The Things We Do For Love
Well, it’s one of those weeks. There’s a race Thursday for Cosmic Song so we can’t write the column Thursday. And we must write the column because, like baby birds, so many of you are waiting in the nest for mom to return with the wo….um….oh yes, the pate de fois gras, that’s right. Or, at least, the chili dog. And we know this because last week’s column had the most viewers ever and the most on the day of release, sometimes called Thursday, by far. So we’re sacrificing our beloved gym day, Wednesday, to put this out for you. You’re welcome.
Racing Report
Cosmic Song’s first race at Gulfstream will be today’s last race, the ninth. Of the 13 horses listed for the race (12 will run), 8 of them are 10-1 or more, including Cosmic Song, who is 15-1. Among the horses with lower odds is Put It On A Jet, a winner of two straight, including Cosmic Song’s last race. How can we possibly be optimistic about this? Well, a couple of things to point out. First, our filly will be on the outside this time and should get good position. Second, this is (unless it rains) a grass race, her first, and she may like the Gulfstream turf better than the Calder dirt. And, vice-versa, some of the other fillies may not like it as much. If it does rain, there should be a couple of scratches, reducing the 12-horse field to a more manageable number. All that being said, it looks like a tough chore and next time we’ll probably opt for an easier spot at Tampa Bay Downs. There’s an attractive race there on February 11 if she’s ready to come back that quickly. You’ll be the first to know.
What About The Yoga?
We thought you’d never ask. Our first exciting adventure was with the energetic Marilyn, in Ocala. This lasted two sessions. Marilyn is an exceptionally limber and aggressive 74-year-old woman who runs her yoga camp like the Marines run basic training at Paris Island. Hopefully, nobody will ever try to steal Marilyn’s purse—she will beat them to death in short order. Siobhan, an experienced purveyor of yoga classes, says Marilyn is running more of a fast-paced exercise class than a yoga discipline. When one of the students complained that she wasn’t finished one of the exercises, Marilyn said, “Well, I am!” So we moved on to The Sanctuary in Gainesville, where the much calmer Lisa holds forth in more yogi-like fashion, even though she does correct Bill a lot. We signed up for half-a-dozen more lessons so I guess we’re sticking with Lisa. If you’re looking for a bodyguard, though, we still have Marilyn’s number.
Sedona
Last week, we discussed the Grand Canyon and environs. If you’re going to the Grand Canyon, you might as well tack on a trip to beautifully-situated Sedona, just down the road. Hop on I-40 East and then pick up I-17 just east of Flagstaff. We got off on Rte. 89 north of Sedona and drove in along either a small river or a good-sized creek, along which scads of people were camped.
There seem to be a lot of places called “Red Rock Canyon” in the Southwest—there’s even one outside Las Vegas—but they’re not kidding about red rocks in Sedona. They’re as red as it gets. This is an extremely striking place, definitely worth a side trip even if John McCain does live there.
Sedona is big on Indian wares and New Age stuff. Plenty of shops selling crystals and other essential NA gear. The shop owners will be glad to direct you to any or all of the seven Vortexes located in and around Sedona. If you park yourself in one of these vortexes long enough and are able to tune in to the appropriate wavelengths, you may attain enlightenment. This was a big deal to Siobhan, so she got a list. Unfortunately, the first vortex she found was right in the middle of the main intersection in Sedona.
“I think I’m in the vortex,” she reported as the traffic whizzed all around.
“You’ll be in the vortex in a minute if you don’t get out of there,” I told her.
We moved on to a better, less-dangerous vortex overlooking town. There’s a picture of it above. If you look at the picture long enough, you may attain enlightenment. Or, you could simply attain boredom. Siobhan thought her stay in the vortex proved beneficial. I can’t say I noticed any benefits but I could be immune. It sure was pretty, though. Pretty counts too.
Oh, and by the way, if you ever do visit Sedona you might want to bring a tent like those people camped out along the river. The hotel prices are, shall we say, astronomical.
Visit Beautiful Kingman
We had a horse racing next day which we could watch from one of the horse books in Las Vegas, so we headed back within striking distance and spent the night in Kingman, a practical city out in the middle of the Mojave Desert. Kingman is on I-40, and iconic Rte. 66 runs through the middle of it. Unlike Sedona, Kingman is, shall we say, affordable. Our motel went for $39.95 and it was not the cheapest. There were, or course, reasons for this, as I discovered when I went to the registration desk. After paying my bill, I asked the clerk what there was to do in town, a question that will usually elicit a quick reply even in Bumfuch, Iowa. The clerk paused, deep in thought. A few seconds passed, then almost a minute.
“Okay then,” I interjected, “I think I get the picture. But what about a theater? Are there any movies?” Thankfully, there were, and after a hearty meal at the local Cracker Barrel, we, along with several well-fed Indians and other local dignitaries, crammed into the little movie-house to enjoy The Sixth Sense, still one of Siobhan’s Top Five.
