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Published: March 31st 2015
Zartan
Getting ready for the thoroughbred racesA day at the horse races in my mind is summed up by the scene in My Fair Lady. I picture women flaunting long elegant dresses, pearl necklaces and fluttering feathers, lace parasols, and gliding through the crowds with crystal champagne glasses. And those hats! They looked like the four most exquisite hats on Easter Sunday all piled onto one head. However, only once in the ten-minute-scene do they even looked at the race track. Binoculars raised as the horse speed by just feet in front of them. If these races were anything like that, I was ready.
My stomach swirled with excitement as Jhene and I drove onto the property. The one lane road brought us past neon vests ushering us to the carpark, which the day before was just a field of grazing sheep. We pulled into a grassy slot. Grabbing our goods, we followed the trickling crowd towards the gate.
The sun was scorching. Even with my light summer dress, glistening layer of SPF 50, and large brimmed sun hat I felt fully exposed to the sun. Though I was no Audrey Hepburn, I felt elegant listening to the wine glasses chime against each other in
the cooler slung over my shoulder. The greeters checked our tickets and surprisingly did not check the cooler. Each person is allowed one bottle of wine, and with one to share between eh two of us, we were well under the limit.
Making Bets
"Hey, Ladies!" A man in a Hawaiian shirt called out as we passed the greeters.
"Hello," we greeted in return. People in New Zealand tend to be genuinely friendly and sincere. My first experience in a bank was shocking. The teller was so friendly and helpful I expected hidden cameras to pop out any moment. In the States, walking into a bank was like taking park in a criminal on trial, as the accused. The teller, as if a harsh judge, would scowl at you with their eyes as if asking “You want to withdraw money from your own account?”
But across the board, customer service in New Zealand is impeccable. I honestly think this is because people genuinely care and are interested in others, where in the States it is economically driven. Even in the streets, drivers are overly considerate and aware. They anticipate your need to switch lanes and
happily let you over. At shops, salespeople want actually to assist you in meeting your needs, not pressure you to buy things you don’t need. Even the guy at the video rental store told me I should be streaming shows online, not renting them! So when this stranger approached us with a beaming smile, we welcomed his conversation.
"Would you like to buy a $10 ticket for the collaborative pool?" He asked, his Kiwi accent enthusiastically filling the air. I was new to the races, and it must have been written somewhere on the brim of my large brimmed hat.
"How does that work?" I asked. We were eager to participate but had no understanding of how the horse races or how betting actually functioned.
"You buy a $10 ticket. I take all of the money from the ticket sales and bet it on seven different races. I make an educated bet based on how each of the horses and riders has performed previously. If the races I choose win, then you get a cut of the winnings. Last year each ticket got back $41."
This sounded perfect. We could take a risk betting while using
someone else's knowledge of the horses and racers.
“We’ll each take one,” Jhene said.
Not Your Formal Edwardian Race Day
We continued down the path cut into the dry grass by the days’ heavy foot traffic. I heard the whinny of soft voices and saw the stables to the left. Fenced off from the spectators, a jockey pet the nose of a boarded horse. A second jockey crossed the fence line with another horse on a lead. Head held high, and almost prancing, the sun glimmered off of the sleek coat of the horse and accentuated the ribbed muscles that cover its entire body. Other spectators gathered around the fence sizing up the racers. Off to the side, I spotted a cart, and my heart began to race. Were there cart races today, too?!
As we approached the stadium, hints of cotton candy mingled with the smell of the fresh cut grass. A family passed us, hands grasping dripping ice cream bars, racing the sun as driblets ran down the sides of the wrappers. By now the grass on either side of the path was scattered with erected shelters, hammocks, and foldout chairs. Rainbow umbrellas
Our crew
Me, Jhene, and Matt took the place of lace parasols and picnic blankets fought for the elusive spots of shade under the trees.
We made our way between the lounging crowds to the stadium, passing food carts, a coffee stand, and more windows and tables where gamblers placed bets on their favorite steeds. To the right of the stadium the member area that overlooked the birdcage, an open area where the runners parade before and after the race. A whole different class of people made up of members and owners sat on a second-floor balcony in chairs with champagne glasses in hand.
That is where we should be; I thought to myself thinking of Miss Eliza Doolittle covered in lace and feathers.
