A Day at the Races . . . Finally!

The room, built into the stable, wasn't much. It contained a mattress, an old electric heater and papers scattered across the cement floor. 

Like a giant domino falling backwards, my tired body plunged to rest on the cold mattress. I closed my eyes, but couldn't get Arden Black out of my mind. His face was old, beat up with more than its share of wrinkles and cracks. His hair was gray and voice chewed up. His clothes smelled of smoke.

“Hmmm, “I thought, “what is in this room that could possibly pass the time?” I turned on the electric heater and pulled it towards me. The filament wires glowed with orange and brought a comfortable wave of heat. I looked at the scattered papers across the cement floor. I picked up one that looked like a newspaper. “The Daily Racing Form,” was printed in large black ink across the front. I opened it. The inside pages were full of racing statistics which looked as boggling as the investment page of the Wall Street Journal.

My eyes glanced through the pages while my mind absorbed none of it. Fifteen minutes passed until I saw Arden's aged face again. “Kid, I've got a job for you.” He pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket. “Have you ever cleaned stalls?” 

“Never,” I responded. 

“Well, I'll teach you. I'll make it simple. First of all use that pitch fork over there and scoop the manure off the ground and toss it into the wheelbarrow. Then grab the . . .” he paused in his sentence to light his cigarette. He held it in his lips and lit the end with a lighter while using his hand to cup the flame. He took a puff and then continued his talk. “Rake the hay into a pile in the corner, then use it to level out the dirt. When you're all done, make sure each stall has three cans of oats and plenty of water. I'll feed them fresh hay later. Got it kid?” 

I nodded. 

He took another puff and walked away. 

Stable area at Santa Anita Park in Arcadia, California.

I found the empty stalls and began cleaning. The labor wasn't too hard although my muscles weren't used to working so early in the morning. 

The stalls smelled exactly like horse stalls should. Like dirt and manure. I shoveled the horse chips over and over. It seemed endless. They were all over the place. Just when I thought I had them all I would find more beneath some hay. Despite the mess, I worked until every stall was nearly fit for a human to sleep in. Because I had no idea how clean Arden wanted it, I went the extra mile to ensure his satisfaction. 

While I was busy shoveling manure, my best friend Tony was out on the track running the horses. I didn't see him much that morning, but he was the reason I was there. 

Tony left home at age 15 ½ to become a jockey. He weighed well under a 100 pounds and was tough as nails. For the last six months he had been an apprentice and now his time had come for his first official race. 

Tony's dad invited me to come. On a Saturday morning he picked me up and we made the two-and-a-half hour drive to Farmington, New Mexico where he would be racing at San Juan Downs. We found Tony at his apartment where he was excessively nervous. This would be his first real race. We drove to the track in Tony's mustang with another jockey. 

I was memorized from the beginning. 

"And they're off!"

Tony was in the first race and I watched intently as the bugler made his call and the jockeys mounted on their horses rode onto the track, trotting around to the back side to warm up. Then the announcer said: “They're getting into the gates, they're in the gates . . . they're off!!!” 

Tony took dead last in that race. For three more races he did slightly better, but overall it was a dismal day. 

I was invited to stay another day. I stayed at Tony's apartment and we woke at six the next morning and with no breakfast drove to the track. This is when Arden, the trainer, put me to work in the stable.

Later that day was another round of racing. Tony did much better this time, taking a second and third place. He would have taken first on another race but he accidentally bumped a horse and got disqualified. 

"And down the stretch they come!"

Tony went on to do great things in the world of horse racing. After Farmington he raced in California at great parks such as Santa Anita, Del Mar and Hollywood. Then he went to New York and competed at the infamous Belmont Park. Later he proved his skills at Wyoming Downs in Evanston and Ruidoso Downs in New Mexico. 

