Reining champions: two out team members take us backstage at Cavalia, the Cirque-inspired show where trainers and acrobats explore humanity's ancient bond with the horse.

You wouldn't exactly describe a horse-and-gymnast show under a big top tent as erotic, but still someone tried. "Our gay publication in Toronto called it 'Gay Cavalia,'" laughs publicist Martin Roy. "They saw a little homoeroticism with the acrobats, especially in the beginning, when two men appear to be making out."

Actually, the acrobats just look like good friends. But what Cavalia misses in sensuality it makes up for in mystique. Cirque du Soleil cofounder Normand Latourelle's Canadian production--playing to sold-out crowds from Toronto to Glendale, Calif.--explores the hypnotic, sometimes surreal human-horse connection on a dirt-filled, eerily decorated stage. Framed by a 200-foot video screen projecting loosely evolving historical images, 21 acrobats and riders twirl, sit bareback, and balance precipitously standing up on any of 36 Arabians, Belgians, Lusitanos, and quarter horses from all over the world.

There are no stupid animal parlor tricks. Except for the occasional minuet--equestrians say "dressage"--the horses are "acting out their proclivities," explains out technical director James Richardson, 21, whose job description runs the gamut from procuring between 1,500 and 2,500 tons of sand to overseeing all multimedia effects. "Unlike circuses, we don't do cruelty training," he says. As a result, Cavalia's success owes much to Richardson's expertise in directing scenery, lights, and--imagine this--live instrumentals and vocals that follow the horses' movements.

"Usually, music is synced to a click track," Richardson explains. "Here, we follow the animals. So while the horses appear to be dancing, that's our illusion. We're working--the horses are playing."

At the troupe's head, world famous horse whisperer Frederic Pignon and his wife, rider-trainer Magali Delgado, act out their bonds with the horses in similarly simple ways: In one forest-themed scene, Pignon cavorts in the sand with three white stallions; at the end they lick his face.

"Our homes even get bottled water," says out stage manager Julie Tardif, 29, who studied staging in her native Montreal and swears she never bonded with a horse till she began working with Cavalia. Now Tardif stands in the audience every night, poised for all catastrophes. To date, the worst was when a foal got loose. "I was [saying to myself], OK, come on, Karen, you can't be in the audience," she recalls. "I'm prepared for emergencies, but there are so many possibilities."

So far, Tardif loves touring. "I asked if they could find a job for my girlfriend," she says. They did: Josee Lauzier works in the Cavalia welcome tent, managing one of the concessions.

"So we're seeing the world together," Tardif exclaims. "It's like a dream." She admits that after Cavalia, returning to reality will be hard: "This is a different life. You "always eat and work in a group. Even on your day off you visit in a group."

"We're an eclectic [mix]," Richardson points out. "There's everybody imaginable, from punks to a lesbian. I'm 21 and gay, in an industry dominated by stereotypes of 200-pound hulking stagehands. But that is Cirque. You're not going to have people who want their 9-to-5 jobs and 2.4 kids. I'm traveling around North America for three years in two suitcases. Somehow we 'all get along, set up this complicated show every night, and we haven't killed anybody yet."