A distant rumble; the pounding pulsates through the earth, reverberates through the leaf-covered grounds of Montpelier. Suddenly, a pack of horses appears at the crest of a hill. Three, four stallions at the front of the herd clear a two-foot hedge in near-synchronized fashion, the muscles on the majestic chestnut and cobalt beasts straining beneath their glossy coats. Close behind, a tight-knit cluster of nine horses approaches on the heels of the front-runners, clearing the jump in as much unison as the width of the obstacle allows. Finally, four stragglers emerge: jockeys swinging whips, horses straining muscles, man and beast trying desperately to advance on the leaders.
Hundreds of spectators have arrived at Montpelier for the annual hunt races, plowing through the gravel lane leading to the race grounds in their SUVs and pick-up trucks, which are fully loaded with tailgating staples: delicious food and liquor bottles. The behemoth vehicles invade the pristine fields of President James Madison’s family home, abandoning the unpaved drive that leads through the grounds and taking right to the grassy hillsides of the estate. A racing trail, about ten feet in diameter and enclosed within a wooden, two-tier fence, forms the perimeter of the event grounds; during each of the day’s six races, men, women, and children alike rush to the fences to watch the horses gallop past in a blur of black and brown coats, marked by flashes of vibrant purples, reds, and greens from the jockeys’ outfits. As at any sporting event, seating is a pivotal part of the viewing experience – and by seating, I mean standing room at the fences. Parking spaces adjacent to the racetrack are sold for a premium price, but the luxury of being able to watch the action from the comfort of your own Suburban entices many attendees to shell out a little extra cash.
In a Southern state founded upon tradition and social mores, the Montpelier hunt races represent much more than a mere sporting event; the races are the pivotal soiree of the year for Orange County. Walking past the seemingly endless rows of tailgaters, you witness a wide spectrum of society; from the socialites dressed in designer chinos and cashmere sweaters to the country boys sporting denim jeans and well-worn boots. Even if you’ve secured a premium spot at the rails for the hunt races (which start at $200 per plot), you should take a stroll around the grounds of Montpelier and enjoy both the beautiful scenery and the vibrant socializing that are the high points of the races. Though there’s a sort of cliquish mentality to the festivities, with event-goers clustered into sections that are representative of their pocketbooks – which determine where they can afford to park – a general sense of good cheer unites all the attendees.
Though the first race doesn’t begin until 12:30 p.m., the gates at Montpelier open at 9:30 a.m., allowing early birds to settle in and enjoy a mimosa (or several mimosas, as the case often is) before the opening event. The child-like thrill that comes from watching the mighty horses sprint around the turns of the raceway and propel themselves over hedgerows and wooden jumps constructed throughout the course is wonderful; but the horses take a second place spot to the socializing that is the main draw of Montpelier. For tailgating enthusiasts, Montpelier is the ideal event: all of the adrenaline-spiked excitement of a sporting event, with much less of those endless hours of actual sport involved. In fact, the spectators have their own athletic endeavor to master: a test of endurance in eating, drinking, and merrymaking for up to 8+ hours. And many take full advantage of the bucolic scenery and the festive atmosphere of Montpelier, lingering on the grounds long after the last race is run at 4:00 p.m.; spending up to two extra hours enjoying a state of complete leisure.
And why not extend the day’s festivities, especially since the entry cost for Montpelier is no paltry sum, once tickets, both personal and parking, and those little necessities like programs – without which one is left to wander the grounds in a state of confusion – are factored into the mix. To gain access to the grounds of Montpelier for the hunt races, every individual above 12 years of age must purchase a general admission ticket, which costs $15. Add to that the price of a parking pass, which is required for every vehicle entering the premises; the most basic sticker for general parking runs a rate of $20. This pass guarantees you just one thing: the ability to park your car in an outlying field on the hunt racing grounds. Two massive pastures are transformed into parking lots for this special occasion and cars are shepherded into the fields by attendants, who can be found resting against the old wooden railings along the perimeter of the grassy knolls. Need another reason to take advantage of the early gate opening? Consider the fact that latecomers – and by late I mean noon, before the first of seven races is run – will find themselves forced to park about a mile away from the horse track, then walk the long, graveled, hilly path that leads to the main event.
Though the hunt races are ostensibly the sporting event of note on every first Saturday of November, there is another, perhaps more serious competition that rages amongst the crowd gathered at Montpelier: the Dolley Madison Tailgate Competition. Though this particular First Lady, wife of former President and Montpelier proprietor James Madison, would not have tailgated in the contemporary fashion, she is still considered one of the finest entertainers to have graced the White House. In her honor, current Montpelier visitors are encouraged to out-compete one another in a test of tabletop display making. Competitors fill out an entrant card upon arriving at the grounds and then proceed to turn wooden, makeshift tables into Versailles-worthy, decorative spreads. Do gilded, four-pronged candelabras really belong at a trumped-up pasture party? That’s debatable, but the exaggerated decorating feats are undoubtedly fun to compare. Whether you want to indulge in your own tailgating spread or just admire others’, don’t forget to take a break from the social action and watch at least a few of those races. Just listen for that rumble of hooves and try to tear yourself away from the hors d’oeuvres every now and then; otherwise, you risk leaving the races uttering those classic words: horses, what horses?
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Carla,
ReplyDeleteAs usual, your writing is evocative and conjures up images of fields and greenery and horses. I have to say (and please remember that this is just my middle-class sensibilities talking) that some of the details made me laugh a little because they're so obviously aimed at a very narrow slice of society. Watching a horse race from a giant Chevy SUV just seems funny to me, as does a tailgate competition. Who knows? I'm probably just jealous.
Forgetting my insecurities for a moment, I'll say that your blog has really captured the feel of the Virginia hunt country (or at least what I imagine it to be).
Cathy