The Great Horse Race

We Were Wild, Baldy and Me

Baldy in 1949

This story is true and is presented here in its original version
A Time to Remember
The Great Horse Race
By Ronnie Powell

It was in the spring of Forty Nine when I rode away one day
I sat astride a Quarter horse called Baldy and was heading for Long Lane town
I was only in my thirteenth year, but I held my own on the spirited bay
The saddle I sat was forty years old, wired together to make it sound
Baldy pranced and pawed when we came to Dousinberry creek
He tossed his head defiantly and refused to cross the bridge to the other lane
Baldly snorted loud, bowed his back and I heard the saddle creak
I loosened the reins and gave him his head and grabbed a handful of mane
Baldy leaped from the bridge into the water below the bridge
I rode that rascal down into the water, for there was no other way
Baldy swam to the other side, bounded up and we headed up the ridge
Baldly gallop passed the Liberty church and nearly wrecked a Nash that day
*****************************************
Lather was showing on Baldy’s neck when he pranced into Long Lane town
He side stepped a Forty One Chevy and came to a halt in front of a store
I shoved back my hat and with my red hair a shinning swung down
I shook off some dust and spit on my hands and then proceeded into the store
I laid a nickel down to pay for a frosty bottle of Royal Crown
I was grinning from ear to ear when I walked outside to where Baldy stood tied
I lifted the bottle to take a long drink, but then spied a horse and rider a coming toward me
The horse was a stallion and was dancing high toned like, carrying his rider with pride
The rider, a young man looked down, sitting tall in the saddle, a sight to see
The man tossed his head and slapped his leg and made fun of Baldy and me
The rider on the fancy horse boasted for all to hear, “No horse can outrun this stallion of Arabian breed,” he grinned
I glared back at the man, and then said for all to hear. “Mister, Baldy is the fastest. What you say ain’t the truth
That feller’s face turned red as a beet and he replied. “There is only one thing to do, let the race begin.”
**************************************************
We lead our steeds to the edge of town and took time to cinch our saddles down
We turned our horses onto a road heading south and then swung astride those feisty mounts
The man on the stallion boasted again, said he’d run the gelding into the ground
I pulled my hat down tight and squinted down the road and listened to the count
The stallion burst foreword on the count of ten
Dust swirled around Baldy and me as I gave the gelding his head
Baldy leaped forward, with ears laid back and I held on, that Quarter horse was running to win
Baldy’s eyes were aglow, his nostrils a flame as he raced the stallion who lead
*****************************************************
The race would take us to Dousinberry creek, three miles along a narrow winding lane
I stood in the stirrups a leaning forward, the brim of my hat blown back
Baldy ran out of control, his powerful legs bore us on and on and we began to gain
The stallion tossed his head, bared his teeth as side by side they ran on that slender track
A mile to go and they thundered on and then Baldy pulled away
I turned in passing my eyes focused on the man and the stallion and I waved a fond ado. Adios