Raja, Story of a Racehorse (29 page)

Jed, watching on Inquisitor, laughed scornfully, “You don't want to get run off with in a race, little girl, you'll get yourself, or someone else, hurt.”

“That was awful,” Dee wailed as we walked back to the trailers with Sam on Shaddy and Wyatt on To the Max. “I'm so embarrassed! I got run off with in front of everyone. I've been running three miles every day. I thought I was fit. How can I get stronger?”

Wyatt grinned. “Don't worry, it happens to everyone. You'll be fine. Hold your reins in a cross, or double bridge, like this. Then you can plant your hands on his neck or withers. It settles them and they pull against themselves, not you. Use your legs and core for strength and leverage, not your arms. And, whatever you do, don't change your hold! That's a clear signal for the horse to go. Stay quiet. Think of balancing a teacup on your back.”

Wyatt demonstrated as he spoke. “You should get Tricia to help you. She used to hold all of the tough ones, even the ones the guys couldn't. She finessed 'em. Lifting weights and sit-ups, lots and lots of sit-ups, will help, too. Hey, Raja looks cool! I'm looking forward to riding him.”

March, Chester County, Pennsylvania

“I just love a cozy barn with the horses munching their hay and tucked in for the night,” sighed Dee as she fed me a peppermint.

Wyatt had come over to school me over jumps and stayed to help Dee with the afternoon chores. The early spring sun cast a golden glow over the apple tree and forsythia bush, whose tiny green buds seemed bigger and greener with each day.

Paddy, followed by Mac and Angus, came in the barn carrying three brown bottles and handed one to Wyatt before pouring the third into my feed tub.

Yum! Guinness!

“Thanks.” Wyatt took the bottle from Paddy and sat on a hay bale, scratching Angus behind the ears. Dee and Paddy each pulled a hay bale closer to Wyatt and sat down, pulling the freshly washed bandages out of the laundry basket, smoothing them on their thighs and tightly rolling them, before throwing the rolls back in the basket.

“Wyatt, what's the deal with the Maryland Hunt Cup? Why is Sam so obsessed?”

“Well, now, let's see…” Wyatt rubbed his chin. “The Maryland Hunt Cup. I've tried it seven times. I finished the race four times, won it once, was second once, and had a helicopter ride to the hospital once. The only other races as tough are the Aintree Grand National in England, which your uncle Paddy, here, has won, and the Great Pardubice in the Czech Republic, which is insane.”

“Insane is right — I've ridden at the Pardubice. That was quite an experience,” Paddy agreed, raising his eyebrows and taking a long drink.

Wyatt laughed. “Believe me, the Maryland Hunt Cup is ‘quite an experience', too. For over a hundred years, at four o'clock on the last Saturday in April, America's best jumping timber horses have been battling it out,” Wyatt drawled. “It started as a bet between two hunts — sometimes it still seems like that.”

“Really?” Dee seemed mystified.

“People get addicted. The purse is good, but it's not about the money. It's about the glory. It's a big deal just to make it around the course, kind of a badge of honor. Two prep races, the My Lady's Manor and the Maryland Grand National, different from the Grand National in England that your uncle Paddy won, are run on the two weekends before. It's sort of a Timber Triple Crown. Inquisitor is headed to the Hunt Cup for the third time with Jed. If he wins again, he'll go down in the history books with some of the greats like Mountain Dew and Jay Trump.”

“It sounds amazing. Uncle Paddy, can we please go and watch this year?”

“Sure thing. I haven't missed a Hunt Cup in years. I like to go down to the third and thirteenth fence to watch. That's where the excitement is. You'll see some good-jumpin' horses, that's for sure. You never know what's going to happen in the Hunt Cup. That's why everyone's addicted, isn't that right, Wyatt?”

“Yes, that's very true. There's no sure bet in the Maryland Hunt Cup.” Wyatt stood up, “Thanks, I'd better be going. Rick wants us there at five thirty tomorrow morning to go to the track. Good night.”

Rick's schooling field was dotted with several sets of big wood-and-plastic hurdle fences framed by white wings. A row of five post-and-rail timber fences, each four panels wide, lined the back side. Wyatt jogged me around the field once and then we started over the hurdles, single file, with Shaddy leading at a quick gallop.

Gallop, gallop, gallop, jump.

It feels like flying!

I could tell that Wyatt was enjoying it, too.

“He's a very good jumper, powerful, and clever — cool horse,” Wyatt told Paddy as we jogged back to him.

Next, Shaddy, Inquisitor, Admiralty Bay and I jogged to the timber fences then galloped head-to-head, in pairs, and jumped over them, picking up speed for the last.

“Let's have just Raja and Admiralty Bay go again,” Rick shouted over the wind.

Gallop, gallop, gallop, jump! Gallop, gallop, jump!

At the last fence, Admiralty Bay slipped as he took off. I moved over in midair to get out of his way and hit and broke the top rail. I stumbled down on my knees and recovered awkwardly.

“You want to be a timber horse?” Inquisitor scoffed in a withering tone. “Poor Wyatt, I can't believe he has to ride all of you bad-jumping first-time starters. Just don't get him hurt when you fall. Rick needs him to ride his real steeplechasers.”

That night, with my legs smarting and poulticed, I wondered. Is nine too old to be starting a timber career? Is it silly to be chasing dreams of glory? Maybe I should just settle into being a teacher, like Prism and Holz.

But…I just want to try.

