It’s Always Been Miles To Go Down the Road

It’s Always Been Miles To Go Down the Road

By Sean Clancy

100,748.

I noticed it on the odometer somewhere between Colonial Downs and Middleburg on July 12. A second place finish and a 12th in the books, driving home, through a storm, miles on the car, time on the clock.

Sean Clancy

Where and when my Subaru Outback flipped over the magic number of 100,000 was somewhere lost at a somewhere mile marker between a somewhere racetrack after another somewhere card.

I used to stop and take a moment when these moments came and went. In a Chevy Cavalier, purchased with purse money from Riverdee (the horse) in 1988. And in a Honda Civic, purchased with cash from Saratoga winners in 1994.

I had crashed the Cavalier, on a wet mile on a wet highway from Atlantic City to Saratoga, trying to get back to Hall of Fame trainer P.G. Johnson’s for first set that summer. I made it for first set, the car didn’t.

The Honda Civic rolled past 100,000 on the way to Saratoga a few summers later and was ticking past 199,000 when I crashed it into the back of a ChemLawn Truck on a slick road (notice a trend) near my home in Landenberg, Pennsylvania, the airbags hitting me like the Saratoga turf had done a few times before. The guy in the ChemLawn truck gave me a ride home.

A Honda Accord didn’t get close to the milestone, I hated that car, traded it in just to get if off the books. A silver Subaru Outback passed the precipice on the way from Keeneland to the Maryland Hunt Cup, my nephew Ryan and I stopping at a lookout for a picture and a pop. My nephew Jack wound up with that car, a few more miles registered and recorded. It didn’t get to 200,000. And now, another car, another partner, has hit the mark, well, has rolled past the mark without notice. Like a birthday without a cake.

The miles, the years, pile on, tick on as we embark on another Saratoga.

Life changes. An apprentice jockey, a wanna-be journalist, in that Chevy Cavalier, the Honda Civic, the road felt like a path to greatness. The car, a vehicle for your success. The trip, a bowling lane of life. Each mile, a building block to something big.

As I drove into Colonial Downs, trainer Mike Stidham and assistant Hilary Pridham were driving out, a win, a second, a third and a sixth in the books. They were heading up the road, a trip or two to Saratoga on the horizon, they watched Princess Grace win the Dr. James Penny from the road, a win always shortens the ride.

As I was leaving Colonial, jockey Trevor McCarthy and valet Richie Ramkhelawan wedged a tack bag into the trunk of McCarthy’s Honda Accord as he headed north, trying to scale the chasm from New Kent to New York. “See you at Saratoga, kid.” “I’m on my way,” he said with a smile. Literally and figuratively. His enthusiasm for Saratoga palpable, a Mid-Atlantic track rat trying to make it big, the miles up the road feel like stones across the stream.

On one of the phone calls on one of the legs of the most recent road trip, Dad asked me if I was still excited for Saratoga. I hemmed and hawed, started and stopped, like a son does when he’s talking to his dad about things that matter, things shared.

“It’s nothing like it was but, yeah, I’m excited. I don’t know if excited is the right word. I guess I’m looking forward to it. I love the place. It’s different. It’s long. Two months. Forty racing days. It’s hot. The sport is top heavy, there aren’t the stories there were 20 years ago. It’s pressure. Annie has to take up the slack at home. No Sunday help. There’s a tree branch in the front field. The garden’s a mess. Miles is growing up. You know, there are costs now. It’s just different. It’s changed.”

I could see Dad nodding his head. My 87-year-old father retired at the beach thinking about all his journeys to Saratoga and Suffolk, Rockingham and Rolling Rock, Pimlico and Penn, Charles Town and Charleston. Horses and hotels, entries and exits, road tolls and life tolls – all his miles on all his cars.

I’ll see you on the road.

First published in The Saratoga Special. www.thisishorseracing.com.