A Bug's Life

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Lexington, Kentucky. The first week in April. You're an eighteen-year-old apprentice jockey (otherwise known as a "bug") riding the spring meet at historic, prestigious Keeneland Racecourse for the first time. You've just spent the winter making a splash at Gulfstream Park in Miami--and now it's time to level up. [[Visit the backstretch, the best spot for schmoozing.]] [[Visit the racetrack bar. Schmoozing goes down better with a little lubrication.]]

Grooms, trainers, agents, riders, and most importantly: horses! The backstretch of any racetrack is a busy place, where a mere handshake can make or break a jock's career. [[Head for the jockeys' room to introduce yourself.]] [[Chat up a well-regarded trainer.]]

You're in Kentucky, so bourbon it is! It's a weekday and the track isn't officially open yet; the bartenders seem a little lax, and don't bother to card you. After a shot of liquid courage, you glance around to find the juiciest conversations. By the sound of it, there's at least one trainer frustrated about a jock switch on opening weekend. Are you the solution to his problem? [[Offer to buy Miles Garrison a drink.]] [[Buy yourself another drink.]]

All the luminaries are in town to nab Keeneland's spring riding title. Most of them have carried off the laurels, not to mention the trophy for the Blue Grass Stakes, at least once before. The winner of the Blue Grass has a solid chance of riding in Louisville on the first Saturday in May: the big kahuna of Thoroughbred racing, the Kentucky Derby. As of right now, there's at least two probable entrants in the Blue Grass who don't have jockeys. Could one of them be you? [[Stake out a cubby next to Tallis Ansah.]] [[Go up to Felix Hamilton in the weight room.]]

Gwen Taylor, the head honcho for New York's biggest training farm, is kicking around in barn twelve. She's barely taller than you, but her tight, no-nonsense box braids and serious expression loom large. She's won each of the Classics at least once, not to mention a slew of Breeders' Cup races, the Dubai Gold Cup, and every race of note in New York. She's the big time, and you want in. [[Mention your win on a horse trained by Gwen's former assistant in Miami.]] [[Talk about how much you admire Tallis Ansah, Gwen's favorite jockey.]]

Almost five years out of her apprenticeship, Tallis is one of the most famous riders in the United States, and the only African-American woman currently riding at the top tiers. You're trying not to be intimidated. Everyone says Tallis is friendly, and it seems to be true! You're bonding over the conditions book for Keeneland's opening weekend and fond memories of Ocala horse country in Florida when she slaps your shoulder. "Listen, you know, you're looking around up here, you need a native. Somebody nosy, got all the ins and outs ironed flat." She chuckles, the freckles across her brown skin merging when her nose wrinkles up. "Maybe a near-native. My old man's been going on about finding some fresh blood. What do you think, he getting tired of me?" You can't imagine anyone getting tired of a moneymaking jock like Tallis, but the idea that her agent is taking on new clients is an enticing one. [[Her agent is a legendary former jock with a Midas touch. Get his phone number, stat!]] [[Agent? You did great in Miami by yourself, and you can make it in Lexington too. Say thanks but no thanks.]]

Short, blonde, and terrifyingly fit, Felix is unmistakable--not least for being the first female rider to win the Run for the Roses. Her usual work-out partner is nowhere in sight, so you give her a spot at the bench press and start chatting about the Keeneland scene. You've heard she can be intense, but she seems friendly enough--not to mention gorgeous. Several years back, a calendar starring the Keeneland riders' colony featured Felix and fueled any number of your feverish tween daydreams. Top-tier rider, the best horses, family connections ... She's the total package. [[Go for it. All is fair in love and horse racing.]] [[Rein it in and keep your mind on your work.]]

Or maybe two drinks... or maybe three. Who's counting? It's opening week in beautiful Lexington and the colts aren't the only ones feeling frisky. Bald isn't really your type, but there's something about his Kentucky drawl and blue eyes. PLus, if you can get Miles in a good mood, maybe you can turn the conversation to why you'd be the perfect fit for his Blue Grass runner. [[Oops. Is that the bathroom door against your back and Miles' hand under your shirt?]]

