Preakness day, one year ago, found me in Ireland. While the Preakness and its outcome still mattered, an ocean and multiple time zones separated us from a warm May afternoon in Maryland, where women wore sundresses even as we bundled up in sweaters and watched the day rapidly come to an end.

It seemed a bit more fitting, to me at least, that this day resonated with the excitement of Europe’s – and perhaps, the world’s – best horse.  Our day’s activities concluded just in time to watch the broadcast of Frankel dominating the field in the JLT Lockinge Stakes.    He was merely a stone’s throw away, and the focus of the Irish racing papers as well. This Preakness day seemed to be Frankel’s day, my first glimpses, in real time, of the crowds he drew and the brilliance he displayed time and again.

Later, we did manage to pick up the Preakness signal across the Atlantic, and my companions burst into excited celebrations when I’ll Have Another captured the second leg of the Triple Crown. I’d like to see another Triple Crown winner as much as anyone, but the long drought and the string of misses have tempered that excitement somewhat.  Not the hope, though. Like most people who follow or work in racing, I thrive on hopes and dreams. It’s just, as the years pass, some of those hopes and dreams are a bit more grounded by reality.  And the reality of that day was I had already seen the transcendent racehorse, and with all due respect to I’ll Have Another, that horse was not in the U.S. that day.

Fast forward to about a year later. A late night at work meant I was still watching the Preakness as darkness gathered. But it was different, back on U.S. soil, in the room where racing photos adorned the walls. They bore witness to the dreams come true in racing that had especially captivated me.

Orb’s story had certainly been one of these. It’s like the perfect racing fairytale come true: the horse that finally gives his connections the Derby trophy, after over half a century of breeding top racehorses. Then all that remains is the coronation, for Orb to become the newest Triple Crown winner. It seemed plausible, if still a touch improbable. I wavered, 50-50, on whether the Preakness was in his grasp. The evening at work seemed interminable. I wanted to know.

Finally home, I watched the whole telecast, instead of skipping to the end.

Two weeks ago, standing in pouring rain near the famed Twin Spires, I cheered for Gary Stevens and Oxbow. It looked as though the race was theirs for the taking. Yet the Derby glory was all for Orb, the racing dynasty that bred him, and the humble talented man who trained him. Seeing that Oxbow no longer had a chance, I felt no division of loyalty in suddenly cheering on Orb. It was still a dream realized, the classic storybook ending, perhaps.

Back to this year’s Preakness…. I half-expected Orb and red-hot Rosario to prevail, even knowing race strategy and post position could dictate otherwise. That appears to be what happened.

Oxbow again looked to have the race in command, as with the Derby. I held my breath to see if he’d falter. Sure, the distance was shorter, but he’d led the whole way. But he and Stevens took off this time and never looked back.

There was disappointment that no Triple Crown is on the line among many watching, I’m sure. But this was a great race and proved there are many ways to see a storybook ending.

Orb had his in the Derby.

Now it was Oxbow and Stevens’ turn. Against the odds, the comeback king toppled Rosario. His smile nearing the wire said it all: elation tinged by a bit of disbelief, perhaps. I too was astounded and elated that he got another classic win, just months into his return to the saddle. It’s what I love about this sport: the improbable becomes possible, often in the most thrilling fashion.

Yes, it halted a Triple Crown run, but congratulations to Oxbow and all his connections for a thrilling Preakness renewal. And kudos to Gary Stevens, for showing where the perseverance to follow your dreams can take you…. like to a Preakness winner’s circle once more draped in black-eyed Susans. He said it best a little while back, that following those dreams means never having to wonder what if. Orb’s loss notwithstanding, this is a great moment for racing.

We know the improbable is not impossible; when the time is right, then the Triple Crown dream will be written into reality. It’s a dream worth waiting for.

The morning of April 20th, with pleasant blue skies and spring finally settling in to the Bluegrass region of Kentucky to stay, seemed like a perfect time to take a short drive from Lexington to Frankfort to visit Groupie Doll and her buddy Brass Hat at the Bradleys’ Indian Ridge Farm.  They are quite generous in opening the doors to fans of these horses (with appointments, of course).  Given that Groupie Doll is due to go back into training soon, the time to see her at the farm was growing short.

I had been fortunate enough to see her at Keeneland, also with Brass Hat, before the Breeders’ Cup wins and before her name became widely known.  Yet I still jumped at the chance to see her at the farm, more in her “element.”  It was definitely worth it, to see her and Brass Hat in this setting, where they were free to run and play.  We could have stayed all day to watch them play, scratch their withers, and feed them peppermint nuggets.  They probably would have liked that as well!

But as Groupie Doll will return to Churchill sometime after the Derby, there is the next phase to look forward to, and I wish her and the Bradleys the best of luck with her 2013 campaign.

The gates opened shortly before 8 a.m. and the sun began rising over a field, casting a lovely golden light upon their breeding shed, the mares coming and going, and the stallions entering the breeding shed one after another.  It left no doubt the breeding season was in full swing, and all the activity was carried out with the precision of a carefully choreographed and thoroughly rehearsed dance.  I had visited numerous farms before, but this was my first time seeing the busy pace of the breeding season and the way it seemed to create an equine version of rush hour on a busy highway. 

Yet it also seemed apt to call it a dance; while I knew the steps of the process, I had not seen them all carried out before. The efficiency it took to never miss a beat drove home the practice this took, and that this was a dance I did not yet  know well.  But that was the purpose of my visit, to learn these steps; for I was here today as part of my internship with a breeding farm, instead of the racing fan that I usually found as my role during farm visits. While I had lightly worn the title of “future racing industry professional” during those visits, I had never been to any of them solely in that capacity and it was a paradigm shift.

I still saw things with a photographer’s eye, however; that may yet be the role I play in the racing industry when I am a professional.  It showed me the nobility in the eyes of the mare waiting to be bred.  She was from the farm where I interned, and so far I had only seen her in the stall with her young filly and outside at a distance, in her pasture. 

I tried to capture the look in her eye; it was quite captivating, as were (to a lesser degree) the way the sun illuminated her and cast shadows upon the wall of the receiving barn.  Presently we  moved to the window, overlooking the floor of the breeding shed. Historic for its site as the conception of Triple Crown winner Affirmed, a reminder lingering in the plaque above the floor, you knew hopes and dreams of what might be lingered here, as they did in breeding sheds all across the Bluegrass on this first day of spring, where this year’s foals already ran across the fields, hopefully building stamina or speed and the will to run above all…

The mare was an absolute pro in the shed, and she neighed once as she left the shed. She quietly walked into the trailer, and our ways parted for the day.

Across the parking lot and on the other side of the shed, Wilburn was already being led into the shed and the dance continued…

I said a quick hello to Paddy O’Prado, at the side of his stall overlooking the driveway, (the racing fan side of my persona coming to the fore again) and drove down the tree-lined drive, knowing that this cold snap will break soon and these same trees will burst into bloom and soft green leaves, and they will race again at Keeneland. It’s not that way now, but as sure as the new foals racing on the grass and the busy flow of traffic to the breeding sheds, that too is one of spring’s surest signs in this region. The countdown begins….