So you crawl. Slowly. Forward. Wondering whether anyone would ever find you if you blew a tire out here in the middle of nowwhere.
"Well, you made it!" You hear a voice call out as you pull cautiously down a short drive between two pastures. A woman with dark curly hair dressed in jean shorts and a tank top steps out of the office to greet you, completely aware of your relief in hearing another human voice. She chuckles as she shakes your hand. "Welcome to Lochey Stables."
"Good lord," you barely manage to gasp, glancing back at the still settling dust on the road.
"Oh yes, rough road sometimes." The woman agreed. "I'm Holly Brown, General manager. Now I really must run, really busy with Katie's vacation coming up. I have to organize a bunch of recent purchases and sales going in and out and the foals will be leaving in August while she's away..." Holly grinned apologetically, "Sorry. Got carried away. Go ahead and take a look around Lochey (she pronounced it LO CHAI, explaining the word was Hebrew for To Life) but please, obey all the posted rules. I wouldn't want to hear from security that there's a problem with a visitor."
You nodded slowly but she seems to already know your answer as she shakes your hand again, gives you a bright smile and hurried back into the little white cottage muttering to herself about "new horses....five o'clock arrival."
You look around at the scattering of buildings, and the quietness of the scenary. You realized now why the Lochey team had moved the race string to home tracks Philadelphia and Delaware Parks. It was too peaceful here to ruin it with the antics of fresh off the track racers...
"OI! Bloody mare!" came a shout from the nearest barn as a groom was seen being dragged by a petite, but burly, bay mare. At her side skittered her young and fine bodied colt and you realized you were watching two time Dubai Distaff Sprint champion, 2002 Distaff Champion and Impressive Mare of the Year and millionaire Bold n' Gold. I guess talent doesn't make up for manners, you thought grimly as the groom helplessly snapped the chain.
A minute later, he echoed your thoughts. "Bloody mare! If you weren't so damn talented, I'd drop yeh body off in the woods right now!" He scolded her, finally getting her under control as they reached the paddock gate. She playfully tossed her head and he affectionately pats her neck.
The scene set before you, of rolling Pennsylvania hills, of frolicking foals growing gangly and tall next to their not so gangly mothers, of a training oval and the one lone racehorse galloping on it, of the barns of green and silver set out bright against the dark forest to the north, reminds you of a postcard. But that, of course, is only a snapshot in time. To know the real Lochey, you've got to take a walk...
