Ten years ago, my dad and I were perched in the cab of his old Ford pickup, spellbound as we listened to Laura Hillenbrand’s Seabiscuit. As we traversed the hills between Maryland and Kentucky en route to Pony Club Championships, I envisioned myself piloting my 12.3-hand games pony as deftly as Red Pollard.

It was my sixth trip to Championships, and by that time my dad had become a seasoned veteran of the mounted games ring crew, a veritable expert at aligning bending poles and entirely deserving of the official championships name badge he wore with pride.

Last week, I set out for Championships from the Chronicle offices in Virginia, this time with a camera and notepad instead of a games pony. Much has changed in the intervening years: I’ve grown out my hair, graduated from Pony Club and Johns Hopkins University (Md.), and had the pleasure of watching my old games teammate compete at the World Pairs Championships in England while I was working abroad there. I’d heard that advanced games teams now consisted of five members instead of two. I wasn’t sure how my B rating would measure up against the new specialized discipline system.

But for those of us initiated, Pony Club never really leaves us; whenever we tie a quick-release knot or snap up a water bucket, Pony Club is there. If you’re lucky like me, one day you’ll find yourself in the throes of it again, overwhelmed by all the expected and unexpected changes.

Like many good Pony Clubbers, I’ve enjoyed giving back to the organization over the years. After all, I wouldn’t know how to condition tack (which is still Pony Club clean when you see me at events today) or correctly apply a poultice (for which I received an “Exceeds Standards” mark at my rating) if it wasn’t for Pony Club. During summer breaks from college, you’d find me examining ratings, teaching lessons and games practices and assistant horse management judging. Every little Pony Clubber secretly dreams of the day he or she gets to judge formal inspections, scrutinizing manes and tails just as closely as the judges inspected their horses. Experience provides such sweet rewards!

But there have been unexpected rewards, too. When I graduated college and purchased my one-way ticket to work in England, I found myself looking back on photos of the summer I spent in Canada as a member of the Pony Club international games team. I hadn’t known any of the Pony Clubbers we competed against from Australia, Canada or England, but we went home that fall as lifelong friends. If it could happen in Canada, it could happen in England, too.

Later, when I returned Stateside pining for a horse, who should Dad and I be heartened to encounter at our first equestrian outings in years? Who should I consult to help me train my new mare? The answer was both reassuring and astoundingly simple: my old fellow Pony Clubbers, of course.

And in 2008, when disaster struck and Dad was diagnosed with colon cancer at 57, succumbing just a few months later, some of my strongest sources of consolation were Pony Club friends. Who else understood the thousands of hours he’d devoted to every single lesson, camp, clinic and rally?

As I sat in the shade of the lone tree beside the dressage rings last Thursday, snapping pictures of some seriously impressive Pony Club freestyles, a competitor’s dad pulled up a chair beside me.

“I live for this freestyle,” he said, grinning and motioning at his daughter, who was about to enter the ring. “It’s just the coolest thing.”

I nodded. His enthusiasm was familiar, but words had failed me.

Later that afternoon, when I’d gone to the indoor coliseum to photograph advanced games, I caught a glimpse of the 2011 international games team in their uniforms. My own Team USA windbreaker still hangs in my closet, and when I pull it out on rainy days, it always makes me smile.

I was thrilled to recognize Michelle Reilly, 2011 international coach and a long-time games enthusiast from my Pony Club region. I waved her down, and we caught up briefly; I told her that I was back to eventing, working for the Chronicle and missing my games pony terribly.

“Make sure you get my contact information before you leave here today,” she said. “You can come out and play on a [mounted games] team with me! I’ve got ponies.”

“Be careful,” I said, unable to suppress an eager grin. “I’ll probably take you up on that.”

As I sat down to wait for the advanced competition to begin, I watched as two Pony Club dads meticulously marked the start lines at each end of the arena. For a moment, I thought I might glance to my left and see him there: Dad, straightening a stepping stone, anticipating our team’s speedy footwork, impatient to cheer us on.

I realized, sitting with my camera and notepad on my lap, that Pony Club had found its way into so many aspects of my life: my family, my memories, even my job. Sure, the organization has changed, I thought, watching five-member advanced teams parade into the arena. But as I left that evening and walked through the parking lot of enthusiastically shoe-polished cars and trucks (“Kentucky Bound! Go Wild Things!”), I was reassured.

All across the country, Pony Clubbers had set out on adventures that would undeniably change their lives. I’m sure, 10 years from now, I’ll still be discovering the ways in which it’s changed mine.