Saddles And Rains

For a week, Alison and I had tracked the weather. The extended forecast for the day of our tailgate picnic at the Fairfax Hunt Races was for possible thunderstorms and a high in the mid-60s. Not great, but it could have been worse.

It got worse.

As the day drew near, the forecast became a meteorological pile-on of rain with thunderstorms and a high in the mid-50s. I jokingly asked friends to do a sun dance for our picnic, but I must have needed Robert Redford for that.

Perhaps you recall April 20, the day of those Earth Day celebrations on the Mall? Also the day of the Fairfax Hunt's races at Morven Park in Leesburg. That was the Sunday you awoke to the rumble of thunder and a flood watch. Which brings me to the first thing to know about planning a tailgate picnic at a steeplechase race, such as the granddaddy of them all, Saturday's Virginia Gold Cup:

The races are run rain or shine. No Plan B.

I briefly contemplated a foray to Wal-Mart to buy an awning or a tent, but that straw was torn from my grasp, which leads me to the second thing to know about a tailgate picnic at a steeplechase race: Tents and awnings may be banned from certain spectator areas because they can block the view and the flapping can frighten the horses. Fairfax had a no-tents-on-the-rail policy; Alison and I had rented a space on the rail.

When the day arrived, Ellen Flynn, a volunteer from the hunt, was directing a trickle of traffic into Morven Park amid sheets of rain.

"They do this in England all the time," she said. As my wipers worked double time, Flynn grinned from deep inside the cave of her hooded yellow slicker. "Come on," she said. "It'll be fun."

To borrow a racing term, the Fairfax event was my maiden outing as a tailgater. Alison had had one previous start. Rather than get lathered up before post time, a few weeks before the races we had coffee with Debra Arthur: Middleburg resident, Fairfax Hunt member and tailgate maven. The self-described former Southern belle has been hosting tailgates since 1989, and she would be a tailgate judge at the Fairfax races (though she would recuse herself from judging ours). The categories for competition would be "Putting on the Ritz," "Hunt Country Chic" and "Down Home." We didn't care about making it into the winner's circle; we just wanted to clear all the fences and cross the finish line. Arthur told us how.

First, prep and presentation. "Out there in the pasture, you can't get another bowl," Arthur noted sagely. She advised a dress rehearsal in the dining room. So, a couple of weeks in advance, Alison and I laid out our prospective dishes on the folding table we'd be using:

· Platters, it became obvious, were out. No room. Small dishes in blue and white, replenished frequently, would keep the table looking fresh throughout an eight-race afternoon.