09 September - the end of the meet

Part 10 - zero minutes to post

and they're off

Before the race started, Tom Woodhouse reflexively raised his binoculars and looked toward the starting gate. It was the last race on the day after the last day of the meet and it was impossible to see anything. It was impossible to see the gate or the rail or the lights glowing from the tote board or even the line of bright red flags draped across the finish line. Finally, Tom lowered his head and pressed his lips against the microphone. In a plaintive voice, he asked the crowd whether they knew what was happening. Hearing no response, he wondered briefly if everyone had left the track early and that he was the only person still there.

Before the last race could be run, the starting gate had to be moved all the way from the top of the backstretch, around the clubhouse turn, and positioned at the top of the homestretch. The distance of the move was almost three quarters of a mile – much farther than they usually drag the gate from race to race. But even in the fog, there was never any doubt that the gate would arrive in time. The whole operation is as routine as anything that happens at the track. After a race is finished, a miniature tractor is hooked onto the gate and the whole apparatus is dragged around the track leaving a trail of parallel lines behind it. Following behind the first tractor is another miniature tractor with a float that manicures the dirt and smooths out all the ruts. Until the horses walk onto the track, the surface looks as if no person had ever set foot on it.

Though no one could see through the fog, the scene that day was particularly silly. The man on the miniature tractor was not quite five feet tall and only the tips of his toes reached the pedals on the tractor. He focused so intently on keeping his toe on the gas that the tractor made a crazy zigzag path around the track that looked like snakes racing each other to capture some imagined prey. Like most things in life, the crazy pattern didn't matter much because the tractor following behind him smoothed out all the first man's mistakes. In the end, the surface was as flawless as usual. It was like a million years of erosion had weathered away all the imperfections on the surface of the Earth. When the short man parked his tractor, he looked behind him and thought, "No one could have done better."

Near the starting line, the six Assistant Starters chatted, drank coffee, and complained that they wouldn't have a day off before the new meet started the following morning. The Head Starter also wanted a day off, but he stood apart from the others and flexed his shoulders backward. He thought he looked more authoritative that way and his chin and nose followed the lead of his shoulders. When the man was just seven years old, his mother wagged her finger at him and snapped, "Posture makes the man." This criticism made such an impression that the man spent the next 45 years berating himself whenever his shoulders relaxed into a curve. For him, there was no second tractor running behind that would smooth out that kind of mistake.

Like magic on a timetable, seven shadows soon emerged from the mist. They slowly took on lines, edges, and shapes in the form of horses and jockeys. Since no one could see the clock counting down the minutes to race time, the whole group milled about unsure of what to do next. One minute passed. Then two. Finally, they just started loading the horses into the gate just as a man came toward them shouting, "Zero minutes to post! Zero minutes to post!" No one present could ever recall seeing him before.

The Head Starter watched as his assistants loaded the horses into the gate. All of them were quiet. Under normal circumstances, one or two might be expected to wrestle with a jockey or one of the handlers. But not this time. Not for the last race on the day after the last day of the meet. For this race, they were all unusually calm. It's possible they might have been confused by the fog. But who knows? All anyone knew is that the fog was as thick as it had been all day. Whatever the reason, it didn't matter. What really mattered is that this race was likely to be the last in the careers of several of these horses. After that, there was no guarantee what would happen to them in the coming weeks.