The intensity of driving to Pomona, the old, big, concreteness of it all. The huge endless stretch of parking, the steady stream of cars and people. Waiting in line, excited, childlike, bouncing. Walking through the fair, taking in the booths as I passed but heading straight to the racetrack. The vastness of it all. A long sunny day, alternating between handicapping the races and leaning on the rail at the saddling paddock watching the horses, searching for my sense of each one. Three times in a row my choices turned out to be "schoolers," horses who were getting accustomed to the paddock and the spectators, likely in a race over the coming weekend. Funny, though, a recognition of quality, of caliber, not based on anything "real," not learned. All day my horses finished in the money, though not often as I'd placed money on them.
This seven horse was my favorite of the horses who were actually racing that day, Subsidized, a three-year-old filly with Martin Pedroza riding, heading out here for the post parade before the 11th race. She won like it was easy for her. I left saturated with the life of the racetrack and still yearning for my own Sonoma County Fair. The drive home strained, slowed by accidents. The setting sun a huge fuzzy orange ball in my side view mirror. The relief of leaving the concrete and the craziness behind. Dark mountains looming and welcome, the desert wilderness breathing as I drove through the coming of night. My gratitude spilling, to be able to retreat, to pretend I don't live so close to all that, to have chosen well in my southern California home.
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