Daisy Dukes
- Bruno@Racingwithbruno
- 15h
- 3 min read
Ah… there is something wonderfully subversive about logging miles with intent. We've been the Dukes of Hazzard.
We’ve left the sun-drenched civility of Carlsbad, California — our winter headquarters — and pointed The Raptor east, toward the bluegrass promise of Kentucky. Two huskies in tow, ears perked, as if they understand this isn’t merely travel… it’s pilgrimage.
Albuquerque slipped by in desert hues. Oklahoma City offered wind and wide skies. And now — Hot Springs — tucked neatly into the folds of the Ozarks like a secret someone forgot to lock away.
I spent a month here in 1973. Twelve years old. Sunburned. Feral. Living on docks and lake water. Back when the only thing I handicapped was how long I could hold my breath underwater.
Even Joe the Husky, apparently seized by nostalgia that isn’t technically his, decided on a whim to paddle fifty yards out to a dock like he was reenacting my childhood. Climbed up triumphantly. Paraded around like a conquering admiral. Then executed a backflip into the lake — a move I’m quite certain I perfected in ’73.
Unfortunately, unlike his predecessor, Joe discovered gravity without an exit strategy. Couldn’t hoist himself back onto the dock. We had to fish him out like a particularly confused largemouth bass.
Oy vey.
But today is not about aquatic mishaps.
Today belongs to Oaklawn Park and the Rebel Stakes — the marquee event on a card worthy of the mileage. Yesterday, they poured $30 million into the pools for the Fountain of Youth Stakes at Gulfstream Park.
South Florida had its spectacle.
Now it’s Arkansas’ turn.
Another Derby prep. Another opportunity to separate noise from nuance. We have a personal interest on the card — and I’m curious how many of you sharpies can call Bingo before the gates clang open.
Last night, downtown, at De Luca's Pizza, the who’s who of racing assembled like conspirators before a heist. Antonio De Luca himself making his rounds. Team Fawkes present and accounted for. Track caller Matt Dinerman holding court with that measured cadence of a man who understands drama is best delivered between the poles.
The place was electric.
The ladies? Daisy Duke couture in full bloom — and they wore it magnificently. The gentlemen, steadfast in tradition — tight jeans, belt buckles gleaming under the restaurant lights like polished trophies from forgotten rodeos.
Norm Casse doing his best 'Macho Man Savage imitation. Brilliant!
It was a time warp. Pageantry. Camaraderie. Laughter over cocktails and strategy whispered over pizza crust.
And then, inevitably, morning comes.
Because that is the true lure of these days — the celebration before the reckoning. Once the gates spring, all the denim, all the bravado, all the storytelling dissolves into fractions of seconds and tactical decisions.
This is why we are here.
The horses.The food. Daisy Dukes and pro 'wrastling.'
And the delicious uncertainty of it all.
On a housekeeping note — if you’re searching for Gulfstream program numbers and finding an existential void, there was a data glitch, like they sunk to the bottom of the lake. Amy waited until 1 a.m., hopeful the numbers would resurface like an overdue favorite in the stretch.
They did not.
We improvised. We adapt. South Florida will survive.
But today?
Today is Oaklawn’s day and with our full workout report !
The barns are buzzing. The town is alive. The Rebel will be run. And another piece of the puzzle toward the Kentucky Derby will fall into place.
Everybody is here.
The only remaining question…
What are you doing today?