Somewhere in Heaven: The Remarkable Love Story of Dana and Christopher Reeve by Christopher Andersen
Authors: Christopher Andersen
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before—not to compete, but to scout for Thoroughbreds he might add to his sta- ble. Nestled at the base of the Blue Ridge Mountains, between the Rappahannock and Rapidan rivers, Culpeper was at the epi- center of Virginia horse country. This time, Chris was scheduled to compete at the spring horse trials of the Commonwealth
Dressage and Combined Training Association, held at the two- hundred-acre Commonwealth Park equestrian facility.
At six-foot-four and 215 pounds, Chris was by all accounts sim- ply too big to make it to the front ranks of U.S. equestrians. Yet, ever the competitor, he was hell-bent on going as far as he could in the sport. Arriving in the early afternoon of Friday, May 26, Chris headed straight for Commonwealth Park to rehearse the dressage course with Buck. When he was finished, Chris walked the cross-country course on which he and Buck would also be competing—twice—before settling in with Will and Dana back at the Holiday Inn.
Whenever they were on the road as a family, Mom and Dad always made sure that Will slept in his own room. After an early room service dinner, they turned in for the night, but there would be no opportunity for intimacy, since the door to Will’s adjacent room was propped open so they could hear him if he woke up in the middle of the night.
Chris and Buck showed up on time the next morning to com- pete in the dressage phase of the competition. Proudly showing his own colors—the silver and blue of his prep school alma mater, Princeton Day—Chris donned helmet and padded safety vest, then put Buck through his paces.
Dressage was not Buck’s best event—he excelled at cross- country—but he did well nonetheless. When it was over, Chris had placed fourth out of twenty-seven. He returned to the Hol- iday Inn, where Dana had decided to spend the day with Will; she planned to be among the spectators when he competed in the final event—show jumping—on Sunday. “You know, I think I might actually win this thing,” Chris told his wife. “All it takes
is for somebody else to make a few mistakes. And the way Buck’s been riding, I think we really have a shot.”
Dana, no stranger to the equestrian world, was proud that her husband, who had taken up the sport seriously just a decade earlier, had come so far in a relatively short period of time. “Most people start out riding as kids and never get to the point where Chris is,” she said. “He is the most focused person I’ve ever known. When Chris feels passionately about something, he makes anything seem possible.”
Chris roughhoused with Will for a while, and then drove back to the equestrian grounds at one-thirty. For the next hour, he carefully studied the cross-country course a third time. Chris was concerned about a couple of jumps—one into and out of wa- ter, the other over a bench—but they were toward the end of the course. At least he and Buck would be able to build up a rhythm during the first half dozen jumps, none of which seemed the slightest bit difficult.
A fellow rider and friend of Chris’s, John Williams, dropped by to wish him luck before he headed for the warm-up area. It was the last thing Chris would remember for the next four days. At their precisely scheduled start time of 3:01 P . M ., Chris and Buck—Entry No. 103—were off. The first two jumps went smoothly. “The rhythm was fine and Chris was fine, and they were going at a good pace,” observed Lisa Reid, a veteran trainer who was among the spectators that day. As they approached the third fence, a three-foot-two-inch-high split rail set in a zigzag pattern—in terms of difficulty, merely a three on a scale of one to ten—Reid was impressed with how seamlessly horse and rider meshed. They were, she said, “coming into the fence beautifully.”
Buck started to jump, but then, without warning, abruptly— and disastrously—changed his mind. “The horse put his front feet over the fence, but his hind feet never left the
Dressage and Combined Training Association, held at the two- hundred-acre Commonwealth Park equestrian facility.
At six-foot-four and 215 pounds, Chris was by all accounts sim- ply too big to make it to the front ranks of U.S. equestrians. Yet, ever the competitor, he was hell-bent on going as far as he could in the sport. Arriving in the early afternoon of Friday, May 26, Chris headed straight for Commonwealth Park to rehearse the dressage course with Buck. When he was finished, Chris walked the cross-country course on which he and Buck would also be competing—twice—before settling in with Will and Dana back at the Holiday Inn.
Whenever they were on the road as a family, Mom and Dad always made sure that Will slept in his own room. After an early room service dinner, they turned in for the night, but there would be no opportunity for intimacy, since the door to Will’s adjacent room was propped open so they could hear him if he woke up in the middle of the night.
Chris and Buck showed up on time the next morning to com- pete in the dressage phase of the competition. Proudly showing his own colors—the silver and blue of his prep school alma mater, Princeton Day—Chris donned helmet and padded safety vest, then put Buck through his paces.
Dressage was not Buck’s best event—he excelled at cross- country—but he did well nonetheless. When it was over, Chris had placed fourth out of twenty-seven. He returned to the Hol- iday Inn, where Dana had decided to spend the day with Will; she planned to be among the spectators when he competed in the final event—show jumping—on Sunday. “You know, I think I might actually win this thing,” Chris told his wife. “All it takes
is for somebody else to make a few mistakes. And the way Buck’s been riding, I think we really have a shot.”
Dana, no stranger to the equestrian world, was proud that her husband, who had taken up the sport seriously just a decade earlier, had come so far in a relatively short period of time. “Most people start out riding as kids and never get to the point where Chris is,” she said. “He is the most focused person I’ve ever known. When Chris feels passionately about something, he makes anything seem possible.”
Chris roughhoused with Will for a while, and then drove back to the equestrian grounds at one-thirty. For the next hour, he carefully studied the cross-country course a third time. Chris was concerned about a couple of jumps—one into and out of wa- ter, the other over a bench—but they were toward the end of the course. At least he and Buck would be able to build up a rhythm during the first half dozen jumps, none of which seemed the slightest bit difficult.
A fellow rider and friend of Chris’s, John Williams, dropped by to wish him luck before he headed for the warm-up area. It was the last thing Chris would remember for the next four days. At their precisely scheduled start time of 3:01 P . M ., Chris and Buck—Entry No. 103—were off. The first two jumps went smoothly. “The rhythm was fine and Chris was fine, and they were going at a good pace,” observed Lisa Reid, a veteran trainer who was among the spectators that day. As they approached the third fence, a three-foot-two-inch-high split rail set in a zigzag pattern—in terms of difficulty, merely a three on a scale of one to ten—Reid was impressed with how seamlessly horse and rider meshed. They were, she said, “coming into the fence beautifully.”
Buck started to jump, but then, without warning, abruptly— and disastrously—changed his mind. “The horse put his front feet over the fence, but his hind feet never left the
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