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| 25.
"The Toughest Race" By Charles Roth We were sitting around the club after a ride. The conversation turned to great races and tests of horseflesh. One man held that the Grand National was the hardest race of all, demanding more of horses and riders than any other. From one corner of the porch came a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort. We turned. It came from an old fellow named Thomas. "A lot you fellows know about hard races," said he. "Let me tell you of one. What would you think of a horse race 1,800 miles in length?" "Impossible!" said a youngster. Thereupon Thomas told us about the longest horse race ever held in America, also the hardest: a race clear across the United States from north to south; a horse race, 1,799 miles long. All the men within hearing-distance were horsemen, but I doubt if any one of them had ever heard of this race before. Yet it took place within the lifetime of at least six of those present and was publicized at the time. It was held in 1866. Two enterprisers of that age, Elias Jackson (Lucky) Baldwin and Richard K. Fox, promoted it. Horsemen from all parts of the country took part. The winner of the race, one of Americas greatest horsemen, is still alive. His name is Frank T. Hopkins and he lives in retirement in Long Island City, across the river from New York. He had been dispatch rider for Generals Cook, Nelson A. Miles, Terry, etc., had come up from Arizona, where he had carried dispatches in the Geronimo campaign, and he learned of the race from his old friend, Buffalo Jones, who paid his $150 entry fee and backed him to win. Mr. Hopkins signed on in a small store opposite the post office at Fort Russell, Wyo. As soon as I learned of the race and of Mr. Hopkins I sought him out to learn from him the true story of the hardest test on mount and man in the annals of American horsemanship. The start of the race was at Galveston, Texas. The finish line was at Rutland, Vermont. Take out a gazeteer or atlas. It would be difficult to find two points in the United States farther north or south than these. The terms of the race were simple. To win a man had to ride the same horse all the way; to ride not over ten hours out of every twenty-four. Weight carried, size of horse, kind of saddles, style of riding these things did not count. The prize was $3000, offered by Baldwin and Fox. All along the route, which zig-zagged and wound over highways, dirt roads, bridges, ferries, through cities, villages, up over mountain ranges and across low ground, were judges; scores of them. They kept tab on the racers. Through a practical system of cards, which the riders carried and which they showed and had punched whenever they stopped, the judges knew every day just how far every rider had ridden and just where he was. Seventeen hundred and ninety-nine miles! That was a horse race! It would take a good horse to win—with a mighty good rider on its back. And here is the story of the winner in his own words: "We started on the morning of September 6, 1886," Mr. Hopkins recollected. "The starting-line was at the Old Point Ferry Slip, but it had been kept secret until the last minute because of the S.P.C.A. of that day. There was 56 of us, as motley a group of riders as you could find anywhere. Some were ex-cavalrymen, some cowboys, some city riders. We started and headed north. I remember particularly a man named Gifford from Texas, a James Waldron, Charlie Austin from South Dakota, a man named Green from Idaho, and a little chap called Shorty Price from Colorado. "They all left me at the start, and it was several days before I saw them again. Then one by one I began picking them up, passing them. Before very many days I was out in front—and I never saw another rider until I had been in Rutland for two weeks. Then Number Two came in, and we waited together for the winner of third place. He was the last. The other 53 couldnt make the grade. "The horse I rode was a little fellow, a stallion I called Joe. Judged by show-ring standards, he wouldnt be called much of a horse, because he was small and as lazy as an Arkansas fisherman. But I knew what he had in him, for he had been my top horse several years before when I was running buffalo up in Montana. He was seven years old in 1886. "In spite of averaging mighty close to 60 miles a day for a whole month, Joe finished in Rutland in better condition that he was in at the start. He actually gained eight pounds on the road, and I never could see that the long run caused any ill effects. In fact, seven years later, when he was fourteen years old, I rode Joe in another long race—this one 1,100 miles. In the Galveston-Rutland run I weighed 152 pounds, my saddle 34, Joe weighed 800." Frank Hopkins was paid off by Lucky Baldwin in Louis Butler's livery stable in Rutland, Vt. He returned to Laramie, Wyoming, after the race and found William F. Cody, the famous Buffalo Bill, and Nathan Salisbury waiting for him. They hired him for their Wild West show and Hopkins played with the show that winter in New Yorks old Madison Square Garden, staying on until the end of its run in 1917 and traveling all over the world. He is remembered by old-timers