Ben Theyre on the trail in the late 1990s, conditioning his mount, Gus, for endurance-riding competitions. Along the way, he learned about equine conformation, biology, and behavior. Increasing your equine knowledge will help you in your journey to become a better horseman.

Few of us are born horsemen. In most instances, we’re introduced to horses at some time in our lives, and we grow in our knowledge and wisdom. If we understand, learn, and love the world of horses, we usually become horsemen.

Did you emerge as a horseman slowly, over time, or was there a defining moment?

I fall into both groups; here is my journey.

My wife, Vanessa, introduced me to horses in 1991. At that time, she had 31 horses on the farm and was a top competitor on the national endurance-riding circuit. I basically served as the "water boy," but from watching and helping, I learned about the biology of horses, their behavior and handling.

Then I started serving as a recorder at Vanessa’s competitions. Standing next to the official veterinarian, I learned more about equine biology and conformation. Seeing vets perform a "fit to continue" check on literally hundreds of horses reinforced and expanded my understanding. I also grew in love for the horse and learned the steady personality of a good horseman.

Bitten by the Bug
At first, I was afraid to ride a horse. But my desire eventually overcame my fear of injury and I started riding in 1993. It was like being bitten by a bug. I really enjoyed riding horses. Time on the trail became a bonding experience.

In a couple of years, Vanessa had me competing in competitive trail rides sponsored by the Eastern Competitive Trail Riding Association (www.ectra.org). Competitive riding was fun, and the experience helped me to learn more about myself and enjoy the horse for which I was responsible that day.

Vanessa and I continued to compete in competitive trail rides as a team while I served as her crew at endurance rides. We traveled with our horses from Virginia to Canada, Michigan to Georgia, which taught me a lot.

Then, in the spring of 1998, Vanessa started talking about entering the Old Dominion Ride again. I got the itch to enter an endurance ride with my long-time mount, Gus.

‘Let’s Do It!’
The Old Dominion Trail is adjacent to Front Royal and the Shenandoah National Park in Northern Virginia; this is one of the best known of the top American Endurance Riding Conference (www.aerc.org) endurance rides. The trails are arguably the most challenging in the country.

After hearing about the 100-mile ride Vanessa completed there two year earlier, I wanted that experience, too; but not 100 miles worth of it. I didn’t consider the trails "extreme," but I felt I was ready to ride a trail that was not for the faint of heart.

"Do you think Gus and I could finish the 50-mile ride at Old Dominion?" I asked Vanessa one afternoon at lunch. She smiled. She knew I was serious. Having finished in the top 10 in the 100-mile ride there, she knew how to negotiate the trails.

After a long pause, she replied, "It’s a hard trail no matter how they plan it, Ben." So as not to discourage me, she quickly added, "And it’s a fun ride."

Vanessa pulled out a map of the Old Dominion Trails. "It’s a safe trail," she said pointing. "But long sections of it are narrow and rocky. The Shenandoah River is crossed here, at McCoy’s Ford. Then there’s a great view at the top of Sherman’s Gap. That’s your reward after a good, rocky climb.

Her finger moved across an area labeled Indian Grave Trail. "This is a dangerous section that’s usually reserved for the 100-mile riders. We won’t worry about that."

Her face got serious. "No matter how you look at it, Ben, the Old Dominion is only for very experienced horses and riders. You’re a good enough rider. I’ll ride Thunder — he knows the trail. If Gus is properly conditioned, we could finish the ride."

Without contemplation, I accepted the challenge, "Let’s do it!"

Shaping Up
So we entered the Old Dominion 50, scheduled for a summer weekend. We set a conditioning schedule and kept to it. By the week of the ride, Thunder and Gus were in top physical shape. We were well-prepared for the event and planned for what we thought were all the contingencies.

The Thursday evening before the ride, we packed and watched the weather forecast. We had some concern that a developing storm system might pass through Virginia on Saturday, the day of the ride. I was a bit anxious about the whole event and didn’t sleep well that night.

We got underway Friday morning. During the seven-hour trip, we listened to the radio for updated weather reports. I voiced my concern; Vanessa patiently listened.

Upon arrival at the campground, we unloaded the horses and made them comfortable. Then we organized our tack, had a good meal, and went to a pre-ride briefing.

