Amanda Bader

The last thing I ever said to Amanda Bader was, “have a great ride.” My final memory of her speaks volumes to the delightful, strong woman she was. We were at the Florida Horse Park together in Ocala, Florida, representing, in an unofficial capacity, the NY Mid-Hudson Valley horse riders . She was there to compete, and I was there to support. This particular weekend was one of the largest Horse Trials the park has each year. Hundreds of riders from all over North America come to compete at varying different levels in dressage, stadium jumping, and cross country.

Amanda was easy to spot in the crowd. She looked sharp as ever in her black jacket, distinct blue velvet helmet and white britches. She held a determined NY stride that moved her with purpose towards her destination. At her side was a riding crop and in her wake, trying to keep up while still coping a quick sniff of everything and everyone, her trusty Jack Russell terrier, Lola. I saw Amanda but she didn’t see me. “Hey Lola, get out of the garbage can,” I yelled loud enough to make Amanda and plenty of others turn. She saw me and realizing I was goofing on her, smiled. “Hey Amanda, have a great ride.” I said, not realizing it would be the last time I could tell her that. Earlier we had agreed to have dinner the following Tuesday to discuss among other things, the Trials. She waved goodbye and disappeared into the crowd.

Amanda was preparing for her cross country run where she would take Simira, her 15-3 hand, 8 year old mare over a series of jumps and obstacles spread out on a rolling green course well over a mile long. It was a beautiful day, like so many in Florida. The promise of long sunny days of riding, instructing and learning was enough to motivate Amanda to come down for the winter--To stay on top of her already great game, and let the snows of the North have their way back home.

Cross country is a test of endurance and courage. I have walked many courses. I have marveled at the challenges the jumps present and I have faded in the daunting shadows of those same challenges. But it is in the face of that challenge that Amanda thrived. She rode the course because she was confident, well-trained, excited, eager to test herself and because she was alive. Where others like me might sit on the sidelines and watch this event, she was involved. This is an event that demands steel nerves and talent, both of which she had in spades. It involves a special relationship between horse and rider based on trust and sensitivity. And into the delicate mix goes the wildcard variable, luck. Or sometimes, as the case can be, bad luck.

I remember dinner at her house in Accord, NY with her dear husband Philippe and a few friends. The perfect 30-something evening (though we were all older than that) with nice wine, giggles, a foray into politics, a hasty retreat, excellent food, a few good natured jabs at the French, plenty of barn talk and lounging until the wee hours. Amanda was a perfect host, gracious, engaging, charming. Her orientation was towards quality, kindness and generosity, be it in spending a little extra at Gail’s Stone Ridge tack shop to support the local economy and a friend, or baking outrageously tasty treats to raise money for all things equestrian or her interaction with horses.

And she was a talented writer. A hard worker. Determined. Loving. Smart. Particular (her friends jokingly called her ‘Demanda’ ). She knew what she wanted, and she knew what she liked.
Few are lucky enough to realize early enough what in life makes them truly happy. Indeed some spend their entire life in search of elusive passions. Amanda Bader got there early.

I recently met the volunteer who started Amanda on the last course of her life. Jennifer told me that the event staff rarely speaks to the riders when they are in the starting gate, but when she saw Amanda’s smile and enthusiasm for the upcoming ride, she had to say something to the lady in the blue velvet cap. They chatted briefly and the buzzer sounded beginning the course. As Amanda took off for the first jump and cleared it gracefully , Jennifer told me she turned to a co-worker and said, “You know, that’s what this sport is all about.”

I take some solace in knowing when I said to her that fateful day, “Have a great ride,” that she had actually had 51 years of a great ride and left us all doing what she truly truly loved.