Although I had only been to the races a handful of times, the whole environment of the the horse races became magical to me. Over thirty years had passed since I had been to a race. I longed to hear the bugler play his trumpet and call the players to the track. I dreamed of hearing the announcer in the heat of the race yell out, “And down the stretch they come!” I wanted desperately to bring my wife and kids to the track and show them what all the hype was about. 

Well, I finally got my chance. 

This spring all the stars aligned and we secured a day when we could go to the races at Santa Anita Park in Arcadia, California. To prep my family we watched Seabiscuit, which was partially filmed here. 

Seabiscuit was a thoroughbred race horse who became a legend when he beat the Triple Crown winner, War Admiral, in 1938 in a one-on-one race. His career began on shaky ground as he raced on the East Coast, but when jockey Red Pollard took over he gradually began to win. He was then brought to California where his fortune continued. He won many races at Santa Anita, including the Santa Anita Handicap in 1940. 

During the 1938 season Red Pollard fell during a race that injured him so severely he couldn't continue. The reins were handed to George Woolf, a Canadian jockey, who rode Seabiscuit in the legendary race with War Admiral. Ironically, less than a decade later George Woolf would also fall off a horse, this time during a race at Santa Anita. Unfortunately, he would die from his injuries a day later. 

Santa Anita Park.

We arrived at the parking lot of Santa Anita Park an hour before the first post time. I was super excited to show my kids what a day at the races was really like. 

The outside grounds were filled with manicured trees, beds of bright yellow flowers and a handful of life-size statues of both horse and human. I was pleasantly surprised to find a sculpture of George Woolf. 

Sitting in the grandstand.

Our $10 tickets allowed us sit wherever we pleased in the long grandstand. We chose seats as close to the finish line as possible, with a great view of the final stretch. 

The track had an old feel to it, perhaps from the 1960's. The seats were old, as well as the wagering windows. When I used the men's restroom I felt as if I had entered another era. Above a floor with bluish-green tiles sat a long line of toilet stalls. In another nook was a row of urinals—trough style. I had to get a picture. 

Grand view of the racetrack and San Gabriel Mountains.

Men's restroom at Santa Anita . . . a walk back in time.

The view from the grandstand was epic. Not only was the racetrack lovely with its evenly raked dirt, fully manicured turf and tall, skinny palm trees, but the San Gabriel Mountains in the background drew the eye. 

Before we knew it we were standing for the National Anthem and then the bugler sounded the horn. The horses with mounted jockeys entered the track and paraded themselves to the crowd before trotting toward the starting gate. There would be eight races today. 

For the first race we sat as a family in the grandstand and enjoyed the moment. The race was six furlongs and started at the far corner of the track. When the horses left the gate there was an excitement that filled the stands. People clapped and cheered. My wife and girls felt that excitement and without realizing were on the edge of their seats. The horses came down the final stretch, sprinting so fast that their galloping strides could be heard from the stands. I knew my family was hooked and would enjoy the rest of the day. 

I was surprised at how little I sat still. None of us could stay put. Our seats in the grandstand sat empty for most of the races. Why? We kept moving around. We watched from different locations, including up close near the track. 

My favorite place to go was down at the paddock between races. This is where the horses and jockeys come out to parade themselves before entering the arena. It was a chance to see the two up close. It was a place to see how sculpted and stout the horses were and how short, but strong the jockeys were. 

The Jockeys' Room.

Walking from the Jockeys' Room to the paddock.

3-time Kentucky Derby winner and Hall of Famer, John Velazquez.

The paddock is a great place to see horse and jockey close up. Tyler Baze atop Divine Feminine.

It was here, in the center of the paddock, that I noticed a life-sized statue of Seabiscuit. In front of the statue was a popular place for pictures, especially among family members of those who owned horses, or had an interest in the race that day. 

It was near here that I talked with one of the workers on the grounds. He wore gray scraggly hair with sunglasses that had a nose-cover. He told us that he often waked the grounds at night and that this place was definitely haunted. He said there were ghosts of both men and horses that wandered the grounds. Then he pointed to the statue of George Woolf and said there are times when the head will turn and look at him. 

