The Inside Rail

Saturday morning column. Perfect. That’s what I’m meant to do when I flip open my laptop on this steamy Saturday morning. Fair Hill in seven hours, but I’ve got time to write an eloquent, thought-provoking expose on life.

Preakness morning. Rainy morning.

So, where were we?

A lot of water under the bridge (horses over fences) since we last spoke. For me, it was Aintree, Iroquois, Churchill Downs, Claiborne, Calumet, Mill Ridge and Riverdee – either in person or on my computer.

The Kentucky Derby is over. The Iroquois Steeplechase is looming. The Preakness gate is locked and ready. Saratoga is on the horizon.

Time flies.

Post time: 9:00. A long awaited coup about to be unleashed. Gamblers, pundits, fans and scribes wait for the moment. The Saturday moment. The race of the day.

Things learned, questioned and pondered at the Middleburg Spring Races Saturday…

59 degrees and raining. Two old geldings, one dark bay, one white, huddle under a tree in the front field, heads hung low, noses inches from the ground. The rain creates a sheen across their backs. 

Nothing like a winner. When I rode races, I couldn’t understand the enjoyment, the interest of the owners. How could they get so excited, they’re not riding the horse? Now, that I can’t ride, don’t ride, I understand.

52 degrees and sunny.

Beautiful Monday morning after a few days traveling and a few days racing. It’s spring time, racing season, horses on the grass, miles on the car.

“Does he have any allergies?”

Miles chimes in, “Not that we know of.”

The nurse laughs.

He’s making friends.

The nurse asks, “Miles, do you know what surgery you’re having?”

“Hernia.”