Chrys, a work colleague, had invited me to her home for a visit. She went to the kitchen to open a bottle of wine just as the doorbell rang. Instinctively, I answered it and found Carol standing there with a flyer that read, “We’d like to see more of you.”

A quick glance told me everything I needed to know: the ride was through the nudist camp on the dirt road behind the house.

I happened to be wearing a horsey T‑shirt, which immediately sparked conversation. Carol mentioned a ride her husband, Kraus, was hosting the following weekend and invited me to join. I laughed — intrigued, if slightly alarmed — because it wasn’t clear whether the ride itself was going to be clothing‑optional.

I’ll admit, the idea of encountering a few naked people on a dusty trail was… attention‑grabbing. Double whoa. Could the Old West really coexist with a nudist camp? And more importantly, is it safe to ride a horse while barely clothed?

About fifteen of us “textiled riders” showed up on Saturday, just in time to hear Kraus and the wrangler debating the clothing‑optional rules. The wrangler, who had provided horses for the nudists, wasn’t thrilled about anyone exposing themselves while mounted. Kraus offered a compromise that helped no one: “We’ll see what happens, but I’m not wearing a dang thing.”

Minimalism, redefined

The riding outfits on this trail redefined minimalism — nothing was left to the imagination. One weekend cowboy made a bold fashion statement: denim where it mattered, and nowhere else. Another rocked a sheer lavender babydoll nightie, though I doubt anyone was focused on the color. One gentleman paired chaps with cowboy boots and… nothing in between. I can confirm there was a lot of chafing happening. Others sported various forms of ventilated jeans, including one do-it-yourself pair of shorts that defied both logic and structural integrity.

As for me, I stuck with jeans and a horsey tee, much to our host’s disappointment.

The visual hazards

I didn’t know where to aim my eyes, so I stared at my horse’s ears like they were the last safe objects on Earth. The rest of the scenery was… unnecessary. By the time we got out of that nudist camp, I’d seen enough bare acreage to qualify for a land surveyor’s license.

The cactus clown incident

One horse leaned down to sniff a cactus ball on the trail and came back up wearing what can only be described as a green clown nose. The rider was not amused by the extraction process.

Sunshine, agent of chaos

Sunshine, my trusty trail horse, liked to stay right behind the lead rider. Every time the leader stopped to wait for the group, Sunshine impatiently booted the lead horse, Lefty, on the backside.

We stopped for a picnic lunch, and I led Sunshine to the table to grab an Italian sub and a paper cup of apple cider. Sunshine sniffed the sub and decided it was hers. While I was busy extracting salami and onions from her mouth, she grabbed the cider cup, wobbled it back and forth, and spilled cider everywhere. My angel had officially transformed into the nudist devil horse.

The home stretch

Despite the chaos, the ride continued. We navigated trails with naked and clothed riders alike, dodging thorns, cacti, and exuberant horses. Sunshine and I survived unscathed, though I spent a good portion of the ride praying, “Please, Lord, don’t let any horse — or bare‑assed rider — back into a cactus.”

By the end, it was clear: the wrangler‑provided horses were far better behaved than some of the human participants. Out on the trail, the humans showed off their bare essentials, while the horses remained steady, reliable, and remarkably unbothered. I’ve ridden a lot of trails in my life, but this was the only one where the humans were more exposed than the cactus — and the horses more dependable than the riders.

I survived it, laughed about it, and filed it firmly under “great story, zero interest in a sequel.”

© Romancing the Herd