by Sarabeth Asaff

A few years ago, at the age of nineteen, I was out in Montana, visiting relatives. While there, I was asked to help re-train a horse so that grandchildren could ride her. On a beautiful sunny morning, I woke early to get in some riding time before breakfast. I was thinking about how blue the sky was, and about the mare I was training...wondering how she would take to my riding her bareback. I was uncomfortable with the western saddle, having ridden English since I was a little girl. I was not thinking about Davy Jones, the man who I'd once had a crush on at the age of ten.

After riding for a little bit, I went back to my aunt's house to see if my cousin wanted to ride with me. The mare had to get used to carrying two children at once, and since neither my cousin, nor I, were all that big, I figured it would work.

Unfortunately, my cousin spooked the horse as she prepared to get on, and the mare began to prance and buck. Since I'd been riding from the age of five, and was known as one of New England's up and coming new riders, I didn't give it much thought. I simply sat calmly, waiting on the horse to calm down. I leaned over her neck to pat her, and reassure her that there was nothing to be frightened of.

But as my cousin came up behind her, I was caught unaware when the mare spooked one more time, cracking one last buck. I was already off-balance. I popped right off, and was thrown against a stone fountain in the yard, splitting my head open on the rim of the fountain.

A few days later, in the hospital, I was unable to stop crying. Up until this point, my life had revolved around two things; art/acting, and horses. My parents thought that I had a better shot at making a living with horses, so they pushed me to make that my career, even as I took classes in art/theater in college. Now I was being told by doctors that I might never ride again....that I wouldn't have the same control over my body....and that another blow to the same spot on my head could do permanent damage. I hadn't been wearing a helmet at the time of the accident, but now have one, specially made in England, to protect that part of my head.

To cheer me up and take my mind off all this, my brother bought me some videos of The Monkees. He asked me, "Remember when we were kids...how we used to watch this show every day?" "And we never believed our mother when she told us that it had been made in the sixties?" "I always wanted to be Micky Dolenz, and you always wanted to marry Davy Jones!" I had to smile through my tears.

As we watched the video, I gradually stopped crying, and started to fall in love with Davy Jones all over again! There was one scene that sobered me up, and set me to thinking: An episode where Davy rides a race horse to save it. It dawned on me that he had once been a jockey, and I wondered if he still rode. I asked my aunt, who had been a David Jones fan even before the Monkees, when she saw him in "Oliver!" on Broadway.

She told me that, yes, he still rode,and brought me in an article the next day that she had saved. Apparently, just a short time before, David had been injured in a horse racing accident, and had broken his shin. The article went on to say that he was still touring, and that he had plans to continue racing. At first I empathized with his injury, but then it hit me. This man was doing all the things that I loved! He was working with horses, and in the arts. He was leading the life that I'd always dreamed of leading. As of that minute, he became my hero, and my inspiration!

The months passed, and I was back at school. I was still recovering, still not riding, but doing my best to find out everything I could about David and the Monkees. I was intrigued by the story of how the four of them had never been allowed to play their own music, but now, thirty years later, they had done it with their own album, "Justus". If this wasn't enough inspiration to keep going, I soon learned that David had won his first race. He had done it at the age of fifty, on Digpast, the horse that his daughter had bought for him. I was determined that even if it took me thirty years, I was going to accomplish my dreams; both in the arts and in horses, just like David had done. Within a few months of that, I was referred to a man who is said to be among the best at bringing horses and riders back to their top form.

AT his farm, I met a horse named Milky Way. He was recovering from serious injuries of his own. Although it was some time before I was able to ride him, it was inevitable that the girl who was never supposed to ride again, and the horse who was never going to work again, were to become a great team! It pleased me no end to learn that my trainer's wife was a Monkees fan, and I learned how to "sit trot" dressage, in time to "I'm a Believer". My trainer told me that the best thing about this sport is that you can keep getting better until you can't walk. And he told me the story of a man who rode his first three day event at the age of seventy-six!

I, in turn, told him about David...winning his first race at the age of fifty. He laughed and told me that whatever my inspiration was, to stick with it.

Seven months ago, I was told that since I was the only one who could work with Milky Way, whose mind was shattered when he injured his back, I was being given the chance to take him and make him my own. The alternative was for Milky Way to be put down. It had taken so much patience for me to learn to ride again, that it was only natural for me to transfer that patience to whatever horse I was riding. It was that patience that Milky Way responded to, when he didn't seem to respond to anything else. So I took the chance, and bought the horse.

Another thing to thank David for; if I hadn't learned to ride again, an amazing horse would either still be locked in the darkness of his mind, or could possibly be dead.

Now, just a few months later, and three hundred miles away from Massachusetts, and that farm where we both recovered; Milky Way and I are competing together at Training Level (third level), with the USCTA. When I decided that it was time to get out of Boston for awhile and try my hand at being an artist, horse rider/instructor, I found a horse racing farm in southern Pennsylvania. I would work for a year, training the horses, and testing the waters for my "come back" into national competition. I remembered that David had once said that Pennsylvania was one of the most beautiful places he'd ever seen, and that clinched it. Within three months, Milky Way and I were on our way south.

Though I've never met David, he remains an inspiration to me when things get tough. Because of him, I know that one day I'll make it. Maybe I'll be fifty, maybe I'll be seventy-six, but I'll make it!