Caleb counted St. Claire's Horse Park as one of his favourite places to ride.

For many reasons: commuting was easy; accommodation was cheap; it was near the beach; the great little Peruvian food truck usually parked up on site. The biggest reason- though the food truck was close- was that it was home. Cresting the hill at the highest point of the cross country course and catching a glimpse of the city skyline put this little kid jump into his heart sometimes. Good memories, he supposed, made with that skyline in view. Memories you didn't revisit galloping up a hill toward a fence with a 6' drop on the other side, but you felt there, all the same.

Something else he loved about it was how, early in the new season, they didn't give much of a damn about how the place looked. Most of the big guns were still wrapping up their season down south, where the sunshine, money and accolades were in winter, which meant they didn't have anyone around to impress. The snow had melted and the sludge was on its way out, but the ground kept a kind of wet spring squelchiness to it- the kind of ground they couldn't drive a mower over without bogging it, but couldn't drive a tractor over without trashing the footing for a solid few weeks. Which meant, park maintenance had not much choice but to let the runs grow.

... Which meant, anyone out at the first few events of the season were jokingly advised to wear safety glasses on the cross country course, because they were about to be going weed whacking.

[image can be viewed larger hopefully]