Sunday, June 24, 2012

A weekend all about the horses.....

138th running of the Kentucky Derby was a bucket list adventure for Jeff and I last month.  The drive to Kentucky sucked, 13 hours with a few pit stops along the way.  But once we made it to the hotel, had our cocktails and a bad meal at Cracker Barrel, we looked forward to embarking on a tour of the Kentucky thoroughbred horse farms the next morning thanks to Jeff's long lost cousin Bruce Berenson.  At his stately pillared home, very Kentucky-esque, I must add, we were greeted by his two beautiful short haired collies, who were rambunctuous and excited, behaving like a couple of 5 year old children responding to the arrival of a favorite aunt and uncle.  I never met them before so being the sap for dogs that I am, I let them jump all over me with delight. My bruised and battered arm will be visible in some of the pix.
We visited the farm that was boarding Bruce's two mares and their foals and to my disappointment, the babies didn't frolic in the green pastures like I had hoped to see (a la Disney family movies).  With their gangling and spindly legs (standing only four inches shorter than their full grown mother's) they ate grass for the entire time we were there and that's just what they were supposed to be doing at age six weeks.  The meadows lush and green, the horses were breathtaking, and I loved how curious they were at the sight of these odd strangers in hats, grinning and cooing at them. 
The derby proved to be an experience for sure.  Hats, yes, lots of them, some crazy, some silly some beautiful.  But what I was impressed with were the SHOES.  Spike heels, and lots of them. It so surprised me at first, until I realized that most women wearing them where carrying flip flops.   (or their husbands/boyfriends were) It was all about image and looking fabulous at Churchill Downs, and of course drinking mint juleps so the day was filled with excitement, camaraderie, friendliness and smiles though chivalry was definitely dead due to the lack of seating in the lower level 'free' area. 
We had been too late to order seats in the grandstands when we decided on coming to the races,  so had to be content just standing with the rest of the throngs and finding whatever little corner of something to sit on now and then.  Seats were prized possessions and filled with bags, jackets, hats and newspapers with explicit information that "my friends just went to a) place a bet b) go to the bathroom or c) to get drinks".  This was acceptable of course, if the "friends" came back within a reasonable amount of time and took possession of their coveted seats but it got to a point where, feet throbbing, I simply pushed aside the barricade and sat down, saying "I'll leave when  they come back".  So I was able to rest for an ample amount of time and sip my mint julep like a lady while Jeff placed a few bets of his own.
Our horse didn't win, there were 60,000 people attending, and the temperature was a record breaking and humid 90 degrees so we were happy to say we did it once (and won't do it again)