attitude. You should have one moment in your Derby that you want to give up and you want to drop out. And in the moment, that’s going to be where you grow. When you persevere through that and you rally yourself and you get through—that’s going to be the game changer.

Keep up with Erik’s adventures and beyond by following him on Instagram at @ErikCooperAdventurist

Destination: Mongolia

This summer I’ll be competing in the Mongol Derby, which is touted as the longest and toughest horse race in the world.

Come Aug. 1, I’ll fly some 6,500 miles from Washington, D.C., to the nation that lies between Russia and China and is known for vast rugged expanses and a nomadic culture. I’ll have three days of pre-race training. Then on Aug. 8 the 600-mile adventure will begin.

I was introduced to the Mongol Derby in 2013 through a firsthand account by American cowboy Will Grant in Outside magazine. Captivated, I scoured the Internet for more about the race, which loosely follows the route created by Genghis Khan in 1224 to carry riders whose mission was to deliver information and facilitate communication throughout what would become the largest contiguous empire in history. Every year, I followed the race. But it wasn’t until last summer, when someone I’d met—Tennessean Leslie Wylie from the website Eventing Nation—was a competitor, that it occurred to me maybe I could be one, too.

I was surprised when less than a week after submitting my application I had an interview with Erik Cooper, a former Mongol Derby competitor and current support-crew member. He was convinced I was a shoo-in. Truth be told, I wasn’t as sure. As an eventer, I have zero endurance-riding experience and the most time I’ve ever spent in the saddle in one day was for six hours on a horse trek in Ireland. But I’ve been a lifelong horsewoman and have ridden my fair share of headstrong horses. I grew up riding at a small training and breeding farm in Massachusetts, where I helped to saddle-break babies and retrain problem horses—among them my own Arabian mare, who was wildly inappropriate as a child’s horse. She put me in a wheelchair with a broken leg and arm three days before the start of seventh grade. More importantly, she taught me how to sit a buck and what it means to have determination and patience.

I hope those traits will serve me well during the Mongol Derby as I ride 25 different semi-wild horses—on loan from local herders—for roughly 25 miles apiece as I cover each day’s route of between 75 and 100 miles. Along with 39 other international competitors, I’ll be racing for seven to 10 days. I know I will be tested in many ways. Even so, I can’t think of a better way to pursue my three passions: horses, travel and exploring the outdoors. At age 30, I’ve already hiked the Alps while studying in Europe and made a solo seven-week journey across the United States to experience all that the country’s National Parks have to offer. Now I’m eager to immerse myself in one of the last surviving nomadic cultures on the planet—one with a profound connection to and dependence on the horse.

As they did in the 13th century, modern-day Mongolians rely on horses for their livelihood, using them for travel, herding, hunting and racing. Small in stature but sturdy and resilient, Mongol horses are said to have remained largely unchanged since Genghis Khan’s time. They live off the land in huge feral herds in harsh conditions year-round. Ridden infrequently, they become nearly wild and must be caught and broken each time they are to wear a saddle.

Whatever challenges the horses present to their riders in the Mongol Derby, their welfare is paramount. Each one must pass a vet check before a rider can move on, and time penalties will be imposed when a horse has an elevated heart rate, shows signs of lameness, is overridden or on course beyond the prescribed time for each phase of the race. A rider who incurs sufficient penalties will be pulled from the derby. In addition, all riders must comply with a weight limit and may carry only 11 pounds of gear so the horses aren’t overtaxed.

I’m incredibly grateful that Practical Horseman’s parent company and my employer, Active Interest Media, has generously paid the $12,995 entry fee, which helps support both the Mongolian families who help make the race possible and the official race charity, Cool Earth, which works in partnership with indigenous communities to end rain-forest destruction.

Traditionally, only half of those who start the Mongol Derby finish. So there are lots of things for me to consider as I get ready—my physical fitness, the clothing I’ll wear and the equipment I’ll pack to name just a few. In the coming months, I’ll be sharing my experiences as I prepare for and participate in this once-in-a-lifetime adventure. Follow my progress in Practical Horseman and here at http://www.PracticalHorsemanMag.com and http://www.JPMongolDerby.com.