(“The treasures of our youth left in attics as we grew up had a way of disappearing forever when we went off to college.”)

               How many women rue the mysterious loss of their Breyer horse collection? One step through that sorority hall portal and, bingo, mom and daddy had cleaned you out! Presto—a new sewing room or maybe some office space. And onto some anonymous yard sale table went stuff with more than nostalgic value. No doubt you have thought, “What could I have gotten on eBay for that mint condition Tiny Tears doll?” Or my Mr. Potato Head? Or my Cootie game with every single antenna and proboscis still in the box?

               They’re gone now, but for male riders of a certain age, our train sets left a legacy putting us one-up on everyone else who tries to compete in dressage. Though only set up for a couple of months, we spent hours of pre-adolescent study hall time throughout the year fantasizing and meticulously drawing layouts to construct the next winter.

               And therein we learned the art of riding correct arena figures! Every curve: a constant radius. Cross-overs. Switches. Sidings. Possibilities abounded but only in the context of rigidly preordained rules. Geometry by fiat. These same rules were tacitly acknowledged by the alphabets soup of organizations (composed of guys) that created dressage protocols and tests.

               Making the trains run on time might have been Mussolini’s problem. Making them run on predictable, predefined tracks is in their nature—an inherent immutable logic that spills over very easily into dressage riding.