Well, the Duel on the Dunes did indeed come to pass. Ironically, it took place on the day on which we were told the reason why the Duel on the Downs had failed to eventuate and had instead turned into a solo galloping display. I'm not sure that the British press quite took on board the extent to which Canford Cliffs was struggling in the Sussex Stakes (unlike the Australian press, with Winning Post's international correspondent reporting that, "The Sussex Stakes did indeed turn out to be the exhilarating contest that everyone had hoped that it would be, because it enabled Frankel to confirm his status as a true champion by posting a thrillingly dominant victory. However, it should be noted that it did not match its billing as a duel: Frankel made all the running for an effortless victory, while Canford Cliffs never looked like posing any sort of challenge ... Canford Cliffs clearly failed to show his true form, never travelling with any zest, lugging out badly in the closing stages and looking to be galloping as if his legs were tied together. He still finished second, but that says more about the inferiority of the other two runners than it does for Canford Cliffs' performance."). Anyway, yesterday's 'news' that Canford Cliffs had gone amiss and is set for retirement seemed to occasion general surprise, but really the only surprise was that it took so long for the announcement to come - you only had to watch the Sussex Stakes to know that he had quite a lot wrong with him. And, of course, to know that he is both a very brave horse and a very good one, because it was only the combination of his courage and his class which kept him ahead of Rio De La Plata. So if he can pass on his courage, his class and his magnificent physique to his offspring, he will be a very good stallion indeed.
Neither of the competitors in the Duel on the Dunes is every likely to pass anything on to any offspring: Kadouchski (seen heading down to the start as the clouds and the sun battle for supremacy at the end of what had been a very wet day) is a gelding, while surely Fire Fighter will be one sooner rather than later. I'd say that my preview of the race - that Fire Fighter was the class horse but a playboy and that Kadouchski's only hope was that his superior professionalism might swing things in his favour - just about got it spot-on. Come the end of the race, I
was shattered: a three-runner Flat race with a 1/4 favourite sounded the recipe for a very tame affair, but it ended up with more drama than the Grand National! Fire Fighter might have started at 1/4, but I'd say that his in-running price would have been 1/100 at the top of the straight, and odds-against 20 seconds later. He did everything wrong, trying to run off the track at every turn and also nearly putting the outsider Whitcombe Spirit (the betting was 1/4 Fire Fighter, 4/1 Kadouchski, 20/1 Whitcombe Spirit) through the rails at halfway through a combination of his own waywardness and his jockey's misjudgement. Anyway, he began to draw ahead running
down the side, turned into the straight ten lengths clear - only for his lead to dwindle rapidly as Kadouchski and Hannah bore down on him. From Fire Fighter being unbeatable, suddenly we were going to beat him! Kadouchski hit the front about 40m from home - but he only remained there for about two strides, his arrival having galvanised Fire Fighter, who responded by putting a bit more in, to the extent that, remarkably, he passed the post a length in front under a hold. It all happened so quickly that it left me drained and hoarse - but what cheered me up was looking at the photograph which I took of the winner and the runner-up walking back in off the track and noting that Stevie Donohoe, rider of the winner, looked even more shattered than I was. My exhaustion was emotional, but his was physical - and he was clearly and understandably considerably more tired than his unco-operative mount.
So that was the Duel on the Dunes. It wasn't Goodwood, it wasn't Frankel v. Canford Cliffs, and the winner was as reluctant a hero as you'd ever find, but it was a duel nonetheless, and a worthwhile reminder that racing at the minor meetings can be every bit as thrilling as the headline acts. Man for man, the cheering yesterday among the fairly small crowd at the finish of a 3-runner below-tarriff (yes, I'm owning up to that, and if you want to find out why, then read the comments posted under the previous chapter) Class Five handicap at Folkestone on a dismal (although the sun had threatened to get the upper hand at one stage in the evening, as the picture of the few runners in the spring handicap thundering out of the dusk shows) Thursday night was every bit as loud and animated as that at the finish of any big race at any Festival.