One glass of Bulleit turns into two, and then three. Your wallet can't handle this, and neither can your stomach. People are starting to stare. You let your nerves get the better of you, never a good quality in a jockey. The bartender advances, frowning. "Ok. I'm going to need to see some ID." That's you out on your ass! Is there any coming back from the UNDERAGE DRINKING sign now plastered to your back for the whole track to see? Go get some sleep and try again tomorrow. <center>[[THE END|Welcome to Bluegrass Country]]</center>

Minor miracle! Gwen saw the replay of that race and liked the way you handled a difficult mount. "If you worked out for Trixie, you'll probably work for me." She gives you a small smile, eyes sharp over her sunglasses. "Why not come by the barn tomorrow morning for a few exercises?" Nice one! If you can handle whatever mount she produces the way she wants, it might turn into a ride for the Blue Grass. <center>[[THE END|Welcome to Bluegrass Country]]</center>

You meant to be complimentary (Tallis set a win record at Gulfstream that has yet to be broken, after all), but from Gwen's reaction, you just sound jealous. "I'm up to my ears in jocks," she says. "Here's a pro tip--find an agent to do your talking for you." The dismissive quality in her voice makes you suspect she won't be putting in a good word to any of the agents she knows. Did you really just screw your entire spring meet with one conversation? <center>[[THE END|Welcome to Bluegrass Country]]</center>

She's not feeling it. An icy once-over reminds you that--oh yeah--she's not on the market. In fact, a photo of her girlfriend is visible from across the room, hanging up in Felix's cubby. Whoops. "Want my advice? Burn your energy on working out, not cruising." She drops the press bar into your hands and strides toward the door to the showers. "Maybe then you'll have the muscle to ride with the big kids." Ouch. Felix is local royalty, the racing princess of Lexington, and you have the terrible suspicion you just ruined about twelve possible connections... and maybe your chances at the spring meet. <center>[[THE END|Welcome to Bluegrass Country]]</center>

You're feeling yourself: Felix has seen some of your Florida races and is impressed. As it happens, her trainer cousin might have a last-minute new addition to his barn. "Yeah, his dad's a mess this spring--I hear anyone else repeat that, I'll know you've got a big mouth." You nod and draw a finger across your lips like a zipper. "Anyway, ask Jamie who just got switched over. He's so proud he gets to write his name on that tin." Sounds like a winner. Felix winks and reminds you to pay attention when they announce the post positions for the Blue Grass tomorrow, then gives you James Hamilton's phone number. [[Follow up with James.]]

The son of famous Thoroughbred trainer Jimmy Hamilton, James is clearly trying hard to follow in his father's footsteps. After some careful name-dropping and emphasis on your wins percentage at Gulfstream (23%!), he agrees to let you get acquainted with his Blue Grass hopeful, Kingdom Animalia. Nice job! <center>[[THE END|Welcome to Bluegrass Country]]</center>

Eddy Ramón happens to be in the lounge, chatting with a Kentucky trainer named James Hamilton. He looks like he's dressed for the farmer's market, not the racetrack, but you'd know him anywhere: his face was at the top of every major track's rider listings for more than a decade, and the tattoos peeking out from his sleeves were once front-and-center in a beefcake calendar. Not that you own a copy or anything. Maybe you can kill two birds with one stone; his friend James is part of a sprawling Lexington breeding family that also includes jockey Felix Hamilton, and he's got to have a Blue Grass entrant. [[Keep your focus on Eddy. This isn't just about the Blue Grass--the long game requires a good agent.]] [[Ask James if he has a late nominee for this weekend's big stakes race.]]

Tallis doesn't seem convinced, but she's being polite about it. She excuses herself to go meet one of her trainers, and you resist the urge to beg to tag along. Watching her leave, you think maybe you shouldn't have been so proud. Lexington is a big city, and you're out of your depth. None of the rest of the jocks seem interested in chatting. Tallis's goodwill and connections might have been your best shot. <center>[[THE END|Welcome to Bluegrass Country]]</center>

Shooting your shot is supposed to be reserved for nabbing mounts, not hooking up with their trainers. You've always had a thing for older guys, but you suspect this isn't going to land you in Miles' good graces. And you don't want to be known as the jock who slept their way to the Blue Grass starting gate. [[Awkwardly say goodbye and hightail it to the jockeys' room.]]

