The first Saturday in May saw 80-1 longshot Rich Strike win the 148th running of the Kentucky Derby with an extraordinary finishing kick. He defied his odds – the second-highest winning odds in Derby history – in doing so. For most handicappers, it was a shocking outcome. For others, it might have been the greatest day of their lives. The payoffs for his victory were large enough to verge on the surreal: a $2 wager to win paid $163.80, the exacta paid $4,101.20, and the 50-cent trifecta got those handful who had it $7,435.55. But the other payoffs were life-changing: a 50-cent wager on the pick 3 paid $31,336.20, the pick four paid $25,834.75, and the pick five $247,215.65 (remember, this is on a 50-cent bet). If you’d gone so far as to wager a whole dollar on the superfecta – the first 4 horses in order – you received $321,500; selecting the first five horses in the correct order paid a nearly unfathomable $741,018.90 on a $1 bet. The 2022 Derby will be remembered for many things – the nice weather, the return of the fans after 2 years of COVID, a welcome sense of normality after a lot of uncertainty and confusion – but Rich Strike’s win will be what writes this race in the history books.
I wish I could tell you that I received one of those marvelous monetary gifts, but alas. But I can share some of the wonderful gifts that I have received from my many trips to Churchill Downs on the first Saturday in May. Most of mine exist as memories, like seeing the Twin Spires for the first time, or hearing 150,000 attendees singing “My Old Kentucky Home.” Cashing a winning Derby ticket on my first visit to the Downs will always be a highlight, as Ferdinand romped home at 17-1 and gifted this then-newbie a thrill that will never be forgotten.
A few of my gifts have come to me in ways I never expected or imagined, like seeing one of my friends have his biggest career win, when Thunder Gulch surprised pretty much everyone with his 1995 Derby victory, an experience we shared together in the infield and a memory we continue to share to this day. And a gift from Staci Hancock, who I ran into at the Kentucky Horse Park the week before the Derby in 1989, will always be one of my most treasured. Not recognizing who she was, I asked her about her Sunday Silence hat – Sunday Silence, of course, being a horse in that year’s Derby that I had a good feeling about. She said she and her husband Arthur owned the horse, and that she’d try to get me a cap. A few days later, a blue baseball cap arrived at my door. I was wearing that cap in the Churchill Downs infield a couple of days after that, proudly cheering myself hoarse as Sunday Silence rolled home to win the Derby. He went on to win the Preakness and ultimately be named Horse of the Year.
Monetary gifts have historically eluded me at the Derby, but there was one time I parlayed money and a memory into a not-bad payday. I played a pick-four and was still alive for several hundred dollars in the final part, the Derby. My choice was a horse who would become famous for many reasons. Barbaro did win the race in 2006, and I did get my monetary gift for his efforts. But when he severely injured his left hind foot two weeks later, at the start of the Preakness, it began a heroic journey that he, his owners, and a team of veterinarians undertook to try and save his life. And the wider world took notice – the drama of his plight was followed more or less daily by the general public for the next 8 months. Sadly, the hoof infection laminitis eventually set in, and Barbaro had to be euthanized after setbacks made life too painful for that majestic warrior. He, however, remains a gift to the racing world and to all those who admired his courage more than a decade later.
The first couple of trips I made to the Derby were with two great friends in an old blue cargo van equipped with a short bench seat behind the driver and a mattress behind that seat which just fit between the two rear wheel wells. We ended up camping at the General Butler campground, about midway between Cincinnati and Louisville, sleeping in the van, which lacked heat half the time. That van was a gift that saved us the exorbitant motel costs on Derby weekend, but it was our ride home from the next year’s Derby that truly gifted us. Around midnight, on a bridge over the Ohio River, the old van began to lose power, her lights dimming as we rolled to a stop, still on the bridge, just barely off the right-hand lane. This was way before cell phones, and it was pretty cold in the semi-heated van.
We had no idea how far we were from the next exit, but we knew, according to the map, that it was too far to walk. We decided the best bet was for me to stay with the van and for the other two to hitchhike together, for safety’s sake, and hopefully catch ride to the nearest exit where help could be found. Soon a trucker picked them up (gift #1), and I watched them drive off to who knows where. What felt like a small eternity later (but probably closer to an hour) they returned in a tow truck (gift #2). We were towed to a gas station just across the Cincinnati city limits and dropped off. The station had no mechanic on duty, and, since it was now about 2 am, it looked like another chilly night in the van. But there was a motel right across the street, and by that point we were all pretty cold.
As luck would have it, it was high school prom weekend, and there were no rooms available. So back we went to the van with no heat to try and get some sleep and hope for a little assistance the next morning. The night passed in a combination of snoring and shivering.
Fortunately, my compadres were talented enough to realize our problem was the alternator (gift #3). But that day, of course, was Sunday, and no mechanic would be on duty. Just after sunrise, the gas station attendant suggested an auto parts store about a mile’s walk from where were stranded (gift #4).
As the two knowledgeable guys headed off, I crossed the street looking for a cup of coffee. While sitting in the warm coffee shop and reading the racing form from the Derby, an elderly gentleman asked if I was going to the races today at the local track, River Downs. I allowed that we had no plans to do so and were not even sure of where it was located.
Not long after that, I could see activity in the van, so I crossed the street to see if I could help. The alternator was in fact the issue – my guys had been right – and they knew how to install a new one (gift #5). I sat inside the van, still engrossed in my old racing form, as they worked feverishly in the cold to repair the problem, stopping only to drink some coffee and occasionally curse me and my lack of van knowledge. By about noon, they had the new alternator installed and the van up and running, and we grudgingly prepared for the final four-hour drive home – prepared, that is, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the three tickets (gift #6) to River Downs that the man in the coffee shop had given me. A few minutes later, we saw the sign for the track. And that’s how, instead of driving through four-plus hours of flat Ohio terrain, we ended up at the wonderful old River Downs track for yet another afternoon of horse racing (gift #7).
After all that, the idea of sleeping in the van again didn’t seem like it would enhance our Derby experience much. We decided to look for a decently priced motel for next year’s trip to Louisville. It seemed kind of a fool’s errand at the outset – motel prices more than double for Derby weekend, and the radius stretches from Louisville outward to places toward Indiana, Nashville, and Cincinnati. With no internet yet, we started cold-calling about available rooms at reasonable rates months before the first Saturday in May. One of our group members happened upon a brand-new motel just north of the Indiana border, and the price quoted was the same rate as the regular rate during the non-Derby weekend. This, needless to say, was a huge gift, and we booked the room immediately. When we arrived on that Derby weekend, we were stunned to see a brand new, fabulous place. It made our stay even better than we could have imagined. When we were checking out, we asked if we could book rooms for the following year. The clerk said certainly and quoted us a price triple the rate we’d just paid. Obviously, they’d figured out the impact of the Derby weekend. Thus began our search for another place to stay the following year, and this one would prove to be a whole lot different. Ever heard of the Bates Motel?
To be continued…