The Seabiscuit statue is a popular place for photos.

Seabiscuit.

Does the ghost of George Woolf haunt Santa Anita?

Among the many questions from my kids had to do with the betting aspect of the sport. I had to explain win, place, show, exacta, trifecta and whatever other terms I could remember. I also explained how odds work. 

A couple of my daughters were already making verbal bets on which horse they thought would win, stating that they were betting on #3, or the green horse, for example. But Kaitlyn, who is twenty one, wanted to try the real thing. 

So twenty minutes before race #7, she and I went to the wagering window. (We decided that we would just use my cash and I would do the talking—but she would choose the horse!) I had never done this before either, so it was a learning experience for both of us. 

The sweet lady at the window made it easy. When I stated, “I would like to bet $5 to win on #7,” she responded: “That's all you're going to bet?”—I knew she was teasing and we both had a laugh. 

When the race began, Kaitlyn had a fun time cheering on her horse. But in the end, Funkenstein came in fifth place and we were out five bucks. 

We're almost on T.V.!

For the final race of the day I decided to just sit back and take no more pictures. I would just enjoy the race. It was another 6-furlong contest, but this time on turf. 

This final race was a maiden special. The gates opened and eight mares and fillies, all four-years old and upward sprinted around the track. While they were on the backstretch I appreciated the view of the distant animals with the majestic mountain behind them. As they came around the final bend and into full view I admired the strength of their bodies and the sheer speed at which they moved. I don't even know who won, but they all had won my respect. 

We left that day fully satisfied. I had spent many years dreaming of this day and it did not disappoint. I have a feeling that we will return again. If not here, then at some other track. ♠

On the back-stretch.

 

Racing the turf course.

 

Sunrise at Oxbow Bend (Day 3)

Before my alarm went off I could hear the chatter outside in the trees. Birds, monkeys, frogs, or all of the above? 

My alarm clock went off at 5 am and I crawled out of bed after a couple of snoozes. I listened . . . no rain. A peek outside confirmed it. 

With rubber boots now over our feet and flashlights in hand, we walked down the muddy trail to the boat that was docked along the river. 

The predawn glow reflected off the Rio de la Madre de Dios. Across the shore a silhouette of tropical trees, an orange hue above them, and a wisp of mist dancing among them. 

The skies were clear, but the water still choppy from last night's rain storm. Fresh air ran across my face as the boat moved swiftly down-current. 

Morning mist in the Amazon.

We docked at a place called Oxbow Bend on an island that would be covered with water during the wet season. We walked over smooth pebbles on the riverbed. 

This morning we were searching for parakeets. Sometimes at sunrise they fly from their trees on the hill, down to the rocks by the river to find minerals. David set up the spotting scope and we scouted for birds. 

It didn't take long to spot a tree full of green parakeets, all perched immovable in the branches. Down below on the water we spotted a white heron, and then an egret. 

With most of the clouds gone, we now had a good view of our slice of the Amazon. In the distance we could see the Andes Mountains from whence we came. One peak, Sahuasiray, stood out because of its pointed and snow-capped summit at 19,088 feet. We now stood at only 1,500 feet. 

Mount Sahuasiray poking through in the distance.

Parakeets as seen through the spotting scope.

The sun rose and the parakeets remained stubborn on their branches. We each took turns looking at them through the spotting scope. When we weren't gazing off in the distance, we had our heads down searching for pretty pebbles from the riverbed. 

We gave up on the parakeets and returned upriver toward the lodge. Along the way we stopped and watched four beautiful red macaws fly from their trees. 

Cesar, the boatman.

This was our final day in the Amazon and it was now time to make the long journey back to Cusco. We ate a Peruvian breakfast of fruit and yogurt, and then said goodbye to our wonderful cook, Dora. Twenty minutes later we were shaking hands and giving hugs to Tony, the Aussie, and David, our guide. They would stay one more night. 