in Germany, Ireland, even the countries of Africa and Asia. Mr. Hopkins kept a log of his journey, which is the most eloquent tribute ever paid to the endurance of a horse and the skill of an American horseman. It shows that doughty little Joe made the 1,799 miles in 31 days' time. Figure out his average daily mileage—57.7 miles. Can you find another record to equal this in the history of the horse? Frank T. Hopkins, who won more long races than any other man in the world. Obviously, Hopkins had to keep himself in the peak of condition for his feats. This race wasnt Mr. Hopkins' longest by about 1,200 miles. He rode in an endurance race in Arabia that was 3,000 miles from startingline to finish. And won it, too. As a matter of fact he has been in over 400 endurance races—and won over 400. Only once was he defeated, and that time by a technicality. He has always crossed the line first. He rode in three races during the Oklahoma boom, when Indian Territory was being settled by the whites; once he rode against Major Gordon Lillie, the famous Pawnee Bill. Another famous race of his, even more famous than the Galveston-Rutland race was the one from Kansas City to Chicago. Many horsemen remember this. It took place during the Worlds Fair year, in 1893. "I owned several great distance horses. Little Joe was the best. I do not know Joe's origin. I picked him up on the buffalo-range in Montana and used him in following the buffalo herds until 1884, when the northern herd of buffalo became extinct. I knew what Joe had in him. He was one horse that could follow a run of buffalo and keep right on, when the first run had been shot down, to a second. He had bottom, endurance, nerve, Joe had. "Another famous endurance horse I owned was a spotted stallion named Hidalgo; a larger, finer-looking animal than Joe. Hidalgo weighed around 900. I owned his grandmother. She was pure white, a little thing with plenty of endurance. I remember how I got her—bought her from the Government for three silver dollars." To have a horse that has the ability, endurance and nerve to win an endurance race is one thing; to have the horsemanship to make the horse win is another, just as difficult to find. I asked Mr. Hopkins to outline the qualifications of an endurance horseman. Here is what he said: "The only answer to that question is that it takes just plain horsemanship in all that the word implies. I had to study my horses to find the right one. Then I had to use common sense in riding him. That is horsemanship, nothing else." His method on long races was always to start slowly, to accustom his horse to the road. In training a horse he also began by slow and easy stages, until he finished the training riding the horse fifty miles a day. With a horse that could stand this work he knew he had a horse that was in condition. "Where most horsemen fell down on these long rides," he continued, "was in ignoring the wishes and condition of the horse. Some riders would set a goal of so many miles a day, then push on regardless of how the horse felt about it. Wrong. Foolish business. I never did it in that way. If my horse didnt feel like making 60 miles a day, was a little below par, as horses, as well as men, sometimes are, I let him loaf along for a day. The next day hed make up the lost mileage." The soundness of this principle is well shown by a log Mr. Hopkins kept of his Galveston-Rutland race. The first day he made only 23 miles. He was sparing his horse. His usual day was one of 60 miles, but there were many days when he made only 48, 481/2 , 44 1/2 , 42, even as little as 39 1/2. Those were the days when the horse wasnt quite up to par. Respecting his condition, the rider let the horse take it easy. They made up for lost time the next day. Mr. Hopkins rode in over 400 endurance races, as I said. His last race was ten years ago. It was a relay race of 120 miles, twenty miles to the horse. Long retired, advanced in years, he had given up the idea of ever riding in a race again. A slur brought him back. It happened thus: "A group of cavalrymen who were arranging for the race, some of them older men who knew me on the plains years before, spoke to the younger riders about me, told them of some of my rides. I said nothing. But I could see that my reputation didnt make much of an impression on these self confident young men. "Then a few of these youngsters crowded around me and began asking me questions, which I answered. At length one of the boys remarked that he supposed I was like all of these old-timers—I could tell about what I used to do, but I couldn't show'em. Well, that got me. I asked if I could sign for the race. I could. I did. I paid my entry fee, signed my name on the book. The race was from Willimantic to Manchester, Connecticut. "I did the 120 miles in 7 hours, 48 minutes, 9 seconds, and I finished first. I raced to show those wise lads how it was done. It was half an hour before one of the chaps hove into sight. I was in bed for a week afterward from being hip-locked and with a bad back, but it was worth it. I showed 'em." |
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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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