Jhene and I arrived an hour before the first race, which was considered late by traditional race day standards. People had clearly set up camp hours before we arrived. We found a seat on the concrete bleachers where the casual spectators gathered to the left of the birdcage. Only a few rows from the top, we could see the extent of the vast racetrack below. The track was a lush green carpet encircling, in true New Zealand fashion, a
Palace Crown
Getting ready for the harness races calm herd of grazing sheep. The mountains of the Tararua Park appeared also to overlook the track as is another spectator, and unthreatening clouds smeared the sky, providing no shelter from the sun.
Between the stands and the chain link fence of the racetrack, an army of tents, shelters, and umbrellas were buzzing with people waiting for the races to start. The air, however felt still and heavy as the heat lingered on the canopies and the people underneath them. After a while, horses and their riders, began to gather in the birdcage, making a few laps before they went out onto the track.
The Races
First up, to my excitement, were the harness races where drivers sit in a small, lightweight cart to the rear of the horse. The horses in the races are called “runners.” Despite being called harness
races, the runners don’t go much faster than a trot (and thus are also called trot races). There were four harness races with either 10 or 14 runners per race. Runners circled 2000 meters on the racetrack (which is about 1.25 miles), most finishing in less than three minutes.
The thoroughbred races came next.
Racetrack
Mountains and Sheep. Typical. In these races, the runners are ridden by a jockey in a saddle called a pigskin. The runners cover only 1300 meters (a little more than three-quarters of a mile) at full speed most making it around the track in just shy of a minute.
The races themselves were exciting, despite not knowing anything about the gambling side. The benches, which were only slightly scattered with people between races, would fill to the point where spectators sat in the staircases. At the starting line, just in front of the observers and punters, runners dash off, following the track until they appear in the distance like slow moving ants. At this point we sat waiting for the small dots to make their way around the track... wishing we, too, had binoculars around our necks. As the runners came towards the finish, I could feel the anticipation of the crowd build. Scattered cheers would run over the audience as runners passed the finish line.
The highlight of the race day was when a Jockey fell off of his runner within the last quarter of the race. At this time, the ambulance that had strategically followed each group of racers now
had a purpose and pulled up to take care of the jockey. The runner, however, was still in the race, making it almost halfway around the racetrack before realizing he was the only one out there. Finally, a group of nonracers went out and brought back the lone runner.
As soon as a race was over, the benches would almost empty immediately. With 30 minutes between each race, the lucky ones set off to collect their winnings and the not so lucky to socialize and refill on refreshments. Others would scope out the next runners and place bets before returning to find a new seat in the bleachers.
Jhene and I took this time to people watch, sip our wine and read some of the “beginners’ guide to racing” material. Many of the ladies, though not in lace and silk, wore classy sun dresses and broad-brimmed hats; a brave few even wore heels. I walked around to see the horses in the birdcage and look at the names of the runners on the televised screens near the betting windows.
After five races, we had been at the track for three hours. By this time, it was past
Family Day
And yes. I went down the slide! lunch and our bottle of wine was almost at its end. Luckily, halfway through the day, Jhene’s friend Matt came bearing another bottle. He placed some bets like a real Kiwi and did his best to answer our growing number of questions that had built up throughout the day. During the downtime, he entertained me by coming to the kid area where they had inflatable toys. Matt watched as I waited in the line of glaring five year olds to slide down the large shark.
What's in a Name?
The names of the horses were also a great source of entertainment.
There were ones that screamed “bet on me!” with names such as Golden Billion, Betterbackem, and Major Change.
Some were just random like Monet’s Daughter, Driving the Dragon, and Hey Knowitall.
And then there were those that could have almost been real horse names, but sounded more like ones you would hear in a strip club, such as Sheza Brightstar, Smooth Delight, and Russian Empress.
My favorite horse name of the day, by far, was Boomchickawowwow.
It was after five thirty by the time the races ended, and we made our
way to the carpark. Jhene and I found that we won no money on our previously placed, ten dollar bets. Not surprised at our losses, we put our gear in the car.
Even though Henry Higgins wasn't there to pester me and keep me in line, I thoroughly enjoyed the experience.
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Formerly known as Paul Many Ponies
non-member comment
Day at the Races
Hey Kiddo, thanks for taking me to an outing Down Under. You did a lovely job of sharing the scene. I'm not a big fan of the racetrack scene, but you made me wish I were there. And not just cuz I miss you and Jhene.?