Most people I know are currently on vacation. One friend and her partner are currently on a dream trip through Britain and France. Another just returned from my bucketlist vacation: a two week jaunt to the
Galapagos. Others are planning get-a-ways to Hawaii and Las Vegas.
Not me. The only times I’ve been away in the last five years
as been to visit mom in Massachusetts. Which
isn’t exactly a holiday.
I’m not complaining. Too much, Instead of vacations, I have horses.
There are three retired geezers in the backyard, a yearling growing up at a
breeding farm and yet another is in training at a show barn.
Between them they cost
the equivalent of several first class trips a year. That’s before I add in vet
bills.
I love them all and I think they are fond of me. Occasionally,
though, I’d like to get away from quadrupeds. I rarely do.
These days even my vacations are horse related.
My last real holiday was six years ago. I went with five of
my closest gal pals to Louisville, Kentucky to see the Breeder’s Cup. It was like herding cats. Someone was always
going the wrong way.
We had lots of side trips scheduled (herding cats again) but
our primary purpose was to watch Zenyatta win the Breeder’s Cup Classic for the
second time, and lock in Horse of the Year for 2016. Nothing went quite as
planned.
We arrived in Kentucky on Wednesday morning giddy and tired
from taking the red eye from Los Angeles. The plan was to pick up our rental
car and zip down to Lexington and zip over to Three Chimineys, which was having
an open house until 1pm. Smarty Jones
was still standing there and I was a big fan.
It seemed simple enough. We picked up the rental car, plugged in
our GPS, and after a quick stop at the Waffle House, we were on our way.
Easy, right? Not so much. I have a bad habit of getting
lost. A lot. I have been known to go off course on a hunter course, and that
takes a talent.
Kathy had her iPhone and we were following Siri’s directions
to the letter, but I have to say it: Siri’s an idiot. After an hour and a half of driving up and
down the 64 we were getting a little testy.
Eventually we had what I thought was a genius idea: we went
to The Lexington Horse Park and asked directions. Even Siri could find The
Horse Park. The cheerful lady at the kiosk assured us that Three Chimneys was
“just a skip” from where we stood. She even
took out a map and helpfully drew a wiggly line marking the route.
We piled back into the car, chuckling at what dopes we were.
Then we proceeded to drive around in circles for another hour. We did see some of the most beautiful horse
country in the world: white fences surrounding lush pastures filled with herds
of broodmares.
The third time we drove past Claiborne Farms tempers started
to flair. It was getting late and we were beyond tired. Some people wanted to
give up, relegating Three Chimneys to other mythical realms like
Atlantis and Narnia.
Not me. The later it got, and the more lost we became, the
more I dug my heels in. We were going to see Smarty Jones, damn it! And I was
driving.
Just after one o’clock we finally pulled into the farm. It
was gorgeous and practically empty. We stopped in front of the office, and I
ran inside. There was a lady with a huge bow in her hair, and a wary look in
her eyes.
“The farm is closed,” she said.
I smiled, and pleaded, “I know we’re late, but we flew in
from LA this morning just to come here. We got really lost and… I swear, we
won’t get in the way.”
“The stallions are tired. You have to leave.”
“But…”
“They need to rest.”
“But.”
“I’m sorry.” She pointed
to the door.
Outside I gazed at the stallion barns. They were close
enough to sneak into, and I considered it. But the lady had come out of the
office and was watching me. Closely.
We got back into the car and glumly headed back to
Louisville. No one but Siri said a word. She was perky as she directed us straight
into Indiana.
We were staying in Louisville.
We turned around and returned to Kentucky.
The rest of the trip was spectacular. (Except for Zenyatta
losing, that was awful.). We went to Lane’s End and I got to meet A.P. Indy and
Curlin. At Old Friends I fed Little Silver Charm and we visited the Lousiville
Slugger factory. I got a teeny mini bat.
We even snuck in to see the horses work on Friday before the
races. It was supposed to be closed to the public, but the head of security
took pity on our carload of middle aged women from Los Angeles and let us in. I
think he was a little afraid of us.
It was a great vacation. Next year we’re talking about going
to Royal Ascot for the races. I think we’ll get a guide. It seems like the
smart thing to do.
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