Taking Chances: Kayla's Chance

Churchill Downs, like any racetrack, was bustling in the early hours of the morning. Horses were being led to and from the track, jockeys and exercise riders were bustling around, trying to find rides, grooms were getting horses ready to work, and whinnies were flying on the air.
My father directed me to the shed row where Flashback Stables kept its horses. The colt I recognized as Rhapsody was being led towards the track, prancing at the end of his lead.
“And you must be Rich McLochland,” a man said, coming out of a stall. He was average height and blonde, dressed in a polo and faded jeans, a stopwatch hanging around his neck.
“I am. Terry Briggor?”
“At your service.”
The shook hands and I glanced around. A chestnut colt banged his stall door with a front hoof, a winded gray colt was led past us and an almost sigh-like snort came from the stall closest to me.
I peeked in while the men talked shop. In the corner, stood Centerfold. The big black colt’s eyes were closed, his head dropping a bit, his left hind foot slack.
“Well aren’t we the frisky racehorse?”
Hearing me, Centerfold’s ears slowly came forward, his brown eyes opened, and he turned his head slightly to survey me. His head came up a few inches and his feet leveled out. With another sigh he came up to the door.
I hated to admit that he was stunning. His coat shone and his muscles rippled with every twitch. He took a good sniff at my shirt and, deeming me unthreatening, lowered his massive head.
I scratched behind his ears and he leaned into my hand, lowering his head even more as his eyes drooped closed.
“You’re just a big dog,” I muttered.
“I see you’ve met the big guy,” Terry Briggor said from behind me.
I turned back to see the trainer and my father watching me. I kept scratching. “Are you sure this isn’t just some school horse on steroids?”
“That’s what we thought until he overtook two of our top two-year-olds. I was sure Georgia would win that race. But he passed both of them and Bo said he wasn’t even trying.”
“Who’s Bo?”
“Someone call me?”
We all looked down the row to see a young man striding towards us, pulling a helmet off his head and shaking the brown curls out of his face.
“Talking about the mock race with him and Rap and Georgia.”
“Shock of my life. If I hadn’t’ve grabbed mane he would have left me on the track.”
“You’re his normal rider?” my father asked.
“I exercise him, yeah.”
“How does he run on a normal day?”
“Like he’s asleep. I just let him have his head and try to get him to run.”
“You just let him have his head from the get-go?” I broke in.
“He gets testy if you hold him back,” Bo responded, seeming to notice me for the first time. He was probably Mik’s age and about a head and a half taller than me.
“You’re kinda tall to be a jockey,” I remarked.
“I’m not. Just and exercise rider,” he said, and I detected a hint of disappointment in his voice. “And I only ride the bigger horses.”
“Well, why don’t we get him out and take a look at him,” my father said.
Terry stepped forward and grabbed the leather lead beside Centerfold’s stall and attached it to his halter.
The colt’s stride was long and balanced. From my approximation he stood at 16.2 hands and had a little more filling out to do. Nothing seemed to spook him either. He halted as soon as Terry stopped; then Terry took him into a trot and had to run to keep up.
“What do you think?” my father asked me.
“I think we should see him on the track,” I said, not very enthusiastically.

My father had to throw me onto the big colt near the gap of the track.
“Try not to hold him,” Bo warned me. “He doesn’t flip about many things but holding him back’s one of them.”
I nodded as Terry let go of the colt’s bridle.
We were practically alone on the track because of the late hour. Early to most people. At the gap, Centerfold stopped abruptly and I braced myself.
But he didn’t buck or shy. He lowered his head, pinning his ears when he felt the tug on his reins. He turned his head, looking back at me and I swear I saw annoyance in his eyes.
I let him have his head with some reservations. He looked back at the track and lowered his head to the dirt. He snorted, took a step and pawed at the dirt. As he moved fully onto the track, he pawed the surface with his right front hoof, then his left and continued for a few strides before resuming his even gait.
He seemed bored as we armed up. I followed Bo’s advice and gave him his head, but he never once challenged me for more.
We started our gallop at the half-mile pole. His strides were huge which so far seemed like his only attribute. It would probably keep him in allowance races but never stakes.
I pushed him for more after the half mile, flicking the whip past his right eye. He picked up the pace slightly, but I still couldn’t feel his mouth on the bit.
“So what makes you tick?” I murmured as we rounded the first turn. Unconsciously, I pulled back to keep our balance while turning.
Centerfold’s ears swept back and his mouth was suddenly on the bit. He turned his head slightly and I saw his intelligent eye with the look of annoyance in it.
Hmm, I thought, interesting.
I gathered the reins up and held them tightly. The big colt fought the bit as we came out of the turn. He tossed his head and pulled but didn’t run through the bit.
“Alright, you wanna run?” I asked the horse. I grabbed a handful of mane, hoping I would need it. “Let’s go boy!” and I let him have hiss head.
The change was instant. With one powerful thrust from big black hindquarters, we were flying. I still kept the contact with the bit until we passed the last furlong. I let almost completely go of his mouth and kissed with my lips. To my shock, Centerfold managed to go even faster. We rocketed past the half mile pole; where the workout was suppose to end.
With one quick tug, the colt broke to a canter. Not prepared, I flew onto his neck, and then traveled the five feet, five inches to the ground. I landed hard on my shoulder and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. My first thought, when I recovered my breath, was that there was a loose horse on the track.
The thought had me scrambling to my feet. To my immense relief, Centerfold had stopped himself and was trotting back towards me.
Despite my throbbing shoulder, when he stopped in front of me, I grabbed his dangling reins.
“Good boy,” I said patting his neck briskly.
He snorted and rubbed his massive heard against my shirt.
I noticed out of the corner of my eye, my father sprinting across the infield with Bo and Terry close on his heels.
Centerfold stood calmly, barely blowing for the amount of work he’d put in.
“Are you alright?” my father demanded when he reached us.
“I’m fine. Give me a leg up would you?”
“What happened?” Bo interjected before my father could reply.
“He just slammed on the brakes so fast I wasn’t prepared.”
“No, not that. How’d you get him to run?”
“I-”
“That horse has never run that fast!” Terry broke in. “Not even in that mock race.”
“And he still wasn’t half-trying!” Bo pointed out.
My father was staring at the stopwatch Terry had handed him. “How soon can I take him home?” he asked.