March, Berryville, Virginia

 

The cold wind under my tail goosed me as I skittered off the trailer, ready to go. A crowd of people, bundled up to watch the races, huddled around their tailgate picnics. Paddy put on my stiff timber bandages, then held me while Tricia and Wyatt saddled me. First, the nonslip pad, then the lead pad, number cloth, saddle, girth, and overgirth.

I'd forgotten how tight those girths are. That lead pad is heavy!

Dee led me to the paddock and we walked around with the other horses: Hawker Hurricane, ridden by Jed; The Dynamiter; Another Look; and Notable Contender.

“Riders up!”

Paddy gave Wyatt a leg up. “Remember, just hunt him around. Go easy. This is just to get him used to the timber fences and jumping at speed and in company.”

We cantered down to the start following the outriders. Wyatt stopped to show me the first fence, a post-and-rail, then gave me a short gallop. As we walked in a circle, head-to-tail, the riders joked with each other good naturedly.

“Jed, are you going to give us all a lead?”

“Heck no, I'm on a first-time starter, I need a lead.”

“The Dynamiter is the pace in this race.”

“Watch out, guys, this horse jumps to the left.”

The flag was up. Wyatt gathered his reins. The starter dropped the flag.

We're off!

I was irritated. Why was Wyatt holding me? The pace seemed way too slow.

Isn't this a race? Doesn't he get it?

“Easy, buddy, save it for the finish.” Wyatt stayed steady and tucked me in behind Hawker Hurricane as we headed to the first fence.

Five sets of hooves pounded the cold wet ground as we streaked across the field toward the first fence, all fighting for position. I shook my head as mud kicked up by Hawker Hurricane hit me in the face. I inched closer to his heels, almost on top of him.

I want to GO!

Wyatt held me directly behind his churning hooves, while The Dynamiter led the field, followed by Another Look. We were sitting fourth.

As we rounded the corner, the first fence came into view, a post-and-rail. Not too high — easy peasy. I strained against Wyatt, edging closer to Hawker Hurricane.

Let's go!

We were at the fence. The Dynamiter flew it like it was another gallop stride. Another Look and Hawker Hurricane, now head-to-head, were next. I saw their bodies rise in the air, but couldn't really see the fence or measure my distance.

Whoops! THERE it is!

Awkwardly, I popped over very high, dwelling a little in the air. I was now several lengths behind Hawker Hurricane. I noticed that he and the others had gained ground on me by jumping flatter, using the momentum from their speed.

This is harder than it looks!

Jumping at speed in a pack of horses was very different from jumping a course by myself in a ring or racing at the track. It was difficult to pay attention to the fences when I had to think about all of the other horses and where they were. And it was hard to think about race strategy when I had to worry about making it over the fences.

At the second, Hawker Hurricane, in front of me, jumped to the left, cutting me off. I couldn't see the fence and didn't have anywhere to go. I put in an extra stride before jumping and twisted in the air.

That was awkward.

After the fence I was even farther behind — six lengths now. Wyatt eased up and let me run faster, settling into a rhythm. By the fifth fence, I began to figure out how to jump at the quicker pace. It was like the day Oakley had galloped me to call the helicopter or chasing the loose horse when Paddy was an outrider at the point-to-point. I started pinging fences, flamboyantly, gaining ground over each fence.

Gallop, gallop, gallop, jump! Gallop, gallop, jump!

Different from show jumping, I felt as if I could use my power and speed to get into a rhythm and stay there. This felt better, less confining, freer.

THIS is the sport I've been waiting to find. I love this. It feels great to run and jump.

“Good boy, Raja, you're a smart one.” Wyatt reached down to pat me as we thundered across the field, now third behind The Dynamiter and Hawker Hurricane.

Ta-da-da-dum, ta-da-da-dum, ta-da-da-dum.

We passed the crowd and the cars, going out in the country for another circuit.

Three miles is FAR!

I took a deep breath, then picked my head up. The crowd was a field away. As we thundered around a beacon, leaning sideways, and headed back toward the crowd, the pace picked up and I felt the horses behind starting to come to me. The Dynamiter was still ahead but we were gaining. Hawker Hurricane dropped back, tired.

Three more fences to go and I feel great.

We waited. After the second to last fence the other jockeys started to ride harder, using their hands and bodies to urge their horses to go faster. The pace picked up. It still felt slow, compared to my races at Saratoga and Belmont and Gulfstream. Wyatt held me steady but kept up with the faster pace, easing me forward head-to-head with Hawker Hurricane as we jumped the last. The Dynamiter was five lengths ahead of us.

What are we waiting for? Let's go!

Up, and over. The finish was now in view. Finally, when I couldn't stand it any longer, Wyatt changed his hold and smooched to me, asking me to go. I exploded forward in a powerful burst, roaring past The Dynamiter.

I won! I won! What a great feeling winning is!

“Good boy!” Wyatt patted me on the neck as we pulled up and jogged back to the finish for our win picture.

“Good boy, Raja! Yay, Wyatt!” I heard Dee screaming as she ran toward us, halter and wool cooler in hand. “You made that look easy.”

March, Chester County, Pennsylvania

“Right, Dee,” Paddy called, “Are you ready? We're off to see if you can hold that wild animal. Today's the big test. But there's no pressure, none at all.” He grinned crazily. “Let's go. Load 'em up.”

I came off the trailer at an endless field with a strip of mowed grass running up the crest of a big hill. Rick, Jed, Wyatt and Sam waited with Inquisitor, To the Max, and Admiralty Bay.