When I put the itinerary for this trip together, there were a few days that stood as potentially being utterly not outstanding.  These were expected to be long haul days with nothing of note to see or do.  Day 5 was expected to be just such a boring day -- a long haul over flat terrain to a ‘horse hotel’ a few miles off 70 in Southern Illinois.  I was wrong.  Day 5 will stand out both because Sommers Gate Farms turned out to be a really pleasant spot and because the day proved exciting, just not in a good way.

The drive across Indiana was exactly as expected – flat and fast – and little changed (but the time zone) when we entered Illinois.  We’d contemplated a stop at an Indiana state park that has riding trails but decided that a hilly ride and extra 90 minutes trailering on winding country roads might be a bit too much for the boys.  So, we powered through and found ourselves pulling off the highway and looking for Sommers Gate Farms by 2:00.

We were met by Tom Sommers, a tall, lean man of indeterminate age with the requisite wry humor I’ve found among horsemen.  The Sommers own 50 acres nestled between endless cornfields and adjacent to the family farm.  We unloaded Juneau and Guillermo and they seemed no worse for the 5+ hour drive so we decided that, after a quick trip into town to pick up some groceries, we’d take them for a ride ‘just farting around the property.’  Tom said, that sounded fine given that “farting around is what folks around here do best.” Maybe his wife Lea would want to join us, he offered.  Lea soon appeared – she’d come home early from work when she realized we were getting in ahead of schedule.  She showed us around the luxurious RV that would be our home for the night and agreed to join us for a ride after our grocery run.

I was first out to saddle and was soon joined by Lea who brought out a massive bay gelding.  They’ve got four or five animals, all quintessential examples of the quarterhorse breed.  Muscly, fit creatures that have always looked to me liked they’d be as tasty to eat as the cattle they’ve been bred to work.  This 6-year-old, Drifter, was no exception.  His butt was a thing of beauty -- I’ve never understood why calling someone a horse’s ass isn’t a compliment.

Mounted up, Lea lead Kurt and I through the intricate trails they’d carved around their property and the family farm.  We wound by a gentle stream that’s apparently a rager in the spring.  We circled duck ponds filled with heron and white egrets.  We alternated leading and rode side-by-side on the wider trails.  All three horses were being real professionals.  Ninety minutes in, we came to a wide, flat stretch of trail and I asked if we might canter.  Lea agreed.  I don’t know Lea well, but she strikes me as a lady who tries never to say ‘no.’ We set off three across – me in the center, Kurt to me right and slightly back, Lea to my left.  And then all hell broke loose.

Juneau, sure G-man might try to pass, put it into high gear.  Drifter decided it was time to show how quarterhorses got their name (because they’re the fastest at a quarter mile).  By the time I had Juneau reined in, Drifter was charging past me … riderless.  I turned to see Lea sprawled on the ground and Kurt flying off his still running horse to drop to the ground at her side.  By the time I’d caught Drifter and tied him to a tree, Lea was beginning to stir but clearly not fit to ride.  I checked my phone – no service.  Thanks Verizon for 5G in stadiums: how about some 3G in Ramsey, Illinois?  I climbed back on Juneau and wound my way through all those trails back to the barn to get help.

Tom was cool as a cucumber when I told him what had happened.  I untacked while he got out the ATV.  By the time we reached Kurt and Lea, she was up and walking around but with no recollection of what had happened.  I took Drifter’s lead, ready to walk him home.  Tom, simply said, “You can ride that horse.”  I swallowed hard looking at that titanic creature with the maturity of an 18-year-old boy.  I climbed up into the unfamiliar western saddle and tried to figure out all those endless ropes they use instead of normal reins.  Standing on tiptoe to reach the stirrups, I tried to assert some level of control while he jigged sideways all the way home.  That short ride on Drifter showed me that Lea is a damn good rider, as well as a good sport.  I just hope she can forgive me for not realizing she was sitting on a powder keg.  Drifter may have a longer fuse than Juneau, but he’s got way more TNT in his barrel.

PS. In addition to being concussed, Lea has fractured her L2 vertebrae. She was flown from the local ER to Springfield late last night. She and I had exchanged lists of the broken bones sustained in pursuit of our love of horses. I think she’s now got me beat.

To learn more about Lea and Tom’s horse hotel, check out www.sommersgatefarms.com