Life As I Know It (15 page)

Dad had been doing the same thing at Home. We didn't have the resources, but the soul of racing was present in everything he did. I reckon if Paddy Payne and the Sheik sat down together they'd find plenty to talk about.

I loved Newmarket so much that I went back a year later, on my own, and rented a place from David Redvers, a very successful bloodstock agent. I lived just behind the High Street. I worked for Luca Cumani, an English trainer who has had starters in the Melbourne Cup and very nearly won with Bauer and Purple Moon, and Jane Chapple-Hyam, an Australian trainer based there. Jane is the daughter of former leader of the Liberal Party Andrew Peacock.

I was getting a few opportunities to race for Luca and Jane and this one day Luca put me down to ride one of his horses at York Racecourse up in north Yorkshire. As it turned out, on the same day I had a ride for Jane Chapple-Hyam at Salisbury, near Stonehenge in the south of England. I like an adventure so I thought I'd see how I would go getting to each track on time. Jane was relaxed
and confident I could make it. At least the Salisbury race was the last one of the night so I was in with a chance. While waiting for the York train at Newmarket that day, Frankie Dettori wandered along the platform and saw me. He was riding at York, too. Despite having a first-class ticket he decided to sit in economy with this Aussie traveller, who was not quite a backpacker. We chatted all the way to the races. I ended up running second and beat Frankie home! Then it got interesting.

To get to my next race, I took a train to London, caught two underground trains to get to Waterloo Station and took a British Rail train to Salisbury. Once I arrived, I got a cab to the track. It was a marathon trip, especially dragging my race bag through the crowds in the underground station, but I got there in time—and finished last. A couple of the jockeys drove me back to Newmarket. It was a long day.

During the same trip, thanks to Kerrin, legendary Irish jockey Johnny Murtagh, who is now a trainer, arranged for me to spend ten days with Aidan O'Brien, one of the world's best trainers, at his complex at Ballydoyle in Ireland. It was another one of those epic trips that started at Newmarket. On the flight to Dublin, I sat next to a very friendly Irish guy. When we landed he offered me a lift to the train station in his car. We'd got on so well I would have offended him if I declined. There I was in Dublin in a car with a complete stranger, but that's where life takes you sometimes. I then caught the train to Cashel in County Kilkenny, which is classic horse country two hours out of Dublin.

It is gorgeous country, as green as you would expect in the Emerald Isle, and Ballydoyle was a superb place. A woman called Eileen was so obliging, showing me to the room in the house where I was staying and explaining how to get into Cashel. The Irish being Irish, we went into town together to the pub with the workers. I also went off to the races with Colm O'Donoghue, a jockey who
has ridden winners all over the world, and I enjoyed hanging out in the crowd with the punters. Everyone was so friendly. They reminded me of Dad. Even Aidan O'Brien reminded me of my dad. I felt so at home over there. They felt like my people. Aidan's brother Walter was the truck driver on the Ballydoyle farm and we got on really well. He took me to meet their parents, that's how hospitable they were.

After being there for nearly a week Aidan asked if I had a release from the Australian stewards to ride. I jumped at the opportunity and it was quickly arranged. They put me down to ride at Cork—in a 2400-metre race. The distance was going to really test me as I hadn't ridden competitively in a month. I was riding Dylan Thomas's sister but she wasn't as good as her brother, the European Horse of the Year in 2007 who had been retired to stud after winning the Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe. She was one of seven runners for Aidan O'Brien in a twenty-four-horse field. I was supposed to be the pacemaker in the race but she had no early speed and I couldn't get her to go forward. She actually ran on quite well to finish fifth.

Aidan also had a runner in Deauville in France and he asked if I would like a ride. To get there was going to be another travel adventure—train, plane and train. Johnny organised for me to travel with Aidan. Aidan said there was a spare seat in his four-seater private jet, and the airport was just up the road. That made it somewhat easier—a quick flight across the channel and we were there.

I not only loved Ireland because of the people, who were so openhearted, friendly, willing to chat and genuine—and who made me realise that there was still a bit of old Ireland in our family—I also learned a lot about training and riding. Everything is so much more relaxed there. Things happen at a reasonable pace. Horses do a lot more walking. And there's less pressure on the stable riders who work the horses. The system is completely different.

When you are working a horse—whether in Ireland or England—you are responsible for one horse at a time and you do everything. You saddle them, work them, walk them, pick them, hose them and put them back in their box. That will take an hour or so. Then you do another one. Both the horses and the people are more leisurely.

Because horses are trained differently, they race differently. Jockeys get rolling very early on their mounts, urging them forward from a long way out, and riding vigorously to get them all the way to the line. In Australia we tend to wait, and then finish with a burst. Because of my training my timing was always out and my horses were getting to the line too late and, when I adjusted, I was going too early. Of course, just as I began to get it right, I had to come home.

I found the French racing much the same as ours, but with far stricter whip rules. I think the riders in France are the most stylish, polished—the best I have seen in the world. They are beautiful to watch.

While in England, Ireland and France, I was inspired by these old stables and farms. They made me want to create my own place in Australia, in Ballarat, just like them. I loved the idea of living on a beautiful property, with a home and stables, and my own tribe of kids.