Aside from the tarriff thing, there's something else I have to own up to, by the way. There's always, as we know, a brahma, and last night's brahma was one which has been waiting to happen for quite a while. Still, I suppose it could have been worse, because it could have happened at Goodwood or Newbury; but fortunately I don't think that it mattered too much that I got to Folkestone, where I don't think that there is a dress code, and found that I had forgotten to bring a pair of trousers with me. So my shorts got even more of an airing yesterday
than I'd intended. They had at least dried out by that stage after the soaking which they'd had while we'd been riding out in the morning - sitting for three and a half hours in a warm but slow-moving horse-box on a journey which should take just over two gave plenty of time for drying off - so I was at least comfortable, if not exactly dapper. So that was yesterday - and this is today, with yesterday's rain already starting to disappear, as plenty of sunshine today has helped it to disperse into
both the ground and the air. We're back to summer, and that's grand for all of us here, including for Kadouchski as he enjoyed a well-earned roll in the pen this afternoon under the supervision of Gus, for the three dogs who enjoyed both the sunshine and some hoof which Darren Rose the farrier had saved for them, for Gus and Bean who partook of some virtuoso synchronized lairizing.
Neither of the competitors in the Duel on the Dunes is every likely to pass anything on to any offspring: Kadouchski (seen heading down to the start as the clouds and the sun battle for supremacy at the end of what had been a very wet day) is a gelding, while surely Fire Fighter will be one sooner rather than later. I'd say that my preview of the race - that Fire Fighter was the class horse but a playboy and that Kadouchski's only hope was that his superior professionalism might swing things in his favour - just about got it spot-on. Come the end of the race, I 
was shattered: a three-runner Flat race with a 1/4 favourite sounded the recipe for a very tame affair, but it ended up with more drama than the Grand National! Fire Fighter might have started at 1/4, but I'd say that his in-running price would have been 1/100 at the top of the straight, and odds-against 20 seconds later. He did everything wrong, trying to run off the track at every turn and also nearly putting the outsider Whitcombe Spirit (the betting was 1/4 Fire Fighter, 4/1 Kadouchski, 20/1 Whitcombe Spirit) through the rails at halfway through a combination of his own waywardness and his jockey's misjudgement. Anyway, he began to draw ahead running
down the side, turned into the straight ten lengths clear - only for his lead to dwindle rapidly as Kadouchski and Hannah bore down on him. From Fire Fighter being unbeatable, suddenly we were going to beat him! Kadouchski hit the front about 40m from home - but he only remained there for about two strides, his arrival having galvanised Fire Fighter, who responded by putting a bit more in, to the extent that, remarkably, he passed the post a length in front under a hold. It all happened so quickly that it left me drained and hoarse - but what cheered me up was looking at the photograph which I took of the winner and the runner-up walking back in off the track and noting that Stevie Donohoe, rider of the winner, looked even more shattered than I was. My exhaustion was emotional, but his was physical - and he was clearly and understandably considerably more tired than his unco-operative mount.
So that was the Duel on the Dunes. It wasn't Goodwood, it wasn't Frankel v. Canford Cliffs, and the winner was as reluctant a hero as you'd ever find, but it was a duel nonetheless, and a worthwhile reminder that racing at the minor meetings can be every bit as thrilling as the headline acts. Man for man, the cheering yesterday among the fairly small crowd at the finish of a 3-runner below-tarriff (yes, I'm owning up to that, and if you want to find out why, then read the comments posted under the previous chapter) Class Five handicap at Folkestone on a dismal (although the sun had threatened to get the upper hand at one stage in the evening, as the picture of the few runners in the spring handicap thundering out of the dusk shows) Thursday night was every bit as loud and animated as that at the finish of any big race at any Festival.
Aside from the tarriff thing, there's something else I have to own up to, by the way. There's always, as we know, a brahma, and last night's brahma was one which has been waiting to happen for quite a while. Still, I suppose it could have been worse, because it could have happened at Goodwood or Newbury; but fortunately I don't think that it mattered too much that I got to Folkestone, where I don't think that there is a dress code, and found that I had forgotten to bring a pair of trousers with me. So my shorts got even more of an airing yesterday 
than I'd intended. They had at least dried out by that stage after the soaking which they'd had while we'd been riding out in the morning - sitting for three and a half hours in a warm but slow-moving horse-box on a journey which should take just over two gave plenty of time for drying off - so I was at least comfortable, if not exactly dapper. So that was yesterday - and this is today, with yesterday's rain already starting to disappear, as plenty of sunshine today has helped it to disperse into 
both the ground and the air. We're back to summer, and that's grand for all of us here, including for Kadouchski as he enjoyed a well-earned roll in the pen this afternoon under the supervision of Gus, for the three dogs who enjoyed both the sunshine and some hoof which Darren Rose the farrier had saved for them, for Gus and Bean who partook of some virtuoso synchronized lairizing.
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