Chapter 10
Several hour into their trip the next day, Shay looked over at Faith as she drove.
“What?” she asked as she glanced over at him. “Do I have something on my face?” She wiped it, and split her concentration from the road to him.
“No, I was just watching you.”
“Well, stop, you’re making me nervous.”
“Sorry, why don’t you tell me the story about Champ’s grandpa.”
She sighed and nodded, but before she began she picked up her fresh cup of coffee they had just got when they’d stopped for gas. She had roughly three hundred and fifty miles to go before they had to stop again.
“You sure you want to hear this story?”
“It passes the time.”
“There is that. Okay, I was eighteen when I started riding as a jockey, however, I was fifteen when I started training.”
“Is there a difference?”
“Yes, you can train at any age, however, along with the height and weight restraints, there is also an age one.” She shook her head and held up her hand.
“Only for beginning. You have to be legally eighteen before you can ride in your first race. After that, there are no age restrictions. Look at me, I’m thirty-eight, and I’m still racing. ”
“Why did you start training at the age of fifteen?”
“My neighbor, a trainer for several horses, needed someone of my size and weight. I raced the horses on his private track. Never on a public one. At least not until I was eighteen.”
“Okay, now what’s the difference between a trainer and a jockey?”
“It might be better to tell you the hierarchy from the top down. The top guy is the owner. I’ll use people you know to help you understand.”
“Okay. I’m listening.”
“Okay, I’m also going to use Champ as the horse in this scenario.”
“Got it, I’m following you so far.”
“Champ, the horse, is owned by Naomi. Next person down, is the trainer. Let’s call him Cole in this instance. He knows the horse, he knows what the horse can do, he talks to the owner, getting to know what they want, and relays that information to the jockey.”
“You.”
“Correct. While I ride the horse, I have to listen to the trainer to see what he wants me to do with the horse. He’s the one that gives me instructions from the owner.
But…” She looked at him and took another sip of her coffee.
“The trainer also has to listen to the jockey, but the owner doesn’t have to.
I’ll get to it, but that’s what happened as to why Champ’s grandfather only won once in the three times he ran in the Triple Crown. ”
“Interesting. What type of things do you tell the trainer?”
“I tell them if the horse is lagging, or is lame, or needs to cut back on his food. If he needs anything. I’m on that horse’s back and around that horse more than the trainer or owner.
Most of the time, the owner only sees the horse at the track, on race day.
The trainer is at the track every single time the jockey takes the horse out.
He or she is there with the stopwatch to time the trip around the track.
He watches to horse to see if he notices anything that I don’t. ”
“Like?”
“Is he pulling to the left too much, or the right? When several horses are practicing at the same time, will the horse race the other ones, rear up, veer away, or ignore everything around him and do his job.”
“Wow, that seems intense.”
“It is, remember, ultimately, the jockey is in charge of the horse out on the track. The trainer and owner have no say once the race starts. It’s just the three of us.”
“Three?”
“Me, the horse, and the track.” She sighed as she sipped her coffee again, and drove a few miles in silence. She glanced at him and asked quietly. “Do you remember watching the video of me riding and winning the race?”
“Yes, what about it?”
“Did you see some of the jockeys using a crop to hit the horse to make it go faster?”
“I did, is that not allowed?”
“No, it’s allowed, but I personally don’t believe in doing that.
I was trained, since the age of fifteen, that if a horse was going to run fast, he was going to do it naturally, he wouldn’t need the extra help of a crop.
Sometimes, not all the time, but sometimes using a crop will make the horse slow down. ”
“Wow, I did not know that. Would certain horses, not used to being cropped, or whatever the term is, act squirrely when hit?”
“Yes, I’ve seen horses cock their heads to the side, trying to reach back and bite the rider.
” She sipped her coffee again, and held the travel mug in her hand as she continued to drive in silence for several miles.
With one last sip, she returned the cup to its holder, put both hands on the wheel, concentrating on her driving before she spoke, never taking her eyes from the road.
“Riding Champ’s grandfather was beautiful. He was poetry in motion, just walking around the paddock was a sight to behold. The owner was a nice guy, he loved that horse, and he respected Pedro and my knowledge and advice.”
“What happened?”