Back at our fine motel—at 3 a.m., no less—an ear-splitting siren went off, sending scores of visitors into the parking lot. This is always a false alarm, but impossible to sleep through so you might as well truck off to the lobby to ascertain the origin of the merriment. Nobody had a clue. An hour later, a repeat performance. This time, the management went room-to-room and discovered an Oriental family wokking it up. Big laughs all around.
A curious feature of Kingman heretofore unnoticed in towns of its size (about 50,000): one of the Interstate ramps led to nowhere. You descended the ramp, drove about a mile and the asphalt morphed into desert scrub. There was no connective road to any other part of town. You had to get back on the Interstate to reach the next exit. Was the highway captured by space aliens? Was the land recapturing the town? Was the Department of Transportation playing a little joke on the motoring public? If you have the answers to these or other puzzling questions broached in this column, please respond accordingly.
Come On Down!
If you can’t wait for Summer to begin your vacation, you might consider Florida, where it’s warm all the time. Well, most of the time, anyway. In Miami, at least. And you’ll like Miami. Don’t believe all those stories about the police finding ten dead bodies in the trunk of a car. What? Well, yeah, it was true, but that was years ago, before all the Mariel Boatlift people killed one another off in our famous Mall Gunfights. It’s much better now.
One of our favorite places in Miami—actually across the bay on Virginia Key—is The Rusty Pelican restaurant. The food, through several incarnations, is good if not exceptional, the drinks are not diluted and the place has floor-to-ceiling windows that allow a great view of the water and the passing boats. Best of all is the spectacular, unfettered view of the Miami skyline. Show up for the sunset as the building lights begin to dot on. My mother said it was her favorite place in Miami—we could hardly get her out of there.
You can continue on to Key Biscayne, if you like, and even see Bebe Rebozo’s house where Richard Nixon lived. Yeh, we didn’t think so.
Not far from Virginia Key is the famous Vizcaya mansion, complete with Formal Gardens. This place is worth a stop, even if you don’t want to take the time for a guided tour.
Since you’re almost there, drive on into Coconut Grove. In the old days, the Grove was home to Miami’s colorful hippie element, full of interesting small shops, bookstores and restaurants. Most of the real estate has been usurped by chain operations, but there are a few places left like Yucky’s semi-headshop, which has been there forever. Everybody goes to Cocowalk, a three-story mélange of shops, bars and restaurants which occasionally draws in offbeat street vendors and artists of dubious persuasion.
Not too far away is venerable Hialeah Park, which used to be one of horse racing’s jewels. This time of year, the owners put on a Quarterhorse meet but the real attraction is the racetrack itself with its ancient, bougainvillea-covered grandstand and its still-in-residence flock of 400 flamingos.
But you’re probably going for the beaches, after all. Haulover, on A1A just South of Sunny Isles Boulevard near North Miami Beach, is the largest and one of the easiest to reach, with large parking lots, accessed by tunnels under the roadway, across the street.
The northernmost part of Haulover is a nude beach, if you like that sort of thing or are just curious. And no, nobody will even pay any attention to you, so no need to feel embarrassed. They will pay attention to you if you’re wearing a bathing suit. They may even sneer. It’s a lot better to go to Haulover than to go nude bathing at Washington Oaks State Park, where Bill can tell you it cost $200 per if they catch you.
Something everyone should try once in their lives is the drive from Miami to Key West, a beautiful, if slow, trip on a mostly two-lane highway, almost always in sight of the ocean and/or the Gulf and endless different colors of water. Key West, itself, is a town unto itself with a dynamic gay population, uproarious parades and holidays and the nightly zoo which collects on the pier for the famous sunset celebration. An option to consider is a drive down in a rental car and a flight back to Miami. I said everyone should make the drive once in their lives, I didn’t say you had to do it twice.
Since you’re reading this column, you’ve been exposed to horse-racing. If you want to check it out further, Gulfstream Park on U.S. 1 in Hallandale is open this year from January 5 to mid-April, racing all afternoons except Mondays and Tuesdays. Calder, where Bill & Siobhan’s horses live, picks it up when Gulfstream ends and runs the rest of the year, dark days to be determined. Calder is right off the Florida Turnpike at the Miramar exit next to the Dolphins’ stadium. We’d tell you the name of that stadium but that would do you no good since they change it every year. Do you want a stadium named after yourself? See the Dolphins’ management. And, as with everything in Miami, bring money.
Old College Magazine Joke (from 1966)
Farmer Jones, disappointed with the performance of his roosters (the last of which had died the day before), decided to spend a little more on a high-quality prize red rooster in the hopes he would get the hens to laying. To the farmer’s great surprise, the rooster not only kept the hens fertile, but also the ducks, geese and wild turkeys.
But alas, upon returning from the market one day, the farmer spied his prize rooster sprawled out flat on the highway. Approaching the animal, he thought out loud “Drat! It’s a shame to lose such a fine rooster, but that’s the way my luck usually runs.”
At this, the rooster looked up to the farmer, winked and pointed up with the tip of his wing to the birds circling above.
“Shh!” he said. “Buzzards!”
That’s all, folks….