That afternoon, my father’s trailer returned to Stopwatch with a big black colt inside. A small crowd had gathered at the barn door as my father stopped the truck and got out.
“Go ahead and open it,” he said to me, climbing in through the side door.
I let down the ramp and released the bar. Centerfold immediately began his descent and I went over to stand next to Mik. He let out a long whistle as the big colt came fully into view.
“Damn, what a horse.”
“You should see him run,” I told him.
Centerfold was back to his normal self. He carried his head low with long, flowing strides, eyes dropping as if he were bored.
“Well he’s not high-spirited,” Jamie commented.
“Could be a good thing,” Jeff amended, “I’ve seen horses get themselves into a lather in the paddock and the post parade, then barely have the energy to break from the gate. Didn’t even finish the race.”
“Yeah but if he’s asleep he won’t finish it either,” Mik said.
“You wanna come say hello to your new assignment Jamie?” my father asked.
“Me?” Jamie exclaimed.
“Sure. You did a great job with Risky.”
“But I’ve only mostly handled fillies and mares-”
“He’s calmer than Risky,” he assured her.
Squaring her shoulders, Jamie took Centerfold’s lead from my father.
“Go ahead and walk him around his new paddock,” my father instructed, pointing to the quarantine paddock with a stall attached to it.
“Come on boy,” Jaime said, leading the way towards the paddock. Centerfold followed like a dog after its master.
As I watched Jamie led the big colt the perimeter of the fence, another car pulled up behind the trailer and Bo and Terry got out.
“Well he’s behaving himself,” Bo said.
“Has he ever done anything else?” Terry countered.
“We’ll keep him in quarantine a few days before we work him,” my father told Terry. “Even then he’ll be alone on the track.”
“He’s fine with other horses,” Terry assured. “He’s spent a lot of time at Churchill Downs. It’s hard to bother him.”
“We’ll just see won’t we?”
“Need a rider for him?” Bo interjected.
“I’m just going to keep Kayla on him for now,” my father responded. “But we are short a rider.” He glanced at Mik. “What did your father say about getting a replacement for Paul?”
“To find one,” Mik responded.
“Interested?” my father asked Bo.
“Extremely.”

Three days later I was finishing Flips’s workout when I saw Jaime standing at the gap with Centerfold.
“Nice,” my father said. He gestured with his clip board to Centerfold. “Think you can handle one more ride?”
“Maybe,” I said.
“We’re just going to blow him out today. Let him get used to the track,” my father instructed. “So warm him up slow, let him gallop for a mile, then see if you can really open him up.”
“For how long?”
“Until he stops.”
“Roger that.”
Centerfold stopped at the gap and sniffed the surface. At my urging, he walked through and pawed the ground with his front hooves.
“You’re testing the surface aren’t you?” I murmured as he evened out. “Smart little bugger.”
I took him a lap around the track at a trot, then half at a canter. As we passed the gap I moved him towards the rail, crouched over his neck, and urged him into a gallop.
For the first half I let him have his head. He galloped smoothly, breathing rhythmically. At the half mile pole I gathered him up, bit by bit. His ears swept back and he slowed but he was fighting.
“Wait boy, just wait.”
“Impatiently, he tossed head and pulled against the bit.
“Easy,” I crooned as we came around the final turn.
The colt tossed his head again and his stride changed. His pace didn’t increase, but he reached for more ground, extending his strides.
I tried to bring him back again but he just extended more, increasing his ground-coverage.
“All right, fine.” I crouched low over his neck, grabbed a handful of mane, and let out a little rein.
He ate it up and demanded more as we streaked past the gap. For a moment I thought we were going too fast to navigate the first turn. But Centerfold automatically switched leads and flew through the turn. Still he fought my hold on the bit. My arms ached but I didn’t let up. We pounded down the backstretch and even though he fought, I knew he couldn’t possibly go any faster. I kept the hold to keep him fighting and moving.
Afraid he would start slowing, I let up a little at the half mile pole. He slammed his mouth against the bit, catching me off guard as he picked up the pace. My handful of mane kept me in the saddle, but Centerfold pulling on the bit let the reins slide though my fingers.
And then, he stopped. Like a reining horse, his haunches abruptly came under the big colt until he slowed to a canter.
The mane saved me again and even though I was thrown onto his neck, I stayed on. I grabbed quickly for the reins that were riding on the colt’s poll, but didn’t pull.
I remembered something an instructor had once told me about a mare I used to ride: “The release is the key.” Well that just summed it all up. Slight release with still a little bit of contact meant go; full release meant stop. Interesting…