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Daybreak at The Spa - Part 2
Original article written by The Steward posted 6 years 0 weeks agoPart 2
“Have you seen Thursday’s entries?” Jack Meyer asked, glaring down at an overnight sheet in his hand.
“Didn’t know they were out,” Randall Allen admitted, reaching for it. Jack snatched it away.
“15, then 6. Explain that to me. How does our race draw 15, and the boys draw 6?”
Randall edged closer to read over Jack’s shoulder. Sure enough, the Filly Turf Dash, traditionally the opening race on Steward’s Cup Thursday, had a field bursting to the limit, while the Turf Dash field could hardly be found.
“A lot of the races are light this year,” Lucas Davenport said as he moved past, clearly having overheard their conversation. “Only five in the mile races, and six total in the Juvenile Fillies.”
“Hey, I took my shot,” Jack retorted.
“You might say that you had ‘Courage,’” Randall joked.
Jack’s filly Act of Courage, who watched them from behind her blue and green webbing, was slated to take on Stephen Saratoga’s Owl Let You Know. The roan filly was unbeaten in three starts, and even had a grade 1 victory over males in her last effort.
“I don’t even know if that’s the one I would be scared of,” Randall said. “At least not for next year. You see the Maryland Million filly is in there too?”
Jack rolled his eyes, finally handing out the overnight sheet. “We dead heated with her first out, you may recall. So I’m not scared of her!”
The sun had been hovering over the horizon for over an hour, but the typical Spa mist still settled over the training track outside the shedrow. Sleek Thoroughbreds galloped past, one after the other, sometimes in pairs. Mike Eaton’s Risking Everything jigged sideways past the barn, refusing to walk onto the gap. His jagged snip flashed and white wall eye rolled as he reared, trying to get away.
Jack and Randall watched the commotion quietly, and were joined by a smiling Nena Olson, who dismounted off her blaze-faced chestnut pony and lifted her helmet off her head. “Hey guys. What’s happening?”
“Just watching that nutty horse of Mike Eaton’s,” Jack said. He nodded at the overnight. “You see the Thursday fields?”
Nena shrugged. “No, but I really only care about Friday. I need to know how Run Wild and Summerland draw.”
“Whoa, who is that?” Randall gestured to the fog across the way.
A strapping bay appeared from the mist, his neck arched and his black mane laying in perfectly even lines on his muscular neck. At his lead was Abe Froman, who picked his way carefully over the dirt horse path to the track.
“Walking Stick,” Nena answered. “He’s in against one of my horses in the Classic.”
“That race is sick,” Jack sighed, rubbing his forehead before gathering a bridle off the hook in the doorway. “It’s hard to believe that someone in there will finish last.”
--
“If you don’t knock it off, I’m going to show you exactly how I feel about you by using your name,” Ryan Whitehead grunted, tightening the over girth on Speak With Fists. The colt flung his head out once again, biting with ears pinned, and received a quick bop to the mouth. He jerked back in surprise.
“Told ya.” Ryan straightened, rolling down his shirtsleeves. It was muggy out, but not yet warm enough to go in something lighter. Speak With Fists craned his neck around, trying to watch Ryan leave the stall from where he was tied against the wall. Ryan ignored him, instead heading over to the sweet-faced filly next door.
Promise Promise, a gray, wasn’t his horse, but she was stabled next door. Donnie Hidalgo’s purple and gold webbing was the only thing that stopped her from climbing into Ryan’s lap; the filly was as sweet as could be and adored attention.
“Unlike you,” Ryan snapped at Speak With Fists aloud.
The shedrow bustled with activity. It was after the first break, third set would be on their way back to the barn, and a line of steaming Thoroughbreds from the second set were receiving baths outside. Matt Feldman’s My One and Only shifted her dark flanks as the groom poured soapy water across her back; one rubber mat away, Take a Long Look was having her tail soaked in preparation for a defense of her Steward’s Cup title.
Sten Rino Haakonsen skirted past Ryan with Send Your Regards; the chestnut horse arched his neck and flexed his shoulders, jogging lightly on his way out the barn. The best bred horse in the entire barn, Kiss in Shadows for Todd Lucas, had to pause on her way back in. Her dark flanks, so similar to those of her sire, Heart of the Storm, were speckled with white lather.
“Alright, Ryan?” Todd asked, passing by the stalls. He wore fringed chaps and the chin strap on his helmet was unbuckled.
“Just admiring your filly,” Ryan admitted. “I wouldn’t mind one like her.”
Todd shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind one like Restored Royalty. I’ve never had a broodmare like that. One day, maybe?”
Ryan smiled and nodded. “One day. Sometimes we have to wait, but we all get lucky.”
--
The barest leaves clung to the trees on the backside, leaving the sacred Spa looking somewhat barren and sad. Nini Hunter adjusted her grip on the shank and leaned further back against a gnarled tree, eyeing the red and white awnings of the grandstand in the distance.
Beside her, Kingdom Come cropped grass, oblivious to the stress around him. His shimmering mane fell forward as he stretched, the munching noise his teeth made filling Nini’s ears.
For once, no photographers pestered them. The media had followed a pair of strapping chestnuts to the track together to catch Kris Bobby’s Gladiator and The People’s Horse in a gallop. As someone facing Gladiator in the Classic, Nini was longing to compare the action between that horse and her own, and like everyone else she was curious as to what The People’s Horse could really do. But quiet moments like these, balanced against a tree at one of the most historic sites in racing, with a Louisville Derby winner at her side, were few and far between.
A horse whinnied in the distance; Kingdom Come’s head came up abruptly as he listened. Please don’t… Nini thought, but her colt did anyway, screaming back in response and making her ears ring.
“You better not be talking to one of your rivals,” Nini grumbled. “Like Sleeping Citizens.” She knew Howard Cake’s leggy bay was in the closest barn, and today she had decided to be afraid of that runner. Every day she was a little afraid of someone else in the field.
Kingdom Come shook himself, sending his mane cascading on both sides of his neck, then returned to grazing. He’s not worried, Nini realized. He’s as confident as ever! The realization made her smile, and pulled her more thoroughly into the special moment. Just a girl and her Derby winner, Nini thought. You can’t ask for anything more.