Jet Liners, Elephants and Queen Victoria

My wife and I no longer ride together. As my enthusiasm for bicycling waxed hers waned. Bottomed out, really. Bicycle saddles can be uncomfortable for a man. For a woman they can be unbearable. Gradually, I became a solo rider.

But in the time we did ride together there were memorable moments. Among them was the afternoon we were invited by a stranger to view Queen Victoria's carriage, hitch a team of champion race horses then ride cross-country to meet an eccentric millionaire neighbor and his super-model wife who had rescued elephants from poachers and flew the herd home from Africa in her private Boeing 707.

We had spent the morning riding among the thoroughbred horse farms surrounding Ocala, Florida. For our lunch break we chose the shade of a live oak standing at the entrance to a large stable complex. As we ate, a pickup truck turned into the driveway.

"Can I help you?" the driver asked.

"We were just having lunch" I answered.

"This is private property."

"I'm sorry" I replied. "We'll pack up and be gone in a minute."

"No, you can stay. I just need to be careful of strangers wandering onto the property. Please, enjoy your lunch, take all time you need."

As we finished eating and prepared to leave the man walked back from the stables. We made our introductions and exchanged pleasantries.

"You both look like folks who might appreciate vehicles with spokes in their wheels. If you have a minute I would like to show you something in the barn you might find interesting."

We entered a large air-conditioned building containing dozens of horse-drawn wagons and carriages of every description. There were stagecoaches, surreys, wagons designed to haul milk and freight and pioneers; we were surrounded by vehicles from another century.

"This must be a museum." I said.

"No, it is a private collection. I am the ranch manager here. The owner breeds horses and competes in coach-and-four racing. He also collects what you see around you."

"Incredible" I exclaimed. "What is coach-and-four racing?"

"It is native to Europe; teams of horses pull coaches over a demanding course. It is costly, only a very few can afford to participate."

"Is the owner from Europe?" I asked.

"No, but he is as wealthy as a nobleman. Perhaps you have heard of him; Phillip Hoffman, the chairman of Johnson & Johnson."

His name was not familiar to me. I could only imagine the wealth required to own so large a ranch and participate in such an exotic sport.

My wife asked, "What kind of horses pull the coaches?"

"Holsteins" he answered.

"Holstein horses? I've heard of the cow but not the horse."

"It is an old breed, tracing back to medieval war-horses of the 14th century, similar to the Hanoverian. When the English incorporated Thoroughbreds into the line they became smaller and well suited to both riding and driving."

We walked among the various carriages as he pointed out the ones of particular interest.

"Here is a fast little carriage that once carried a Vermont doctor on his house calls. Over there is the very stagecoach that transported passengers between London and Portsmouth in the 18th century."

" And this" he said, "is Queen Victoria's day coach. She used it regularly to travel about London."

I was in awe. Suddenly, my prized little collection of antique cameras seemed insignificant.

"Let me show you the tack room." We entered an adjoining building that smelled of saddle soap and leather. On the walls hung bridles, halters and harnesses. Large horse collars were resting on floor stands, the brown ones with brass balls attached to their tops, the black collars tipped in silver.

"Beautiful!” exclaimed my wife. "Are the horses here now, can I see them?"

"I was about to bring them in from the corral. Would you like to help?"

Eight magnificent horses stood waiting at the stable door. They were a bit smaller that Clysdales, proportioned more like Thoroughbreds than heavy draft horses. My wife beamed as she led them individually to their stalls and brought them green hay and oats.
We enjoyed spending the next hour doing stable chores. When each animal had been bedded for the night our host walked with us back to our bicycles.

"You are welcome to return whenever you like. I would enjoy your visit. We could hitch up a team and ride over to the Jones ranch to see the elephants."

"Elephants?"

"His wife rescued an entire herd from poachers in Africa. She flew them back in her own Boeing 707. It took a dozen flights. The Jones' have a large runway on their place. She pilots all sorts of planes, real nice people."

"Amazing, they must be as wealthy as Mr. Hoffman" I said.

"Probably even wealthier, Arthur invented Nautilus exercise equipment. I'll bet you've heard of him."

Nautilus inventor, Johnson & Johnson chairman, private airport, elephants; what kind of incredible world had we wandered into?

"Here is my card" he said, "Give a call when you want to come up. I'd love to show you around."

"Thanks," I replied and with handshakes we said our goodbyes and rode the several miles back to the car.

For weeks afterward we talked about that afternoon, imagining the kind of day we might have spent had we accepted the invitation to return. But we did not. I believed we would find too little in common, except for the brief time we would share.

Meeting a billionaire and admiring his elephants might have been enjoyable for an hour or so, but then I would have begun to feel like just a momentary diversion in his day. Bored with his elephants and the roar of his wife's coming and going, he may have enjoyed showing us about his estate, pointing out his various trophies. But soon he too would find the moment awkward.

A wise friend once told me, “Men are rich not when they possess the most, but when they need the least.” My needs are few and simple. I am content just to admire such things as the warmth of a summer day, the noble beauty of a magnificent horse and an hour shared with my wife in the cool shade of an oak tree.