Bedlam & Miss Scarlet

The morning sun cut through the dense fog like a knife, slicing a fierce point to shed clear vision on the scene at hand. A powerful bay horse with a funky white star thundered down the lane, going toe to toe with a dark-as-night stallion. Chills lifted the hairs on Ripley’s arm as the duo battled down the lane, lost in their hard-fought battle. It wasn’t every day that a grade four horse got a chance to work with a 19x HOTY, let alone stay in the same stratosphere when given the opportunity.

Mind working a hundred miles a minute, Ripley slapped the stopper to her watch. Six furlongs in a feisty 1:09 ⅖. She kept her gaze locked on the duo as they galloped around the clubhouse turn, neither giving an inch to the other.

“Was that Violent Touch?” Laura asked, appearing at Ripley’s shoulder. Her sharp eyes glittered with excitement as she shot her long red hair back over her shoulder.

“Surprisingly, yes,” Ripley said. “I know he wasn’t exactly awesome in his Valorizzare Derby appearance, but I can’t be happier than I am right now.”

“Well, I would be jumping for joy,” Laura quipped. “If he can give Bold Trick the what-for, he’s only going to improve.”

Not one to count her chickens, Ripley made a note to think about the work some more at a later time. Maybe over a glass of wine and the entry books. Brooks would certainly like that.

With Laura skipping at her side, Ripley walked across the dirt track to duck under the railing. While the more experienced horses had their fun under Malcolm’s watchful eye, Ripley was set to turn her attention to the youngsters.

Bedlam and Miss Scarlet were already well into their warm up jogs around the turf. The bay roan colt and chestnut filly were quite the sight. Bedlam was tucked nice and close to the immovable Cold Mountain. He looked like a shrimp compared to the behemoth, but he was giving the older horse all the attitude he could muster. His ears pinned crankily to the back of his neck and he threw a buck, but he only received a sharp rebuke from Al to behave.

Miss Scarlet was equally as unrepentant. She was just a smidge taller than Bedlam, a little more elegant all around with a pretty, delicate head. Her eyes were just as wild, with the whites flashing now and then when she realized she wasn’t going to sweet-talk her way away from Fire It Up. Like Cold Mountain, Fire pretty much had his new role down pat. No filly was about to act out or escape his side.

Like Violent Touch, Bedlam shared the valuable connection of Touch Up. The colt was a fighter under saddle, but thanks to his sire, Euphorion, was a tad sweeter. He came from a valuable line and brought new hope to Ripley that she might have a true, turf colt descendant from the Touch Up line to eventually take up a spot in her breeding shed.

Miss Scarlet, a spitfire like her sire, Spotlight Pride, moved into a canter the second Fire It Up allowed her to do so. She tossed her head in a move full of angst and defiance, and threw her tail, expressing her innate displeasure. Ripley smiled as Reese took a hold of the filly’s mouth, gearing up for the explosive take-off that was bound to come when they ended up in the backstretch.

This work would be the product of another unconventional workout pair. Like Ferine and the other gals from last week, if Ripley had worked Miss Scarlet with Bedlam from the gate, Scarlet would bury him. Her front-running speed would gut his spirit faster than Ripley could blink. If someday the pair found themselves in a full field together, Ripley would bet they would end up on a more even playing field.

Today, they would go five furlongs. Miss Scarlet would break off on the lead, with Bedlam hopefully four lengths back. That was the plan anyway.

David Carter could feel Bedlam get more excited as Cold Mountain broke into a faster lope. He shook his head enthusiastically and threw his front feet to ensure that his canter appeared as ugly as possible. He was showing a little more pep in the warm up than normal. David could only credit the cooler air. Bedlam normally was a slug and often needed a pony horse to drag him, not hold him back.

Down the lane, Miss Scarlet and Fire It Up cruised up alongside them. The fire-engine red mare peered over Fire’s big shoulder at her opponent, sizing him up as she did every time she worked with someone. It wasn’t often that she did work with anyone because her morning glory performances were quite renowned. She could burn a track with her speed just fine, thank you very much.

Into the turn, the riders on Fire and Cold Mountain dropped their hold on the youngsters and fell back quite rapidly. Miss Scarlet took off like a bat out of hell, skipping over the ground like a greyhound. Bedlam, buoyed by the excitement, leaped into stride impressively for him, causing Ripley to wish, very briefly, that they were in the old days without the gate start.

Reese kept a kind hold on her filly, feeling that nervous speed that Spotlight Pride so effectively utilized during his juvenile season. She wasn’t so rampant on the lead as he was and didn’t fight as hard, but she was still very forward and very quick. Reese practically had her feet on the dash as they shot up the backstretch, five lengths in front of Bedlam.

In comparison to the ever eager Miss Scarlet, Bedlam was a loaf. David sat quietly on the colt, letting him settle into his big, ground eating stride. He did it so effortlessly and happily that he leant his jock a world of confidence. The bay roan’s ears were locked on his frisky cohort and surprisingly, he didn’t let her get away like he would have in the past.

Ripley hummed at the sight of Bedlam keeping himself in striking position. Once upon a time, the inexperienced colt would simply refuse to go, falling twenty lengths back out of a work, essentially non-competitive. Now, he was forward and in it to do some damage. He was showing the rapid improvement she needed to see to be confident he would be able to fire first out.

Miss Scarlet breathed fire into the final turn. Reese barely had any strength left in her arms, so brave was the filly getting on the front end. Just like her sire, Reese could perfectly envision this horse running with a seven length lead into the stretch. Now, whether she could keep that lead was an entirely different story. Reese dared a quick peek under her shoulder, caught sight of Bedlam gunning up to their outside and let the filly go.

With two brutally quick strides, Miss Scarlet exploded to a three length lead. Bedlam kept coming, dropping his head and fully extending himself. He was a muscular sight to behold as he swallowed the ground between himself and the filly. Under circumstances where the filly was left to do as she pleased from the start, he wouldn’t have been close, but his competitiveness and the close contact lit a fire in his belly.

Together, the duo soared for the wire. Four strides out, Miss Scarlet’s lead was cut to a length. Three, a half length. By the wire, Bedlam was nose to nose with her, much to her vicious displeasure. With blurred strides, they flew past the wire, locked in a moment of arch-rivalry.

Ripley noted the time on the stopwatch, clicked it until it was blank and smirked when Laura caught her eye. “You aren’t going to tell me what the time was?” the woman asked.

“Nope,” Ripley chirped as she walked along the fence, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Come hell or high water, she would have some brilliant young turf stars once again.