Crow Rate

When I had the appaloosas at the race track I was not only fitting them to show, but I also was brought a couple of thoroughbreds to fit for the track.  This was no easy feat as they had wintered at a place called Cold Lake that really lived up to it's name.  They not only were fairly wooly, but pretty scrawny too.  That's when I learned that it's a whole lot easier to put weight on a horse (or a dog) than it is to take it off.  As I was working full time and fitting horses too, I was always at the barn by 06:00 to get the chores done before work.  I'd get eveybody's breakfast ready, feed them and work a couple before I headed off to work and then then come back to do the rest after work.  Since I wasn't the only one that had horses at the track I always had company while I was there, but not very many started as early as I did.
One of the guys that was there had a horse named Crow Rate (named after a tariff on grain hauled through the Crow's Nest Pass) and one morning he asked me to gallop his horse for him.  No problem, I added him to my list of things to do before work.  He had come off the track in Vancouver and always seemed to gallop a whole lot faster than he was supposed to, but the owner was happy.  We'd go around the track, him 'bout pulling my arms out of the sockets, and when we were coming to where it was time to slow down and head back to the barn, I'd say to him 'Ok old man, that's good'  and he'd slow down and break in to a long trot before we turned around.
One morning the owner asked me to work his horse 1/4 mile.  I said 'Ok, excuse my ignorance, but which one's the 1/4 mile pole and what do I have to do?'  He showed me which one it was and said to gallop him around the track and when I got to the pole to hunker down and the horse would do the rest.  Alrighty then, sounds easy enough.  We galloped around the track and when we hit the middle of the backstretch ol' horse jumped in the air and kicked.  Not serious, just kinda like he was feeling good.  We got the the 1/4 mile pole, I hunkered down, and he did the rest.  When you watch the races on TV it seems like they're going really fast, but when you're in the middle of them it really doesn't feel that way.  When we went under the finish line, I stood up and started talking to him to get him to slow down.  We went around the top turn and just as he broke in to a long trot, whatever he had seen the first time around the back side made like it was going to eat him.  Well hell.  He alamand-right and damned near dropped me right there.  As I was hanging off the side of him I seriously considered kicking free and abandoning ship right there, but when I looked down I realized how fast he was going and knew that was gonna leave a mark.  CRAP!  I had one stirrup on an exercise saddle (not quite as small as a jockey saddle, but near enough!), a hand full of mane and the reins and just started clawing my way back in the middle of him.  When I finally made it back on top of him he was going hell-bent-for-leather back to the barn like he was being chased by demons.  By now I had no stirrups and, being an exercise saddle, no horn to get any leverage to stop him with.  Remember I told you he pulled really hard?  It was all I could do to get him stopped by the time we had come around to the finish line again and when we got to the paddock all the owner could do was give me shit for letting his horse run back to the barn.  When I asked him 'Didn't you see him almost dump me?' he said nope and didn't believe me.  Oh well, we came out of it in one piece.
I went to Vernon to watch him race that summer.  Vernon's race track is what's known as a 'bull ring'.  I may be wrong, but I think it's only 3/8 mile so in longer races you have to make several laps.  He was a distance horse and the first trip round he was leading by a nose.  The second trip, he was leading by a length and the final trip he won by  many. 
I guess having him run off with me every morning worked out well.