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| 24.
"Training Trotters" By Frank T. Hopkins I rode in one 50-mile race over in Idaho that Fall. I had not raised any colts for a few years; now my horses had been reduced in number for there were only five of the White-Y strain left and they were getting along in years. There was no one interested in long rides as the roads were hard and even then there were cars to annoy a horse on the road. I noticed that I was not the man in the saddle I had been for I was getting hurt more often; it was a sure thing that many injuries were telling on me now. As I looked back over my long trail I remembered I had lived quite a few years, but it was easy for me to compete against the younger riders, although I was not the same as I had been a few years before; although many told me I was as good as ever, some said I was better. But I knew better than any one else that the work in the saddle was getting to be real hard work for me now, where the same work a few years before had been real pleasure for me; even the playing of the Band made me shudder—it got on my nerves, and even now, I can't stand the blare of a band. Most of my time was spent with the five horses that were left from the White-Y Family. Caring for these little horses was more pleasure for me than it was work, for I had so longed to be with them. The five ponies were all old now—none of them less than 18 years, still I treasured them and as I worked cleaning and shoeing them the memories of other days appeared often before me. One morning while I was shoeing Chenango, my old friend Dr. Petersen drove into the shed. After a welcome handshake he asked if I could come over to his place and handle some colts which were not broke. Now, the Doctor was one of the best veterinaries I have known and he was also a love of good trotting horses and he owned a few Hambletonians that were hard to beat. The Dr. liked to put on freak acts at country fairs and places where there were horse meets. When I had the shoeing done, Dr. asked me if I could train a horse to trot fast without a driver as he thought that would make a big hit on the Fair Grounds tracks. He was pleased when I said that was one of the easiest things that I knew of to teach a horse. I then explained how it must be done: First of all, we must choose a green colt that had not been broken for the act. Then the colt must be schooled on the track with a loose rein and the breaker must not speak to the colt at any time while driving the mile, and use a tight pull on the line only when the colt needs straightening out and to get the speed stride from him. Touch at the start with the whip, but not hard, not hard enough to make him break and run. The colt must be driven five or six miles in this manner every day for at least two months before being on exhibition—at no time should the colt be driven in any other way. There should be a man who leads the colt on to the track although the driver is in the seat also, the same man should step out to stop the colt at the end of the mile. The driver should not speak to the lead man at any time while the driver is in the seat. With blinders on the colt, so that he can't see back. The colt will never know there is a man in the seat. But you cannot fool any of these old hosses who have been broken in the usual way. Three days later I was hitching that colt to my breaking cart. The colt took kindly to his first lesson and was led onto the track. The leader spoke to him to go on as I tapped him lightly with the whip. I pulled slightly on one rein or the other to keep the colt straight, tapping him now and then to keep him going, easy at first, gradually increasing his speed. Soon the colt would start into speed when released by the lead man and trot his mile at remarkable speed. Of course, this colt had no company on the track—he trotted his mile alone. In two months time, that colt was doing his mile without me in the seat, and making better time. The lines were fastened to the seat. What a showing that colt made at those Fairs. He trotted his exhibition mile in true form and the colts time varied very little from 8.8 . He had been named Little Wanderer and was in great demand at trot meets; he started his second season only to be poisoned by a low-lifed cur who was jealous. He could not bear to see that colt turn the track alone at such speed. But I've met many of those miserable rats in my day who glorify in destroying a good horse or a dog. ..............................................* * * In 1924 I took a crack at rodeo riding. I rode for Tex Austin at Fort Worth, Texas, where I covered all the real buckers in the outfit and never hit the ground. After touring with the rodeo for three months I learned a thing or two—no matter how well I did, I was gyped out of the money—so I bid them goodby and good luck to the broncs who were sure to break a few more bones before the end of the season. I knew there would not be any of mine broken unless I got paid for the pains I might suffer. ..............................................* * * In the Spring of 1925 I was engaged to drive and train trotters for a local association which Dr. P was President of. The Dr. spoke of some of my long rides. At the time there was a well known New York horseman in the group of listeners. This man disagreed with the Dr., saying there never was a horse living that could carry a man on his back 60 miles in 10 hours—he said 60 miles was a long way when measured and that maybe it was all right to guess or say that the horse had covered 60 miles but if the road was to be surveyed you would find the distance to be nearer 40 miles and it would be a mighty good horse that could carry a rider that far in 10 hours. The two men came to a heated argument and began to bet, one betting that it could be done and the other would give his big odds that it could not be done on surveyed ground. Finally, I stepped away from that horse that I was shoeing and said, "Gentlemen, allow me to settle this for you. I will ride that 60 miles on any mile race track and place one thousand dollars that I will cover 60 miles on any mile race track and place one thousand dollars that I will cover 60 miles in less than 7 hours." I added that the horse I would choose for the ride was over twenty-two years old. Then I asked them to allow me one month before the ride. The following day the agreement was written up and I was to get $1400.00 if I covered the 60 miles in less than 7 hours. If I took ten hours on the ride I would receive only $500.00. Before sunset, each man had laid down his money and we were well pleased. I began to train Perko, a silver gray stallion who was at that time 23 years old. When in good flesh that hoss weighed 900 pounds; after one week of light training, I was sure that little Mustang could still do his stuff. I had ridden him in long rides in his younger days and knew him to be as tough as they come. The word passed from one horseman to another. Many of my old friends called to learn the facts of the ride. I assured them the ride would be made in less than 7 hours and that the old Gutenberg track was the place chosen for the race to take place. This track had been abandoned for many years although the fences were still there and the track bed was covered with a short, sour, grass. The morning I was supposed to ride, I got to the track at 6 o'clock and jogged Perko around until the ride was to start. At 8 o'clock I rode out to the old starting post and got the word to GO. There was no rearing and battling for first place. I headed Perko out into the center of the track bed and set him into a swinging lope—not a fast gait. I looked at my watch to gauge the horse's speed. After he had turned the mile a few times, he knew what I wanted him to do for he settled down to a steady gait. I watched him very careful until 12 oclock, then spoke to him, urging him along to a faster gait; when the horse settled down to his new pace there he stayed until the ride was ended at 25 minutes of 2 o'clock in the afternoon. That ride settled a big argument for all times and also fattened the purse of a number of my friends as well as my own. |
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this site sponsored by The Horse of the Americas Registry, & IRAM - the Institute of Range and the American Mustang email:info@frankhopkins.com |
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