As always, gossip travels faster than Thoroughbreds. The jocks' room is howling when you walk in: everyone's heard about your abortive bathroom hook-up. Ben Goldfarb slaps you a high-five with a laugh. "It's barely noon. You that fast on a horse too?" His boyfriend smirks from behind a racing daily, and a couple of other riders wait for your reaction. [[Be a good sport and joke with Ben.]] [[Bolt for the bathroom.]]

As a former rider himself, Eddy appreciates a serious outlook. After discussing trainers you rode for in Florida, he mentions that someone he knows needs a jock for an allowance race on Friday. "Pretty solid field. Race five, you looked at it?" You nod. You've got the weekend's races memorized. Eddy grins. "A few stakes runners downgrading... The company's sharp. It all goes well for our filly, who knows what's next?" There's a gleam in his eye that suggests the mystery trainer might be a big name. [[You're no fool. Shake on it.]]

Uh-oh. He's one of those old-school types who make a rider pay their dues before landing on the classy colts. He's a ginger and has the temper to match. "Sounds like your eyes are a little bigger than your stomach," he says, arms folded across a Honeycomb Hills polo shirt. "I don't like working with riders who only care about the big days and skip out on the hard work." Eddy's not rushing to your defense--and why would he? He's not your agent, although maybe he could've been. Two strikes, you're out. <center>[[THE END|Welcome to Bluegrass Country]]</center>

Ten minutes ago you were wrapped around a guy who could make your career, and now you're hugging a toilet. Less than twenty-four hours in a new city and so many bad decisions have been made! Take some Advil and drink plenty of water, regroup and remember how to talk to trainers, and maybe you'll get another shot tomorrow. Or maybe you've burned every bridge leading to Versailles. <center>[[THE END|Welcome to Bluegrass Country]]</center>

You and Eddy head to the barns, talking about the weekend's lineup (the Ashland is his favorite betting race). When you arrive at a stall containing a pretty roan filly, the horse's trainer is there too. Gwen Taylor is a huge name in Florida and New York, and smiles when Eddy introduces you. She and Eddy are old friends, and Eddy's other client, Tallis, almost always has first call for Gwen's mounts. This could be just the in you need. You make sure to focus on the allowance filly, but you can't help noticing the horse in the next stall over: two-year-old Breeders' Cup Juvenile champ Tap That, whose previous jock is at Aqueduct this weekend for the Wood Memorial... <center>[[THE END|Welcome to Bluegrass Country]]</center>

It's not like the jocks' room is hurting for ill-advised hook-ups or other scandal. According to Ben, in five minutes everyone will forget about you introducing yourself to Miles with tongue--because a certain big-name jockey failed in appealing a riding suspension and is off his mounts this weekend. He gives you an appraising glance, but then grins and shakes curls back from his eyes. "Might as well go for it, right? All they can say is no." There's a reason they call it jockeying for position. [[Go with Ben to the barns.|Chat up a well-regarded trainer.]]

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<center>[[Welcome to Bluegrass Country...|Welcome to Bluegrass Country]]</center> <center><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/7326810@N08/4629076931/in/photolist-844eie-sz5wyy-dkDrbY-hdFCVj-hdFGsb-dkDpxn-dkDpjB-hdGG76-mTpQVP-hdFGaN-nY6efw-hdFFkS-hdFAno-6cvMk4-hdFvE8-hdFqFQ-ofwCC1-5BAx23-hdFBpz-hdGJCt-hdFBPn-hdFETC-5Bwg36-5BAxDs-hdFyaD-hdFvQD-nY65uN-5BAxUm-ofhH3R-mTpEXx-hdGGn6-nY7muP-ofhMu6-ohmwQi-hdFKaA-nY6Z2t-nY5Y2L-hdFywF-hdFCD8-ofzvJD-ohmtWT-hdFKgN-pAAWeg-pAQHvo-hdGKhz-nY6aPU-nY5Rmy-pjo8D9-hdGM64-hdGPxZ" title="Keeneland Racetrack"><img src="https://farm5.staticflickr.com/4071/4629076931_b1cc48c635_b.jpg" width="1024" height="681" alt="Keeneland Racetrack"></a><script async src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js" charset="utf-8"></script></center>