Lunch at the COLT tracks

This one still makes me laugh. From Summer 2010. Written by an alter ego, my Dr. Gonzo. Northrupp Center.

This is mostly fiction. Gorttimer T. Spotts is a different regional writer, and I think we did dine at Taste of Thai. We never bet on the trolleys. But I did draft this over a couple PBRs and a black-bean burger at Side Bar, moleskine and timer in hand to capture COLT lap times and mark rider counts. It gives a good snapshot of downtown Lexington in the age of the WEG.

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Dear Danny,

Many thanks to you and Julie for letting my wife and I stay at your house. I am writing to ask your help in settling some old accounts.

As you know, around mid-April, my good friend Gorttimer T. Spotts and I began laying bets on your downtown Lexington Trolley Lines. The games first started at Taste of Thai when Spotts and I, while on a dinner-date with our wives, began laying odds on the over/under for passengers riding by on your city’s rugged COLT faux trolley busses. This being within the first weeks of the COLT line’s opening, it soon became apparent to the both of us that anything other than the under on any passenger line was a loser.

The bets quickly dried up and the game died, until a month later when Spotts and I mysteriously began frequenting Sidebar for lunch and drinks on the front porch facing the courthouse. What began as an honest hobby of trolley spotting soon developed into weekly gambling sessions involving the shuttling back and forth of hundreds of dollars. We began to notice patterns for specific trolleys and times of day. Jockey 1 on the north/south running Green Line, for example, was cautious with his COLT, stopping at all major yellows for as far as we could see. This resulted, we both noted, in lap times that were slightly longer than Jockey 2.

Unless they were broken, of course, because traffic on South Upper was bad, which sometimes happened between 12:15 and 12:30. Or because a wreck (unseen to us) occurred near South Limestone and Maxwell, bucking the COLT from its 20 minute average schedule. Even the unthinkable could happen: COLT could have to slow in order to allow passengers to embark.

There were always variables, and this inevitably led to our renewed interest in gambling. By week 2, Gorttimer had begun printing up special Heat Sheets that provided all sorts of information he claimed were helpful in setting lines and making bets. This included anything from the analysis of courthouse press releases, used to gauge the always latent potential of TV stations to arrive suddenly and create time-draining traffic barriers, to dew points, pollen counts, and seismic activity.

By last week, my last here in Lexington before leaving for home, Spotts and I had spent quite a considerable amount of time betting on the COLTs. By this time, we had both perfected the odds and added on a considerable architecture of side-bets. Using the Short Street traffic light as the starting line and the Sidebar front porch as the finish line, one could bet on split times, attempt a three-trolley trifecta, double up on time-coordinated passenger over/unders, etc. The sky was the limit and Spotts is a known gambler. We traded IOUs and other papered instruments of debt back and forth as we gambled throughout the lunch hours.

Things were all even until the last couple rides of the day, when I lost $200 on COLT Jockey 2 as he got caught at the Lime/High Street traffic light at the top of Bank of the Bluegrass (BoB) Hill. In our betting log, this split occurred at 1:07pm. I had a sure victory with a 1:10 bet, and Spotts was going to be on the line to me for two c-notes. But wouldn’t you know it, the fetlock of fate was galloping our way. COLT got gunked up at Vine for a light. Then again at the Main Street light. Spotts, nearly blind drunk by this time, began to roar at every stopped light in equal mesure of delight and derision. COLT Jockey 2 crossed the Sidebar line at 1:11 PM, a 22 minute round trip, a dismal 4 minute backstretch split, and with absolutely no passengers. I lost $200.

Absolutely stunned and stupidly feeling my manhood challenged, I called out for a second bet, twice as large at $400, and demanded the over on an 18 minute round trip for Jockey 1, who was already somewhere enroute having passed the starting line (our betting logs indicated) at 1:02 PM.

It was a sucker’s bet and I didn’t expect Gorttimer, that filthy retch, to take it. Jockey 1 had been running average all day at a 20 minute round trip. There was also the frothy get-back-to-lunch traffic conditions at 1:00 PM and what were reportedly poor traffic light-alignment conditions on North Upper all the way through Main Street. It could have to make a passenger stop. Given these headwinds, an average 20 minute round trip would mark an impressive feat. A sub-18 minute clip would have been a record under the day’s conditions, hardly anything to wager upon.

Gorttimer, however, still aglow from his previous miraculous victory, took the bet. And wouldn’t you know it, Jockey 1 ran an all-time course record, 16 minutes. I lost another $400, bringing my total paper owed to the old chap to $600. I’m curious if you could take care of that for me until my return sometime later this summer, when I plan to return and enjoy your generous hospitality again. Love to Julie.

Sincerely,

Northrupp Centre

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Northrupp Center holds the Hunter S. Thompson/Charles Kuralt endowed chair of journalism at the Open University of Rio de Janeiro (OURdJ). He splits his time between there and Lexington, KY.