Holy mother of god, it is humid here. I have to change my shirt after walking from the apartment to my car. Welcome to the Midwest, you weather-spoiled Angelino.
I'm not complaining. I've died and gone to horse heaven. I was shopping at Kroger yesterday, and above me in the spice aisle was a banner commemorating War Admiral's win in the 1937 Kentucky Derby. Above the bread aisle was Secretariat. By the deli, a picture of the 1972 Run for the Roses, as they rounded the clubhouse turn.
I've never enjoyed a trip to Kroger so much in my life. As I put the groceries in the car, I could see the Twin Spires of Churchill Downs. They're directly across from the University of Louisville campus, where I will spend much of the next year. Pinch me.
I wandered through the beautiful campus buildings and picked up my student ID, feeling like a clueless freshman because I stopped at almost every map kiosk. Sure, I was about the oldest person eating free pizza at the student government welcome event, but no one seemed to wonder why the gentlemen with gray hairs on his temples was so interested in the student body president's initiative for swapping textbooks. Besides, I now have a student ID to prove that I am indeed a 40-year-old 5th-year freshman.
I stopped by the Equine Business building, where I will be doing my studies, and there on the wall was a mathematical analysis of the probability that a claiming horse will return a profit for its owner. E=CRTV3x*+& or something like that. I guess I will learn it soon. I am one happy horse geek.
Louisville is a cool town with a well-recognized arts scene, fantastic restaurants and some of the friendliest people on earth. In the Highlands area, there are five Irish pubs within two blocks of each other. None of them are chains, and I am digging it.
At one local pub, I ran into an assistant for successful thoroughbred trainer Michael Maker and struck up a conversation. That wouldn't happen in LA. And I've only been here two days.
I'm still searching for the blue grass, though. I have looked everywhere, and I don't see any grass that is blue. It's green, just like everywhere else.
But make no mistake, the ground here is special, a tie that binds horses and bourbon together.
Kentucky's grass sits on a bed of limestone, and when limestone seeps into the water, it makes the finest bourbon whiskey and the strongest horse legs imaginable. Near Lexington, you'll find multi-million dollar horse farms and distilleries, sometimes on the same property. They know all about the secret of Kentucky. I took these photos on my last trip here:
The last photo is a tree at Buffalo Trace, a fantastic distillery that sits on an old buffalo roaming route and where bourbon has been made since 1787. The tree is covered in bourbon mash from the distilling process, basically. It doesn't harm the tree. Just turns it black.
Blackgrass. Bluegrass. Greengrass. It's all beautiful to me.
No comments:
Post a Comment