Horse Haven. The name says it all.
Through the trees, behind the barns, past the kitchen, around the bend, out of sight, back in sight, around the bend, through the trees. Oh, those Lorax trees. Shaded. Hidden. Nestled, that’s the word. The track was nestled, like it was poured from a gallon jug, sliding into the nooks and crannies, brush strokes across a canvass. It had to be the most painted track in all the world. Deep, forgiving dirt. When I was kid, the horses seem so languid, so serene, loping and exploring, compared to any other track. Horse Haven, yeah, it was horse haven, a respite from the fracas.
No cell phones for exercise riders to check, no walkie talkies for trainers to bellow instructions. There were no flak jackets, an unbuckled Caliente helmet felt like armor, workman’s compensation hadn’t been invented. Was there a break? Did it close? It felt like time stood still, nowhere to go and, yup, all day to get there. The tough horse wasn’t so tough. The nervous horse, not so nervous.
Kroop paddock boots, toes angled in, heels down, always heels down. Cloth saddle towels, leather bridles, cotton run downs. Nylon? Never. Pony boys and pony girls in Levis and khakis, cowboy bandannas and collared shirts. The lost art of ponying horses, a stanchion of a pony, a sweet-talking pony boy or girl, coaxing their comrade, trying to temper their enthusiasm. It was the closest thing to being free as a horse could get on a racetrack, kicking out like a sharpshooting defenseman aiming for the top shelf, hooves flying, dancers kicking to the sky.
All racetracks are defined by the wire. It’s the first thing you look for when you ride a horse onto a track. The first thing you look for when you walk up to the rail with a ticket in your pocket or a stopwatch in your hand. It’s the eye of the nucleous, everything starts there and ends there. The old Horse Haven track, did it have a wire? Would it have been on the Pletcher side on the way to Tony Dutrow’s barn? Or, over by the show grounds? Would it have mattered?
Thursday morning, I watched Steve Asmussen give instructions to his son, Erik. On Chester, the pony, Erik was ready to accompany a horse to the track. Father explained what he wanted, son looked puzzled and started to repeat what he had heard. Father, like fathers do sometimes, said it again, then drew a pattern on son’s leg. Son drew his version in the air. They looked like they were trying to learn sign language. I remember those days when my dad, the trainer, would give instructions. He would lose me at hello. When you went to Horse Haven, it didn’t matter. It was an escape, pick a gap, pick a route, pick a meandering way home.
Then they paved it.
You can still see the outline, wooden rails still hanging tough on both sides, weaving between trees, Seussian, but it’s long gone now, just a byway to get somewhere else. The dull consistency of tire treads have replaced the improvisation of hoof marks. I’m sure the move increased parking, simplified traffic patterns, lowered the need for crossing guards and made it easier for horses and exercise riders inside the oval to get outside the oval to train on the training track and the main track.
Watching horses train at Saratoga is like watching a two-minute drill by the Harlem Globe Trotters. Horses and riders dart here, careen there. Right after the break, gentlemen, start your engines. Let it rain for a day or two and it’s a one-minute drill with Meadowlark Lemon and friends. They say Americans travel like someone is chasing them. Well, American race horses train like a posse is on their tail. Our horses jog, gallop, breeze and many times race on the same track. An easy day for a horse is to try to jog a circuit or two while horses gallop and breeze past them. How is this good for them?
Sure, it works for the most part but it’s more like we are getting away with it, rather than creating a safe, stress-free environment for our horses. We are stuck arguing about Lasix and yet, we don’t do enough to improve our training facilities. Trainers and track superintendents manage the situation the best they can, but there is a fundamental flaw with our facilities.
Yes, I understand it’s about space and about time and about money and the devil is in the details but we need to concentrate on improving/expanding our training facilities where we can to improve the safety and health of our horses and riders. Ultimately, it would increase field size, protect owner’s investment, help with the after-care crisis. First thing, move the cars, lay some dirt and open Horse Haven.
