Morning Workouts at Keenland

We arrived at the racetrack wearied from an overnight flight. Fog shrouded the rolling green hills around the track while soft drops of rain fell like dew. Although we couldn't see it, the sun had just crested over the eastern horizon.

The grounds were a peaceful place. Not many people were out this morning, but those that were appeared in no hurry. We asked an old man who stood outside which way to go for the track. He pointed us toward the grandstand where we would walk underneath, turn right, and then to the left.

With umbrellas in hand we walked in the direction he gave us, past the gift shop which would open at 9:00. We passed the betting booths, now closed up. A row of porcelain jockeys lined the shrubbery, each holding a plaque with the winner of a local race. I read one of them: Sierra Leone, winner of the 2024 Blue Grass Stakes.

We then walked through a tunnel and came out near the track. The edge was so close we could reach out and touch the white railing and see the imprints of the horse hooves in the sandy dirt.

We weren't the only ones here. Others came to do the same as us, to watch the morning workouts. This was Keenland Race Course in Kentucky, one of the most prestigious tracks in the country.

Behind sat the empty grandstand. Ahead, beyond the track, the silhouette of a tree penetrated the fog. At the far end of the track a lone horse with rider stood as sentinel at the track's edge.

Suddenly, to our left, a black horse with jockey came thundering down the track toward us. Out of nowhere he penetrated the fog, and like the steel wheels of a locomotive he breezed past. The pounding of his hooves rumbled as he whizzed by.

It was breathtaking!

Several minutes later another horse raced past, this one coupled with a second horse to give him competition. Both riders disappeared into the fog at our right, and then after several minutes returned our way at a trot, on their way to the paddock.

I supposed this was a typical morning at Keenland. At this time of year there are no official races, but religiously there are workouts every morning. The public can watch for free.

We waited longer and there were no more riders, at least not for the moment. A heavier dose of rain began to fall and my glasses became speckled. We were tired and hungry. It was time to move on.

We walked back through the grandstand. The gift shop was still closed. The grounds were still active with small clusters of people moving hither and thither. Some had signed up for tours of the racetrack. Behind us we could hear the rumbling of another horse sprinting to the finish. They were still running in spite of the rain.

We got back in the van and drove down the road, through a corridor of stables. It took just a few minutes to arrive at our destination—the Track Kitchen.

We were told that the Track Kitchen was the place to eat breakfast. It was inexpensive, but with quality food.  You could also mingle with jockeys and trainers.

Dozens of framed pictures surrounded the dining room walls, most of them of famous horses when they raced at Keenland. A sweet lady worked up front and took our order. We sat down and waited until they called our number.

The room was mostly full, although none of them seemed short enough to be jockeys. Many, I believe, were visitors just like us. Most of them probably had connections to the horse industry.

When my food came, it hit the spot. I ordered a plate of pancakes with biscuits and gravy. The pancakes may have been the best I've ever had. They were fluffy in the middle, but lightly crispy on the outside as if they had been sauteed in butter.

Our morning at Keenland was almost over. Although brief, it will be a memory forever engrained in my mind. I hope to return someday, but for a longer spell. ♠