C
OMING INTO THE
Spring Carnival of 2009 I was hoping a few opportunities would come my way. It was always a tussle to get the rides, and then keep them. Competition between riders for the good horses can be fierce. The race calendar is set: Turnbull Stakes Day, Caulfield Guineas Day, Caulfield Cup Day, Cox Plate Day, Derby Day, Melbourne Cup Day, Oaks Day and Stakes Day. It finishes at Sandown. If you add in the major country cups, like Geelong, Bendigo, Ballarat and Kyneton, there is a lot of fun to be had. This time of year has a wonderful rhythm. Everyone's trying to get their horses ready; some are well prepared through targeting early spring events. The punters are trying to jag a winner. Women are buying hats.

Colin Little asked if I'd like to ride El Segundo in the Group 1 Turnbull Stakes, one of the lead-up races to the Melbourne Cup. The champ didn't fire a shot; his best was behind him. It was four years since I rode him in his maiden at Cranbourne. So much had happened to El Segundo. So much had happened to me.

I was getting a few rides for Bart Cummings. Perhaps it was because I was kind to horses, like he was. Reg Fleming, Bart's
Melbourne foreman, liked how I rode, and maybe he put my name forward because he knew my sisters and Jason Patton. Maybe it was a more practical reason: I could still make the lightweights. Whatever the reason I was grateful when he offered me the ride on Allez Wonder in the Toorak Handicap on Guineas Day. She had been handicapped at 52 kilograms, a weight I worked hard to maintain.

The moment certainly wasn't lost on me. I was honoured to be riding for one of the great characters of Australian sport. At that time Bart had trained twelve Melbourne Cup winners and about 250 Group 1 winners. He was the grand old man of racing, and still had a magnificent head of wavy grey hair and a sparkle in his eyes. I loved his style. He was always looking for a laugh, always keeping everyone guessing.

I don't think he was confident Allez Wonder was going to add to his tally of Group 1 wins, although he'd chosen to put her in the Toorak Handicap ahead of a very suitable mares' race she would have dominated the night before at Moonee Valley. She was a sixty to one shot in the Toorak. But there was some money put on her and she got into the forty to one odds. She'd won her previous start with Damien Oliver in the saddle, but it was me who was offered the Toorak ride. Damien was riding King Mufhasa for Kiwi Steve McKee.

It was a magnificent day at Caulfield and Bart was probably the jauntiest eighty-two year old on the course. As the owners were standing around in the mounting yard, and Bart was cracking jokes, I had to prompt him for my riding instructions.

‘Ask the horse,' suggested Mr James Bartholomew Cummings, who'd seen it all, and done it all. I looked at him puzzled. Then, very casually, he said, ‘She likes to get back, so let her get back. And bring her to the outside and we'll see what she can do.'

With that I was away and, thanks to Bart's advice, feeling very relaxed.

I trotted down the straight before a really great crowd; I was riding for Australia's greatest trainer in a Group 1 race. I smiled to myself as I let Allez stop, stand and take in the atmosphere. It was okay for me to enjoy the moment too, but getting the horse into a good frame of mind was more important. I gave her a pat and took her around as nicely as I could to the barriers. You need them to work with you and to give their best. Everything counts when it can come down to a matter of inches.

When we jumped at the fall of the barrier Allez Wonder, who could be fierce, went forward of her own accord, immediately. I wasn't doing as instructed: let her settle back at the start! She found a position, fifth or sixth, near the rail, and travelled beautifully. Approaching the 600 I was going well and coming to the corner I felt I was a sneaky possibility. I stayed in—failing to honour the master trainer's advice on that one as well. I needed luck. I waited, realising that timing would make the difference. I wanted to have a clear run before I asked her for an effort. Coming to the 300 I thought, I'm a chance to win this, I just need a split. It came and I shot through and hit the front just before the line. My first Group 1—and for Bart Cummings!

I didn't get a chance to speak to Bart until the presentation.

‘Well done,' he said. ‘Can you ride at 50 kilograms?' I didn't hesitate.

‘Yes!'

J.B. Cummings was offering me a ride in the Caulfield Cup.

Riding at 50 kilograms was a tough ask; it is my absolute rock-bottom weight, but I was determined to do it. I would do it!

The media interest in me that whole week was off the charts. It was mad. I was trying to starve and at the same time train hard whenever I could. At one stage I did a workout at the local gym and when I got back to my car there were sixteen missed calls from media outlets around Australia. When I rang Mark Zahra,
another jockey and my boyfriend at the time, I burst into tears. It was difficult to handle the uncertainty. It was all too much! I knew physically that I could get to 50 kilograms—a weight I hadn't been in six years, but mentally I was beginning to struggle.

‘I can't do this,' I blubbered. ‘It's too hard.' But then I sat in the car and told myself I had dealt with harder times and that I could do this. It was the Caulfield Cup! I soldiered on. Mark was in the same boat, riding 53 kilograms, which is his absolute minimum. Having someone do it with you made it a bit easier to handle.

My diet and exercise regime for the week leading up to the Caulfield was:

The night before the Cup I was 50.7, which meant I was on track. I was so thirsty and hungry, though. I felt I just had to have something to eat. I thought an orange would do the trick, with its juice and fibre. What I failed to anticipate was that as my stomach was so empty, citric acid would eat the lining. I ended up in such pain. I slumped to the floor and crawled to bed.

Lying under the covers, in agony, I wondered how this could possibly be worth it. Then I thought, this is what you train your whole life for: to compete at the top level. You've endured the falls, come back from them. Pull yourself together.