The ride managers announced that they’d start the 100-mile riders at 5:30 a.m., before the 50-mile riders. They warned of a brief downpour during the day due to a passing front. As bedtime approached, the air was heavy and warm. Rain seemed imminent.

Amazingly, when we woke up Saturday at 4:30 a.m., it hadn’t rained. But about an hour later, just as the 100-mile riders left camp, the sky opened up. Boy, did it rain. Within 20 minutes, the rain stopped, and the sun came out. What a beautiful day! Things seemed to be going our way.

Thunderstorm!
We saddled up, double checked each other’s tack, and trotted off to the starting line. We decided to leave with the last riders to minimize being passed from behind. Soon, we were headed down the trail marveling at our meteorological good fortune. Our Old Dominion Experience was about to unfold.

Vanessa was right. The trails were rocky and the views stunning. It was a slow go. Soon, only the drag riders were behind us. We were last — and second to last.

About midmorning, we descended a mountain and came into McCoy’s Ford on the Shenandoah River. There, a natural sandbar permits crossing of what’s otherwise an impassible river. The water’s strong flow seemed to confuse Gus, so I placed his head at Thunder’s tail and guided him through the trail of floating milk jugs, focused on a point on the far shore.

From there, we started up Sherman’s Gap. Vanessa was right again. It was by far the steepest, rockiest, longest climb I’d ever undertaken. However, the tough trail was nothing compared to what awaited us as we approached the summit.

As the sky over the ridge came into view, we saw a big thunderstorm in the distance — and it was coming our way. Vanessa transferred the ride map from her saddle pouch to her waist pack. The wind turned cool and picked up. The leaves turned silver, and the hair on my arms started to feel funny. It got real windy, and lightning struck nearby.

Vanessa got off Thunder and sternly told me to dismount. I did so, immediately understanding the peril we faced. Simultaneously, we instinctively removed the reins from the bits, hooked one of the scissor snaps to the bridle, then reached down and tightened our girths. If we had to release the horses, their tack needed to be on tight.

Vanessa put her head down and led Thunder down the trail in the rain. I followed them with Gus, mentally prepared for the worst.

The rain turned into a severe thunderstorm. As we led our horses through a wooded area, there was no time to consider what was happening. We had to keep moving; with no shelter, there was no other option. The rain came down in buckets from all directions. My boots filled with the water my clothes could no longer absorb.

When we reached the mountaintop, the time lapse between the boom of thunder and the flash of lightning became nonexistent. On either side of our goat path was a drop of several hundred feet straight down. My concern for Gus became one with my concern for me. There was too much responsibility to be afraid.

Then it rained even harder. Vanessa and I could barely see each other, so I grabbed hold of Thunder’s tail. I followed the narrow, bare-rock trail by looking down at my boots. We wound our way through the trees and brush, eventually reaching the descent after what seemed to be an endless march along the ridge.

It wasn’t over. The lightning passed, but the heavy rain didn’t let up. The trail was now a cascading river filled with leaves and small twigs. Undaunted, we kept on. Leading our trusty horses, we splashed carefully through the morass, only imagining what was in the muddy flow.

Halfway down the mountain, the rain started to let up; by the time we reached the bottom, the sun had reemerged. We’d had enough. We were 10 minutes late for our vet check and were glad to call it quits.

A New Era
Soaked but safe, we were given a ride with our boys back to camp. We removed their wet tack, fed them, and, ironically, gave them a bucket of water. I grabbed bottled water for Vanessa and me. As I handed her the water, she gave me a look like, "Do you believe what we just got our horses through?" We headed to the warmth of the trailer to change into dry togs. Our Old Dominion Experience was over but not forgotten.

Staring into the campfire that evening, I drifted into a trance. The day’s events were but a timeless dream. I failed at completing my first 50-mile endurance ride, but despite coming up short, I felt good inside. I realized instinct replaced emotion on the mountain. For the first time, a sense of self-confidence about my responsibility for horses came over me. It was as though I’d entered a new era in my life.

On the ride home, we talked a lot about what we went through, what we did to cope in the severe weather, and how we could do things differently if there was even a next time.

Horsemen do this.