We returned to the boat, this time with our luggage, and the motorized vessel pushed us upstream toward Atalaya where our van was waiting. 

Our lodge.

In the very back is Dora, our cook.

From here our journey turned into a battle of survival. All of us were tired. We had already seen all the scenery on the way down. This called for one thing—sleep! 

But sleep was not easy. The roads were bumpy and constantly winding. 

We stopped at one of the villages again for Gabriel, the driver, to say goodbye to his mother. I tried staying awake through the villages, but attempted sleep after that. But there was no good sleep. 

Our total trip to Cusco lasted 8 ½ hours and climbed nearly 10,000 feet. Ten minutes were spent walking through jungle, 30 minutes on the river, 5 hours on a graveled road, and the rest mostly on pavement. It took us 4 hours and 15 minutes just to climb out of the Amazon. 

Village of Atalaya as seen from the river.

Looking back on this adventure, there are three things that have stood out: 

1.) The landscape. There are few places in the world more beautiful than the Amazon. The tropical trees, waterfalls, rivers, monkeys, birds. Being truly remote I think also added to its beauty. So did the adventure of the journey. 

2.) Local people. I am extremely fascinated by the idea that there are countless villages located within the Amazon. Each time we passed through a village I would stare out the window and wonder what it would be like to be in their shoes. We ate at the same table as some of them. Our boatman, Cesar, was from the local village. He spoke a language called Matsigenka. He didn't learn Spanish until he started grade school. 

3.) Our group. It is such a rare opportunity to have close contact with people around the globe for three days straight—at least for me. In our group we had people representing Russia, the Czech Republic, Australia, Peru, and the United States. I was impressed and inspired by how well all spoke English. They were all well traveled and educated. Tony, I believe, said he's been to 26 countries. What a pleasure it was to listen to their perspectives, hear their stories, and sit across the dinner table from them. ♠

 

(L-R): Magdalena and Jan (the Czechs), Pavel (the Russian), Tony (the Aussie), me, Jenna, and David (our guide, the Peruvian).

 

Rubber Boots in the Rainforest (Day 2)

The sky was still gray and dreary when we awoke at 5:30. I slipped on my pants and shirt and pulled on my shoes. It was a short walk across the lawn to the bathroom. 

As soon as it was light enough to see we gathered with David and walked around the lodge. He pointed out various plants and tees growing in the vicinity such as a cinnamon tree and a lemongrass bush. He plucked off a pod from what he called a lipstick plant. The little seeds inside, when broken, created a red paint and could be used cosmetically. 

There was a cocoa tree, the kind you use to make chocolate; and a coca tree, the kind you use to make cocaine. He gave us a brief rundown on the latter. 

Walking around the lodge, learning of the various plants.

Lemongrass plant.

Rubber boots on the bed.

We ate breakfast at the lodge where we were joined by a green parrot who flew onto the table to steal a chunk of bread. He refused to talk with us, probably upset we didn't feed him. 

We packed our belongings and brought them to the van. Little did we know that there were other families living in the jungle near the lodge . . . and we would be giving their kids a ride to school. 

Leonel sat next to us. He was about five years old. His sibling sat behind wearing a Spider-Man shirt. Their school was a forty minute drive on a dirt road. I don't know if they bum rides off tour vans everyday or not. But it was certainly a chore to get the kids to school. We saw two other vehicles packed with 8 or 9 kids. 

This green parakeet wanted to join us for breakfast.

Leonel on his way to school.

We were also told that this area has true native tribes who have nearly no contact with the outside world. Perhaps an anthropologist may live with them, but tourists are strictly forbidden to go anywhere near. They told the story of a white person getting killed with an arrow a few years ago when they got too close. 

