Grooms Keep Coming Back to the Track

Only once before in my life have I ever been a groom for a day, and that was on a scorching June afternoon in a tiny Lake Tahoe wedding chapel nearly four years ago.

I heard “Congratulations” at least 100 times -- once for every person packed into the little chapel built for 50. I also spoke those two words that come with the prize package: “I do.”

For the most part, that is what I said when asked recently if I would like to be a groom for a day -- but a groom of a different sort.

It is June 6. The setting is the Bob Gordon Stable at Cal Expo race track in Sacramento. My attire consists of a pair of holey Nikes, a pair of holey Levis and a worn-out T-shirt. Throughout the day I sweat profusely, and my feet, legs, arms and back ache. The only fragrance to fill my nostrils is from whatever the stable’s tenants ate the night before, and I am nibbled about the arm by a 2-year-old attention-loving filly named PT Power. The cool breeze on my perspiring body, combined with the swirling dust and hay, makes me sneeze ... and sneeze ... and sneeze ...

Being a harness racing groom is akin to being a mechanic for Arie Luyendyk. The TV cameras focused on Luyendyk and his racer as he zoomed around the track on his way to victory in the recent Indianapolis 500. But the mechanics responsible for building and maintaining the engine over that grueling 500-mile grind were basically anonymous.

In harness racing, as in any racing, all eyes are on the track -- horse and driver. John Q. Public has no idea or concern who groomed the horse. The groom is never seen, but it’s the groom who is responsible for the care and feeding of the horse.

“The groom knows if a hair is out of line,” Gordon says. “Their job is the basic health of the horse.”

The groom is paid for each horse for which he or she is responsible. Some grooms make a decent living. Others live in tack rooms on the grounds because they can’t afford anything else.

That is not to say grooms are spinning their wheels. They can go on to be a second trainer or a driver. But as Gordon says, “You have to pay your dues.”

The groom’s days are long and hard, some longer and harder than others. My day as a groom started at 6 a.m., when the alarm clock went off. It’s about 9 1/2 hours of work spread over three shifts. Counting free time in between shifts -- though there’s not really enough time to get anything accomplished -- it’s a 17 1/2-hour day. I’ve always hated split shifts. This one I don’t mind because I know it’s a one-time gig. For grooms, it’s a daily event. But they don’t seem to mind.

They do it because they love it.

“It’s part of the job,” says Paula Hayward, who grooms for Gordon and acts as my tutor. “You don’t like it, you go work somewhere else.”

She considers our day together easy because she only has to jog two horses. Another doesn’t go on the track at all because he is racing this night. On a “busy” day, Hayward may train two horses, meaning they will make two trips each, possibly three, to the track.

Hayward considers the day easy, but I’m ready to call it a day at 11:30 a.m. And there is another 12 hours of work to be done.

Hayward has worked with horses virtually all her life. She has been a harness groom since she came to California from her native England seven years ago. She teaches me plenty in our day together, and she puts me to work.

Here’s how it went on this “easy” day -- yeah, right -- in the life of a groom:

I arrive at Stable M behind the Cal Expo track and watch as Paula finishes jogging PT Power, a massive but cuddly 2-year-old filly who shows potential.

For now, it’s watch and learn. Paula sponge-bathes PT Power with warm water, then scrapes the excess wetness. She puts a blanket over the filly, who soaks up the attention, and leads her to the mechanically operated walker, where she will walk for about 30 minutes.

While the stall is empty, Paula shows me how to clean it: Park your wheelbarrow by the gate, use the pitchfork to pick up any leftover hay -- “If they haven’t eaten it by now, they’re not going to,” she says -- and pick up the massive piles of droppings and wet spots. Finally, smooth out the wood shavings, the horse’s bedding, and get a wheelbarrow full of fresh shavings if needed.

In the stall to PT Power’s left is Speedy Alba N, a 5-year-old gelding who is racing this night in the first leg of The Great Western Pace. His name is fitting. On May 26, in his first pari-mutuel start on American soil, the New Zealand-bred horse won in a blazing 1:54 3/5. His competition this night is tough, but he will be the betting favorite.

I lead Speedy to the walker and hook him up. Then I get to muck his stall. “There’s a pile,” I’m thinking as I sling the pitchfork. So that’s what’s left of the hay you dined on when I was here yesterday. Paula says I’ve done a good job; she gives me a B+.

Then Paula and second trainer Robert Bell ask if I want to take Shahman, the third horse Paula grooms, for a jog on the track. They hand me a helmet. I knew this was coming. Why not?

Shahman is a 4-year-old pacing gelding. He generally minds his manners but tends to get carried away after he warms up on the track. I’m not worried, because Robert is going to ride alongside me on the jog cart. He shows me how to board the cart -- “Sit on from the side, and spin your legs around to the front” -- and how to handle the reins.

