Weekend Escape: Temecula : Galloping Good Time : Whether playing cowboy or polo prince, Rancho Pavoreal has a horse for any rider

My idea of a good time is horsing around--not betting on the ponies but riding them. Finding a place this side of Wyoming, however, where the steeds are eager, trails endless and where I can be pampered with fine food and wine after a ride has been like chasing the ghost of John Wayne.

Then I discovered Rancho Pavoreal in the high desert of Riverside County. The ranch, albeit expensive, turned out to be the perfect elixir for raging cases of horse fever--mine, my husband’s and my 8-year-old daughter’s.

I also found that I needed to look no further for the spirit of The Duke--he used to own this 4,000-acre spread.

The sprawling ranch house is set on a knoll commanding a valley near Sage, 17 miles east of Temecula. It is surrounded by hardscrabble landscape and lush green fields, the kind that invite a good gallop. Mt. Palomar rises in the distant haze.

As we pulled up to the ranch house one recent Saturday afternoon, three men were seated on the veranda, legs stretched in front of them, sipping lemonade and beer. They waved lazily, the picture of relaxation. Our girls, 8 and 4, bolted from the car and were greeted with big licks from Dolly, a black and white Great Dane the size of a pony and with the temperament of a pussycat. The children dashed for the veranda and the green lawn that spread before it. But they pulled up short, eyes fixed to the ground. There, coiled in the shade of a spreading oak and as still as the dead, lay a rattler.

Our host, Allen Senall, shook hands with us, then chuckled as he watched the girls. The snake had been shot earlier that morning at the kennel. Senall, a veteran father, figured the sight of it would be worth a thousand warnings to children about running blithely off into the bushes alone. He was right.

Senall suggested we park our bags in our room, directing us down a walkway to the airy Gene Autry room, with a knotty-pine, open-beamed ceiling and a tub that would later prove a godsend for saddle sores. It’s one of only five guest rooms here, all of which are clustered at the east end of the house. Ours was next to the Gabby Hayes room and across from John “The Duke” Wayne room, separated by a huge, round, tiled fountain. I could feel the urban uptightness loosen as I listened to its soothing, trickling sound.

We changed into jeans and boots, then headed to the “great room” in the ranch house to arrange a ride and baby-sitting for our preschooler. A couple of guests dressed in breeches and knee-high leather riding boots were seated on couches swapping horse tales about the morning hunt with our hostess, Joanne Senall. (The ranch lends its property to a local hunt club and in California style, the hounds chase coyotes, not foxes.) They could have stepped out of a Polo ad.

Now, I’ve been around all sorts of horsy types, from rough-and-tumble endurance riders who taught me to stay on a horse careening up and down mountain trails, to people who treated their animals as objets d’art. Some were the greatest people I’ve ever met, others have been among the snootiest. But as we were introduced around, not an upper lip curled, no eyebrow raised. Instead, we were greeted warmly by Joanne, who pulled us into conversations with strangers and urged us to nosh from a sideboard laden with crudites, strawberries and homemade sweets.

I stopped worrying and started enjoying myself as I surveyed the surroundings, a blend of Western ranch-house informality and understated elegance. The ceiling was decorated with a dried grapevine arrangement wound round exposed pine beams. Pastel-shaded dhurrie rugs blended with the floor’s cinnamon-colored tile pavers. Antique furniture was mixed with rough-hewn tables supported on sanded and lacquered fence posts. Bronze horse sculptures frozen in various gates added a grace to the scene. An Italian silver chess set sat on a table in the reading area, the pieces cast as Roman and Egyptian horse soldiers.

I met Jean, a good-humored woman who turned out to be our trail guide for the weekend. Would we like to go for a late-afternoon ride? The answer came from my daughter, who almost pulled her out the door.

We headed past the Olympic-size tiled swimming pool that Wayne had built when he owned the place, then down a short trail to the stable. Our horses were already saddled when we got there. Mine was Chuck, a bay gelding who had been a polo pony in a former life. As we set out at an easy pace toward an open field and past one of two dressage rings--dressage is an equine version of classical ballet--I quickly understood why polo ponies are so valuable. The lightest squeeze of the leg and Chuck picked up the pace.

My daughter, however, wasn’t bonding with her mount, Alfie. We turned back and, much to Elizabeth’s relief, left her off with Emma and Bonita, the baby sitter.

As we rode, Jean chatted about the ranch--how the Senall’s had bought the rundown property several years ago. They’d worked hard to turn it into an intimate affair that would appeal to all levels and styles of riding and stocked it with horses as comfortable at rounding up cattle as they were sailing over fences. Guests can book for the week, weekend or arrange to take part in a three-day mock cattle drive or sign up for individual lessons.

We came to a sandy stretch of trail and, with little urging, our mounts broke into a rocking-horse canter. The wind had died, the sun was low on the horizon and in the distance a spray of purple wild Canterbury bells covered the hillside. All I could hear was the rhythm of the horse’s breathing as the ground turned to a blur underneath. At moments like that I’m convinced heaven has horses.

But paradise had to be postponed. It was getting dark and dinner was at 8.

The meal started with wine and conversation with the other guests, all of whom were regulars. Dain, who owns a design company, flies in from Chicago about once a month to stay here. Elizabeth from Santa Monica works with computers and comes here on weekends for dressage lessons. Her companion, Phillip, is a scientist and has caught horse fever too. As we ate the crisp multi-lettuce and vegetable salad, crunchy Italian bread and fluffy lasagna that Joanne had made, conversation thrived. We finally wound down over Joanne’s berry cobbler topped with homemade ice cream.

We awoke to a heavy fog that ebbed and flowed in the valley. As we warmed up on mugs of hot, strong coffee and a full breakfast of bacon, eggs, cereal and muffins, we suddenly heard the hounds barking. Then through the fog we saw the scarlet jackets of a band of riders galloping along the ridge. This was the last hunt of the season, Joanne explained, and they’d be at this for a while.

My husband and I lingered over breakfast--no one seems to be in a hurry at Pavoreal, which suited me fine--then headed off for a morning ride with Phillip, with Jean as guide. Elizabeth was signed up for a safe ride in the arena with Joanne, and Emma stayed to play with Bonita.

Would we like to try our hand at cutting cattle? Jean asked.

We headed to a pasture where about 40 head were grazing. Today I was riding Phantom, an appaloosa originally trained as a cutting horse. To anyone expecting a lot of yippee-i-ki-yay, herding cows can be disappointing. It’s best done quietly and skillfully; Phantom proved to be a master.

Then we set off for a brisk ride up a dusty ridge, then through a meadow of wildflowers. I looked over at Michael. He was grinning from ear to ear as the wind whipped across his face. I realized that I, too, was grinning like a kid. I kicked Phantom and raced ahead, sucking in the scent of dust, horse and wild sage.

I’d wager that if Wayne were around today and had been along with us on that ride, he too would have been grinning.

Budget for Four

Room, breakfast, two nights: $341

Horseback riding, two days: $400

Lunches, dinners: $141

Baby-sitting: $15

Gas: $6

Total: $903

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Rancho Pavoreal, 43000 Stanley Road, Sage, Calif. 92544; tel. (909) 767-3007, fax (909) 767-0828.