Jon had to get out. The endless traffic streaming past the flat was driving him mad.
A day at the trots would fix him, a few photos for the grandkids in Australia and a few beers and bets for himself. Wary of drinking and driving, he decided to walk the five kilometers to the track since it was a fine sunny day and he hoped to catch the last five races.
As Jon walked down Racecourse Road he could see smoke on the left billowing over some high macrocarpara hedges. He stopped to look, then a cyclist pulled up alongside him and said, "This looks like a bushfire of some sort mate, do you think we should call in at that house and alert the fire brigade?"
Jon cupped a hand to his ear and they both smiled and nodded at the sound of sirens wailing in the distance.
He hurried on down to the long driveway to the racecourse and jogged as fast as he could towards the stands in the distance. He rummaged in his bag for the camera when two fire engines passed by at full speed. There was a very strong north-westerly wind blowing, typical of the time and place in the region, and thick smoke was blowing away from the grandstands into the countryside. There were two large paddocks with horses temporarily housed in makeshift holding pens formed by electric fencing wire and stakes. As their races became closer the horses were moved into the stables on the course to be prepared for their events. These paddocks were hemmed in by the blazing hedges
The horses were terrified, leaping up in the air, kicking their legs out, trying to break free. They were standing on their hind legs, pawing at their restraints, desperate to escape. Through the telephoto lens Jon could see the fear in their eyes. After taking a few spectacular shots he hurried on and saw a group of cars with the occupants watching firemen running out hoses from their tenders and spraying water over a burning hedge. Flames were leaping high and flaming embers had already set fire to the other matrocarpara about 100 metres distant across the paddock and on to yet another in the far distance. Through the smoke were flashing images of red lights, clouds of steam, men heaving on hoses and ghostly outlines of horse attendants scurrying to lead the horses away from the nightmare.
Jon made his way into the racecourse and found the hedge behind the main grandstand well alight and flames spreading to a building which housed horses' tack, sewing machines, jockeys and drivers' silks and 100 years of racing memorabilia. Before his eyes this building was gutted despite the valiant attempts of the firemen.
As two of them looked to be containing the blaze with a hose plugged directly into the mains, the water pressure suddenly dropped. Two drunken youths annoyed at the turn of events and lack of racing had undone a locking pin at a hose joint and kicked it apart, causing a massive puddle to form on the lawn. Jon watched in disbelief as one of the larrikins held the dripping hose end to his middle and shouted "How's this for size?" before being knocked off his feet by a huge infuriated fireman to the cheers of onlookers .
The commentator advised that the fires were under control and after a bit of cleaning up the meeting would resume in an hour or so.
Jon headed for the Members Bar.
He put his camera bag up on a table and sipped on a cold beer. His camera was still around his neck. He looked around and had to blink hard when he saw a tall blonde lady heading his way.
"Excuse me, but are you an official photographer" she asked.
"Well, I can be if you want -- what do you need?" he stammered.
"Only a picture of old Emma's Loch when she wins the next -- if it ever starts!" she giggled.
"No worries, have a seat" offered Jon.
"Pauline", she said proffering a dainty hand.
"Jon" he smiled as he took it.
She owned Emma's Loch and was up from the City for the day to see her run.
They hit it off. She was slightly older than him, very well dressed and well made up. He fancied her.
They were mellow when racing resumed and Emma's Loch did not disgrace herself, finishing third.
Jon got the photos and an offer to join Pauline for a picnic at Akaroa the following day. This beautiful harbour resort with its historical French flavour was one of his favourite places and he keenly accepted the invitation. She disappeared at that point and he continued to enjoy the races.
He snapped OK Rocket crossing the line just a nose in front in a four way finish, as the drivers heaved and teased the best out of their charges, whips cracking furiously. He got a lovely shot of the winning driver saluting the judge with the horse flicking it's mane in unison! The photo would not capture the catcalls and boos from the crowd since OK Rocket had no recent form whatever. Jon had no such concerns as he collected $170 for his $20 investment!
The meeting was well back on track and the talk was that a charcoal barbecue had fallen over and caused the fires.
Jon got back in action and wandered round the stables where he got a few nice head shots of the horses and a few more with the drivers, resplendent in their silks and white trousers.
He headed home exhilarated by the way the day had unfolded with the promise of more to come the following day.
After the usual leisurely Sunday breakfast Jon spruced up and packed two bottles of wine in a cooler before setting off for Hoon Hay. It was partly cloudy when he left Rangiora but the sky became progressively darker as he approached Christchurch When he rang the bell at Pauline's a few spots of rain were already spattering onto her doorstep.