We get almost past the stable and near the street parallel to the backstretch of the track. “OK, pull him to the right and he’ll go right onto the street,” Robert says. So I do. ... “But wait until you get past the building,” Robert adds.

Shahman strolls to the hill entering the track. We no sooner get on the track when another trainer-driver, Larry Gregory, goes buzzing by and lets out a blood-curdling scream of terror. He is poking fun at the rookie driver on the track. It feels like driver’s training all over again.

Robert says Shahman will walk for about one-eighth of a mile, and he is right. Once we hit the first turn, Shahman picks up a little speed. He wants to go inside, and when I steer him back to the outside he turns it up another notch.

Oh, no -- we’re pacing, and we’re getting out of control. Robert grabs the reins. Shahman keeps rumbling right along. “Hey, hey, HEY, HEY, HEY,” Roberts yells, but Shahman appears to be having fun giving the rookie driver a hard time. Once the horse is under control, I get the reins back, and Shahman minds his manners the rest of the way around the track.

Back in the stable, after I come down from my Shahman rush, I’m yawning. I fill Speedy’s water bucket, feed him hay and wrap some bandages, which will be applied to PT Power’s legs later.

Then I give Shahman a bath and scrape him. He is cooperating nicely. After washing Shahman, I graduate to washing the jog carts. Hey, grooms do EVERYTHING.

Paula then gives PT a syringe full of Sulfa Trimeth. PT was sick the week before with a fever and a cough. It’s oral medication, but I’ll watch from outside the gate, thank you.

Gordon walks over. He wants me to take Taking What’s Left, a 2-year-old colt, out for a three-mile jog. THREE MILES? This time Gordon rides with me. Taking What’s Left may be just a baby, but he jogs nicely. Gordon seems to be along for the ride. He says I’m doing just fine, despite the mud flying into my face.

Back in the stable again, there is no time to rest. Paula wraps PT Power’s legs in bandages to sweat them, which draws out any soreness and keeps the legs tight. Then she applies Blue Lotion, which smells and acts like Ben-Gay, to her stifles, the inside part of her upper legs. I’m still watching and learning.

The work pace isn’t hectic, but it’s brisk.

Now it’s back over to Speedy Alba’s stall. New Zealand-bred horses generally get sick when they first come to the United States, but Speedy hasn’t yet. Paula is going to take his temperature -- anally. No, thanks, I’ll watch from outside the gate. Speedy’s temperature is 99 degrees, which is normal.

Now it’s back over Shahman’s stall. I pack his feet with mud -- thank you, Shahman, for not kicking me upside the head -- and rub in Blue Lotion to his stifles. Paula says they sometimes don’t like the Blue Lotion treatment, but Shahman behaves.

Then it’s time to sweep up Paula’s three-stall area. They didn’t have to teach me this. I sweep until I can’t sweep anymore. The area is immaculate, but in a few hours it will need sweeping again.

It’s 11:30 a.m. My feet hurt, my back hurts and my legs hurt. We’re done for the morning, but we are to be back at 4:30 p.m. for feeding.

And this is an EASY day.

This shift takes no more than 30 minutes. Chow time for the horses is a pretty loose time around the stable.

Less than six hours from race time, Speedy Alba N gets barley, oats and molasses. PT Power gets the entree plus an inoculation of Vitamin E and Silenium. PT Power doesn’t care for inoculations. Paula comforts her. I watch from outside the gate.

It’s also a time to pick up any loose droppings in the stalls, which I do. It seemed so much easier to stomach shoveling it in the morning, when it wasn’t so fresh.

During this free-and-easy time, Paula offers me a taste of a liquid called “Wind and Cough Remedy.” Its ingredients include honey, apple cider vinegar, aloe vera, alcohol, menthol, lemon juice and oil of eucalyptus.

It sounds harmless. “Just a drop on your tongue,” Paula says with some warning in her voice. A drop was all I took, but it lit my head on fire. It also temporarily unclogged my hay fever-infested sinuses.

It’s 5 p.m. We’re done -- until 7.

I’m tired, I’m sore and I need a shower. Even the dogs and cats who slumber away the day at the stable can’t stand to be near me. And we still have about five hours of work to do.

PT Power and Shahman are put to bed, and now the attention is focused on Speedy Alba N.

He is back on the walker, and I spread out some fresh wood shavings in his stall. Breathing the dust from the shavings doesn’t do my allergy any good, so I try covering my nose and mouth with the neck of my T-shirt. Wow, that’s even worse.

Speedy is calm as Paula puts on his harness, saddle pad, girth and breast collar. I put on the crupper, a leather strap that loops under the tail and attaches to the harness. I hope Speedy doesn’t mind my lifting his tail. He doesn’t.

