Extreme horse racing: Where man and beast both run

"I just thought this was a great concept for a race," says Johns. Years later, in 1971, while working at Levi Strauss & Co., Johns remembers that the organization wanted "a distinctive sports event [to sponsor] and I said 'I've got the thing right here.' " The jeans firm bit and, that year, 60 teams competed in the first 28-mile race in California's Mayacamas Mountains.

The sport, popular predominantly on the West Coast, has evolved, with roughly 25 races a year between April and October. There's even a world championship race, which is usually about 35 miles long.

The night before the race in Cool, many of the competitors pitch tents and camp near the starting line. Though it's easy to pick out most of the slender participants downing pasta and carbs before the race, their age range is surprising.

Frank Lieberman first discovered the sport 12 years ago when he was 55. "I thought that in order to do the sport you had to be an elite athlete," says Mr. Lieberman, a retired psychologist. So he contented himself with participating in ride and tie's sister sport, endurance riding, where competitors race horses from 25 to 100 miles without getting off to run.

But at a mixed ride and tie and endurance event, Lieberman found himself camped next to a group of ride and tiers. "These guys looked older, not like young, athletic types," he says. They talked him into competing and he's never stopped.

What allows people who've qualified for AARP membership for years to be serious contenders in such a grueling sport is largely the switching strategy. Though teammates must swap places at least six times, they can do so whenever and as often as they want. So a team can have the strongest runner spend the majority of the race on foot, or they can alternate every few miles.

"As I get older and slower, I find younger and faster partners," laughs John Osterweis, who has been at it since 1983 and is now in his mid-60s. "It's still competitive."

His partner today is Dennis Rinde, who placed in the top 10 in the Boston Marathon twice in the 1980s. Here in Cool he runs 70 to 80 percent of the 22-mile race. They manage to place third out of 13 teams here, despite falling behind due to a broken bridle. They might have fallen further behind if fellow competitor, Mrs. Ruprecht, hadn't stopped – losing time for her own team – to help them.

Behavior like Ruprecht's is not uncommon. Warren Hellman's team also gave up several places here when he spotted a horse who'd broken loose and become tangled in barbed wire.

"There was no question that we'd stop and go back to see if we could help," says Mr. Hellman. A nearly 25-year veteran of the sport now in his 70s, he says that ride and tiers often make sacrifices like this. "You're not only dependent on your partner and your horse, but on the others in the race if you get into trouble," he explains.

If someone becomes overly competitive, vet checks safeguard horses from being overridden. In races 20 miles or longer, horses pass through at least one vet check during the race and afterwards they must be declared fit to continue or the team gets disqualified.

The camaraderie is fitting for a sport where contestants tow horses in trailers for hours, or days, to events, and pay $100 race fees – all for the glory of winning a horse blanket or water bottle. The only cash prizes are for the world championship, where the top prize is $1,000.

"People will say you're crazy," says Lieberman. "But they use it, I think, in a positive way.... Not that you're just off, but that you're doing something very special that most people are unable to do."

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