Mud Baths and Mint Juleps at the Kentucky Derby

Friday

The sprawling Tudor rancho house in suburban Louisville, Kentucky, was quite possibly the most “American” architecture I had ever lain eyes on. Axe had spared no expense so far as I could tell. I entered the house, feeling inexplicably patriotic, and was introduced to the other writers. I was the last to arrive. Just fucking great. I had missed the initial meet-and-greet. I was accepted to the table with my fellow writers for a premium Tequila tasting courtesy of the good people at “Liquor Barn”. If this was to be a drinking contest, I was certainly up to that task. As the only West Coast representative of the group, I had a good three hours on everyone else. I must admit, however, that I was a little afraid that we’d be spurred on to finish each of the six full glasses of tequila before us, but no one made the move to peer-pressure the rest of us to follow suit.

Before long we found ourselves filing into a “party bus” that was basically like a mobile living room stacked with frosty barley pops and, inexplicably, more beef jerky than I had ever seen in my life. We were already fast friends, and we laughed and joked on our way to the first stop, a dive bar known as the “Air Devil Inn”. We proceeded to tie one on, our incessant camera flashes no doubt annoying the ever-loving shit out of the natives playing pool and smoking Marlboro lights around small wobbly tables.

20-30 minutes after we arrive, a person dressed like the Easter Bunny walks into the bar. And orders a bourbon. (Everybody here drinks bourbon, morning noon and night. Just like on Tee Vee…) The bunny removed their head and lo and behold, there was a beautiful young girl under the hood. She tells us that she just got off work doing a Derby party for an agency. She claims to have had the bunny suit sprang upon her when she arrived. It was too bizarre to be believed, but I didn’t want to ruin the illusion by asking too many questions. I watched a magician make fools of us all with slick card tricks. He was great. He was also the sweatiest man I had ever see, dripping mightily as if he’d just stepped out of the shower fully dressed. He told us that in addition to card tricks, he also works as an escape artist. I could imagine that no ropes or chains could contain such a slippery fellow, but someone told me that he had a spot of trouble escaping the one small and filthy restroom, so maybe I’m not so sure…