Paula says I’m a quick learner.

“We can’t blame tonight on him if something goes wrong,” Robert says to Paula.

They tell me that if Speedy wins, I should go to the winner’s circle to be in the picture. I’ll go for that.

After the second race, two hours before race time, Speedy takes a two-mile jog. By choice, I’m pretty much staying out of the way now, at least when it comes to handling Speedy. It’s business, so I let Robert and Paula do most of the work.

When Speedy comes in, he gets another warm sponge bath and retires to his stall.

The crew will wait three more races before going to the paddock, an enclosed stable area near the track where the horses are cared for before the race.

Paula assembles her bucket full of tools in preparation for the trip to the paddock: sponge and scraper, a towel to wipe his face, a sweat sheet, Blue Lotion, cooler blanket and clamp.

Mostly, it’s a time for taking it easy.

Robert flirts with PT Power. He plants a kiss on her nose, which she doesn’t seem to like much. (I think she’s playing hard to get; she loves attention.) I flirt with her, and she nibbles playfully on my arm before taking a chunk out of my jacket sleeve.

The third race is going off now. I sit on the rail of the backstretch watching the horses thunder by. The sun is setting in the west, painting the many vapor trails in the sky streams of pink and orange. There’s a small crowd on this night. The cold wind obviously has kept some people away. I tack three more sneezes onto my total.

Back at the stable there is lots of small talk. Suzanne Whitteaker, who grooms three horses next to Paula in the Gordon stable, has returned from dinner to tell of the gathering of Deadheads in the back end of the grounds. She and Paula tell a story of a fellow they met at the Los Alamitos meet in 1988, of how he showed up one day and took a job with trainer Art Porrine, only to disappear after the Grateful Dead had come and gone.

The call for the fifth race sounds, meaning it’s time to take Speedy to the paddock. Paula and Robert drive Speedy over. I take the van.

After the fifth race, Robert drives Speedy on his warm-up mile.

“How is he?” I ask Robert.

“You ready to get your picture taken?” he asks.

When Speedy returns to the paddock, he is sweating and shaking his head in discomfort. Paula says his head itches, so she takes his bridle off and wipes his head with a towel. Speedy enjoys this.

Paula chains him to a paddock stall. I hold Speedy’s head while Paula gives him yet another sponge bath before putting on his blanket and applying more Blue Lotion.

Paula is in the same mood she was at 7 a.m.: bright and cheery, smiling most of the time. I’m ready to crash in the first available stall.

Speedy seems a bit nervous, probably because of the noise of the crowd and screaming kids, Paula says.

Finally, it’s race time. Speedy and driver Robert Sleeth are on the track warming up for the race. Almost half the win money is bet on Speedy, who is the 4-5 favorite.

“They’re off and pacing,” track announcer Joe Alto says.

Speedy, starting from the seventh post position, has some ground to make up. It’s a quick first quarter-mile (27 3/5 seconds). He is second at the half-mile pole. I’m cheering for him as if I had raised him from infancy. He is challenging for the lead heading into the stretch, but he loses steam near the finish and places third, 1 1/2 lengths behind. Boston Byrd A wins in a quick 1:56 1/5. Vital N is second.

Robert isn’t disappointed. “The first quarter was too fast,” he says. “He started on the outside and had to work to get to the top. He tried to slow down going down the back side, then (Eminem) pulled and went, so we had to go with that horse. He just got a little tired.”

Paula says, “He raced tough. The track was hard work for them tonight.”

So is it over yet? Hardly. Paula and Robert were counting on a trip to the “spit box,” the area where drug testing is done, because Speedy went off as the favorite. We can count on another hour or so of work, more if Speedy doesn’t have to go to the bathroom. Horses can be kept at the “spit box” until 2 a.m., or until they go to the bathroom.

Paula drives Speedy to the spit box, where she walks him while she waits her turn to be tested. Speedy’s back legs are stiff and he is coughing, meaning his throat is irritated. They think he may be getting sick. Paula keeps walking him, and he seems to be walking the stiffness out. They’ll know the next morning.

It is the groom’s responsibility to sign over the sealed vials of blood and urine after the testing is completed. Fortunately, Speedy goes right away.

Paula leads Speedy back toward the stable, asking me on her way by if I wouldn’t mind bringing the sulky. Robert tells me to hop on the tailgate of his truck and he’ll pull the bike. I oblige.

“Cheater,” Paula yells as we drive by.

At the stable, I find the energy to get Paula a bucket of warm water, which she will use to wash the bridle and harness.

Speedy walks a little more and retires.

It’s past 11:30 p.m. I feel too tired to drive home. Paula will be back at the track the next morning at 7. She’ll be up at 5:15.

But it doesn’t seem to bother her in the least.

It doesn’t bother me, either. My alarm won’t be going off.