We drove through the jungle, mostly on flatland now, but also down small hills as we were still declining in elevation. We caught our first good glimpse of the river, the Madre de Dios. These would be the waters upon which we would ride. 

The Madre de Dios River.

The village of Atalaya wasn't much. The school was right across the so-called street from the boat dock. We all had to wait. The school kids were early and had to wait for their teacher. We had to wait for the boat driver. 

It was a good time to sit down and watch. The school kids were fake-fighting one with another. A dog wandered past. A rooster stood in the street and crowed. The rest of us lounged around, waiting for the boat. For ten minutes the heavens opened and rain poured down. 

Just down the hill from the street was the river—wide, yet deep enough to navigate a boat. At the opposite side stood rolling hills partially shrouded in clouds and totally covered in jungle. 

Boat on the river.

Village of Atalaya. Schoolboy waiting for the teacher to arrive.

A wandering rooster.

Waiting for the boatman to come.

The boat was long with a canopy covering the seats. Cesar, a local villager, sat toward the stern running the motor. The six of us climbed in and Cesar fired up the engine. 

The Madre de Dios River is part of the Amazon Basin and flows from the foothills of the Andes Mountains in Peru into Bolivia and to the border of Brazil where it becomes one with the Madeira River. These same waters then travel another 800 miles before they merge with the mighty Amazon River. 

As our vessel was set in motion we soon passed a waterfall that tumbled into the water. A house perched on a rock overlooking the bend, commanding a great view. We traveled down-stream and I wondered if there were any indigenous tribes living in these hills. 

This was our small, beloved group.

Waterfall pouring into the river.

In one place we passed through a section of whitewater, causing the barge to be tossed upon the surface. With all our luggage and other gear, I sure didn't want to capsize. We had to trust the driver. 

At another spot we pulled over at the bank. We removed our shoes and replaced them with rubber boots. We stepped out of the boat and began a walk through the jungle. 

Walking through the jungle into a banana grove.

This was a true jungle. The pathway was so narrow it was dark, having groves of bamboo trees and vines dangling down. We stepped in puddles of water and sections of mud, proving the necessity of the boots. At one point we passed through a miniature banana grove. 

Our destination: a hot springs. I will admit that when we arrived I was a bit disappointed. The warm water was now contained in a rectangular cement box three-feet deep and the size of a miniature swimming pool. There was a small bamboo changing room that didn't feel too private because while inside you could see people on the outside perfectly well! 

I changed into my swimming suit and spent twenty minutes in the water with the Czech couple, while the Aussie and the Russian sat near the edge on a stool and talked with us. By the time we got out, dried off and changed, the rain began to pour. And it didn't stop. 

The humble hot springs.

Rain in the rain forest should feel perfectly natural, but it was taking us to the next level of adventure. Rocks became more slippery, mud deeper, clothes wetter. David, our guide, pulled off banana leaves for each of us and we used them as umbrellas. 

By the time we returned to the river, it was now a muddy brown. The entire surface seemed to be rolling in whitewater. I don't know if it was just my imagination, but it appeared wider. 

Using a banana leaf for an umbrella.

Rain coming down on the river.

We quickly got beneath the canopy of the boat and drove down-river for twenty minutes and pulled over again. This time we pulled out all our luggage and walked up another trail, this one covered in roots and more mud. The rain still came down. 

At the top of our ten-minute walk was a lodge. Our lodge. No other access other than boat. We were elated at the prospect of lying down on a soft bed. 

Our lodge was only accessible by boat.

Our rooms were very nice. Each bed sat on a wooden floor with a mosquito net tied above. On three sides were glassless windows, and on the fourth a private bathroom. The vaulted ceiling ran between the rooms and was open in the sense that you could throw a tennis ball over the wall and have it land in the neighbor's room. In front was a covered porch with two wooden chairs. I laid on the soft bed, felt the wind blow through the screen window, and listened to the constant rain beating outside. 