“He let greed override his good sense. It varies by race, but the horse I ran, Chocolate Champion won big. There are the race winnings, that are split between the owner, trainer, and jockey.”
“You don’t do this for free?” He held up his hands when she whipped her head toward him and gave him the stink eye.
“Did you work in the military for free?”
“No, and sorry, that was a stupid question to ask.”
“The only stupid question is the unasked question. Anyway, the owner received three million, Pedro one, and I got the same amount as Pedro did. However, the racing commission also pays the owner, and only the owner, for the value of the horse. He received an additional three million.”
“He received six million in winnings for just that race?”
“Yes, the next year, when it came time for the race, now, I trained Chocolate all year, mind you. Two months before the actual race, the owner, not Pedro, but Marvin came to me and told me to start using a crop on him. I refused. He gave me a week to change my mind. I still refused. I even told Pedro what Marvin wanted me to do, he was pissed. I asked him why, and he said he liked the basically free money Chocolate earned. Not taking into consideration all the work Pedro and I did to get him in top shape, and that I was the one that rode him in the race.”
“What happened when you refused the second time?”
“He fired me on the spot, and threatened to blacklist me. However, Pedro confronted him, he said if he had to fire me, he would agree, but if he tried to blacklist me, he would go to the racing commission and tell them about the drugs Marvin pumped into his other horses. Not Chocolate Champion, but he had three other horses that ran the races. Winning them, and those jockeys used the crop.”
“Basically cheating.”
“If you want to get technical, yes, again, using a crop is a jockey’s preference, the drugs are legal, but the crop is a gray area.”
“How long after you were fired did you find another job?” Shay was quiet as he asked, and if he hadn’t been watching her closely, he would have missed her grin.
“Three hours later.”
“Ooh, that sounds like there’s a story there.”
“Absolutely, and a great one. Remember when I said my neighbor asked me to train when I was fifteen? He had a horse that I had ridden several times in the past. His regular jockey had to have emergency surgery, and was out of commission.”
“Do you know why?”
“Appendicitis.”
“Ouch, I had that when I was around fourteen. Extremely painful, and you can’t do shit for six to eight weeks afterward.” He shuddered. “So, what’s the story?” he asked with a smirk.
“I went to my friend, and neighbor, bitched about Marvin, and he told me to finish training Samson. It took a couple of weeks, but we finally were able to connect, and we flew over the track.”
“What took so long?”
“The weight difference.”
“Excuse me?”
“Between me and the other jockey. Remember, I said that the weight restriction on race day was between one fifteen, and one twenty-seven, while also taking into account the seven pounds of equipment?”
“Yes, what about it?”
She sighed as she drove for a few more miles, sipping her coffee, and remembering. Shay almost thought she wasn’t going to answer when she spoke next.
“Jackson, the other jockey wasn’t training properly.” She looked at him with a shake of her head. “He might have thought he was doing everything right, but legally, he wasn’t.”
“What was he doing wrong?”
“He weighted one hundred and twenty-seven pounds, without his equipment.”
“Shit, so that would put him seven pounds over the legal limit.”
“Correct. His reasoning was that if he weighed at the max, and raced with the equipment, and he could get the horse to go fast with the extra weight, he would diet, and come in at the proper max weight on race day, making the horse go even faster.”
Shay shook his head, and stared out at the passing scenery. Thinking about what she had just said.
“I’m not being sexist or a stupid male here, but I have a question.”
“Ask.”
“What is the ideal weight a jockey should weigh without the equipment?”
“One hundred and nineteen pounds.”
“But that would put you one pound under.”
“Yeah, and believe you me, the racing commission counts those ounces.” She looked at him as she said that and saw his scowl.
“Think about it. That is a one-pound difference, one pound is made up of sixteen ounces. You can weigh in a few ounces over the one nineteen, as long as it doesn’t put you over the total of one twenty-seven.
I’ve never done it because I’ve been this size since I was fifteen years old.
But some jockeys, both male and female take laxatives to get their weight down to that one nineteen. ”
Shay shook his head trying to picture what she just said, and couldn’t. Instead, he changed his line of questioning. “What were the results of you riding the new horse?” He sucked in his breath when she looked at him with a grin. Her entire face lit up with happiness.