Jenny Brien said:
Michael Press said:Here is a report of a 22 mile race won by a man versus
horses.
<http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/wales/mid/3801177.stm>
That race used to be open to mountain bikers too.
Quoted message said:From http://www.man-v-horse.org.uk/#what
In 1985 mountain bikes were introduced to the race and Jacqui Phelan,
US Ladies' Champion, was just minutes behind the first horse. In 1989
Tim Gould, Cycles Peugeot UK, beat the horse by nearly 3 minutes. This
was the first time the winning horse had been beaten by a mountain
cyclist and Tim won £5,000 from William Hill for his fine achievement.
The bookies also had to pay out a bonus in 1995 and 1996 when a relay
team came home ahead of the first horse. Unfortunately, mountain bikes
have not been allowed to participate in the races held since 1994
because of an anomaly in the law, which forbids bicycles to race on
bridalways. The Department of Transport has recognized this and
proposals to change the law are being sought.
Dear Jenny,
Nice link. I expect that the bicycles would win easily on flats over a
long distance.
But as for runners versus horses, I'm waiting for the race in which
the human runners carry 10% to 20% of their own weight on their backs
like the horse.
Movies and modern recreation leave people unaware of the curse of the
cavalry, which was finding and leading enough remounts to make
operations possible.
The spare horses had run, trotted, and walked just as far, but they
were "fresh" because they had carried no rider.
We don't see the remounts in the movies because the cavalry and the
posse look better trotting along solo as if in a parade instead of
leading a lot of spare horses.
We don't see remounts in modern recreational riding because modern
riders aren't willing to exhaust, ruin, and even kill their horses to
make good time.
For an interesting sidelight on horse versus man, consider the Pony
Express:
In a little while all interest was taken up in stretching our necks
and watching for the "pony-rider"--the fleet messenger who sped across
the continent from St. Joe to Sacramento, carrying letters nineteen
hundred miles in eight days! Think of that for perishable horse and
human flesh and blood to do! The pony-rider was usually a little bit
of a man, brimful of spirit and endurance. No matter what time of the
day or night his watch came on, and no matter whether it was winter or
summer, raining, snowing, hailing, or sleeting, or whether his "beat"
was a level straight road or a crazy trail over mountain crags and
precipices, or whether it led through peaceful regions or regions that
swarmed with hostile Indians, he must be always ready to leap into the
saddle and be off like the wind! There was no idling-time for a
pony-rider on duty. He rode fifty miles without stopping, by daylight,
moonlight, starlight, or through the blackness of darkness--just as it
happened. He rode a splendid horse that was born for a racer and fed
and lodged like a gentleman; kept him at his utmost speed for ten
miles, and then, as he came crashing up to the station where stood two
men holding fast a fresh, impatient steed, the transfer of rider and
mail-bag was made in the twinkling of an eye, and away flew the eager
pair and were out of sight before the spectator could get hardly the
ghost of a look. Both rider and horse went "flying light." The
rider's dress was thin, and fitted close; he wore a "round-about," and
a skull-cap, and tucked his pantaloons into his boot-tops like a
race-rider. He carried no arms--he carried nothing that was not
absolutely necessary, for even the postage on his literary freight was
worth five dollars a letter.
He got but little frivolous correspondence to carry--his bag had
business letters in it, mostly. His horse was stripped of all
unnecessary weight, too. He wore a little wafer of a racing-saddle,
and no visible blanket. He wore light shoes, or none at all. The
little flat mail-pockets strapped under the rider's thighs would each
hold about the bulk of a child's primer. They held many and many an
important business chapter and newspaper letter, but these were
written on paper as airy and thin as gold-leaf, nearly, and thus bulk
and weight were economized. The stage-coach traveled about a hundred
to a hundred and twenty-five miles a day (twenty-four hours), the
pony-rider about two hundred and fifty.
There were about eighty pony-riders in the saddle all the time, night
and day, stretching in a long, scattering procession from Missouri to
California, forty flying eastward, and forty toward the west, and
among them making four hundred gallant horses earn a stirring
livelihood and see a deal of scenery every single day in the year.
We had had a consuming desire, from the beginning, to see a
pony-rider, but somehow or other all that passed us and all that met
us managed to streak by in the night, and so we heard only a whiz and
a hail, and the swift phantom of the desert was gone before we could
get our heads out of the windows. But now we were expecting one along
every moment, and would see him in broad daylight. Presently the
driver exclaims:
"HERE HE COMES!"
Every neck is stretched further, and every eye strained wider. Away
across the endless dead level of the prairie a black speck appears
against the sky, and it is plain that it moves. Well, I should think
so!
In a second or two it becomes a horse and rider, rising and falling,
rising and falling--sweeping toward us nearer and nearer--growing more
and more distinct, more and more sharply defined--nearer and still
nearer, and the flutter of the hoofs comes faintly to the ear--another
instant a whoop and a hurrah from our upper deck, a wave of the
rider's hand, but no reply, and man and horse burst past our excited
faces, and go winging away like a belated fragment of a storm!
So sudden is it all, and so like a flash of unreal fancy, that but for
the flake of white foam left quivering and perishing on a mail-sack
after the vision had flashed by and disappeared, we might have doubted
whether we had seen any actual horse and man at all, maybe.
"Roughing It" XIII
http://www.gutenberg.org/files/3177/3177.txt
For a practical series of 10-mile stretches across every kind of
terrain, there was no question which creature was faster.
For longer stretches with human runners willing to nearly kill
themselves pitted against horses ridden by kind-hearted owners, things
get more interesting.
Hi-Yo, Silver!
Carl Fogel