We ate in the comedor, which was in another building just up the hill. We walked there in our rubber boots. Dora made us guiso de lisa, a Peruvian stew made from the yellow lisa potato. Once again our meal was filled with interesting topics, including the nuisance of kangaroos in Australia. 

Guiso de lisa with rice.

We had one more excursion for the day, but the constant rain put a question mark on that activity. After some delay, we decided to go for it. 

Once again we marched down the hill. By now, some of the standing water came nearly to the top of our boots. We wore ponchos, but with the wind we were still getting wet. 

The boat now moved on a swollen river that grew by the minute. Our destination was only a couple miles away and this time we docked on the opposite side. 

We walked up another narrow trail. David took the lead, using a machete to clear any devious vines. A stone path built from smooth riverbed rocks raised us above the mud, but their hard round shape caused us to often walk on the ground instead. 

A swampy area filled with a variety of birds.

At a swamp we found two rafts made of balsam wood. We boarded them, using long sticks to push our way along. 

This was a sanctuary for birds. There were many of them, even in the rain. Flying low in the bushes were the flycatchers, their bellies black and bodies small. Perched stoically on the branches of the trees were what locals call stinkbirds. Their official name is hoatzin. They are noted for the spiky plumage on their crest. There was another larger bird that looked a lot like a wild turkey and it sat on ground in the grass. 

Stinkbirds, or officially known at hoatzin.

We used these balsam rafts to push across the swamp.

We pushed across the swamp on our balsam rafts to the other side where we climbed a ladder to the top of a lookout tower. Luckily for us it had a roof, giving a temporary reprieve from the down-pouring water. We used binoculars to look down upon these feathered creatures, all of them unfazed to have us there. 

After half an hour of bird-watching it was time to turn back. It would be getting dark soon and with no lights on the boat it would be dangerous to navigate at night. We climbed down the tower and pushed back across the swamp. As we waked on the trail the rain continued to fall and standing water became deeper. 

Standing on a tower watching birds.

Then, David had us stop. He heard something. 

David has a natural ability, with ears like a dog. He also knows how to whistle and call in an animal. We watched him do his thing . . . and waited. 

Suddenly a branch moved. Then another. In a flash a small animal the size of a ball jumped from one tree to the next. A squirrel monkey! 

Soon there were several. Moving around high in the trees, they were the size of giant rats, which made good pictures nearly impossible. But the moment we will never forget. 

The squirrel monkey is one of the smallest monkeys in the world, but unique to the Amazon. We sat in the pattering rain staring into the canopy of trees above us, straining our eyes to catch a glimpse of them jumping with great dexterity from one branch to the next. Due to the dimness of the sky, these cute little animals appeared mostly as silhouettes. Occasionally we could make out detail and detect their short light-brown fur and long tails. At times they let out a squeal or chirp that reminded me of our squirrels back home. 

By the time we returned to the boat and docked back at the lodge we were using the last possible sunlight. Walking up the trail to the lodge we used flashlights. 

Skies turning dim on a rainy day.

Inside our rooms we removed every article of clothing and hung them wherever possible. I took a shower using water no warmer than that of the river. Even though we were in the Amazon, we were all very cold. 

At dinner we enjoyed another delicious homemade meal. This time Cesar joined us, along with his son, Cesar Junior. It was discovered that we at that table were fluent in seven languages: English, Spanish, Russian, Czech, Quechua, and Matsigenka (a local Amazonian language). 

Junior told us how he loves to swim in the river and his five-year old son is already swimming there. This slice of the Amazon is their life and has become a part of them. The rest of us in the group have traveled all over the world. But the locals here have hardly left the area. Yet they live here, in the Amazon. This is their home. They are happy.

It is now late as I finish this journal entry. There are many more details, but time doesn't allow. The rain has stopped. Wind continues to blow through our screen windows. The frogs are in a massive choir from the muddy bogs of the jungle. 

 

View from our lodge.