After I'd been in Chicago about seven or eight years I was dating a fellow Amtrak employee, Barbara. Barbara was slated to become the first female yardmaster in Amtrak history, and I was already calling her ‘yardmaster’ to help her get the hang of it. We dated about three years and the following episode occurred on our second summer vacation.

This is a story of luck, intuition, and a third thing I'm not sure of - maybe confidence or faith.

It starts last Monday, after work. Ever since the yardmaster and I managed to get on the same schedule we've been trying to figure out how to best take advantage of our time - riding to work together, evenings together, same days off, etc.

Being on the same schedule has also provided the important ability to plan ahead, something that wasn't possible as long as I was working the extra board, and I was finally on a regular assignment. The first thing we planned was a trip to Bagley, Wisconsin, to a place called River of Lakes. Her family has been vacationing there for better than 20 years. It is like a place our family goes called Teeple Lake, except more organized in that there is a campground at River of Lakes - electric and water - showers and flush toilets. It's a great spot for the whole family, something for everyone. Fishing, boating, swimming and all on the beautiful Mississippi.

So we had it planned. With Tuesday and Wednesday off we can leave right from work Monday night. The car is already packed with all the camping gear including a swell new tent in which one might actually stand up. Even our meals for the next 60 hours are in the cooler. We drive straight to Bagley and arrive at 4:45 in the morning, approximately 1 hour ahead of the giant thunderstorm.

We find the family area and set up our tent by flashlight. And it goes smooth and fast because we had practiced in the living room. This kind of tent has four fiberglass poles that support it from the outside, and once assembled it's freestanding. So, I suggest that we not stake it down - then if we don't like it where it's at we can just pick up and move! The yard master isn't too keen on this notion, (intuition? a lucky guess?, she listened to the weather?) , and votes for a complete set up, including stakes. I look up at the sky and see stars to the horizon.

"It's beautiful, it's clear, why bother?"

"Look over there my friend, just about the horizon, isn't that lightning?"

"A little heat lightning, nothing more."

Into the tent we go. It is cool, it is quiet, I hear an owl. I am just dozing when the first 50 mile an hour gusts fold the un-staked tent over us like glad wrap.

Now the only thing holding the tent in place is our prone bodies. The yardmaster, in her infinite wisdom and patience, says nothing, leaving it for me to deduce that it is either stake the tent now, during a wind storm of awesome proportions or wait awhile and perhaps have a shot at staking it down in the wind AND rain. Belatedly displaying a little intuition on my own part I get it staked solidly to Mother Earth just as the first drops of rain are propelled at hurricane forces into my bare flesh.

It stormed pretty good for awhile and I'm glad to report that our new tent did not leak, withstood the gale, and we slept in comfort. We awoke to sunshine, ate grilled pork chops for brunch and went speed boating and swimming on the mighty Mississippi. And at dusk climbed into a nine passenger Suburban with seven other relatives for a night at the races. Dog races that is, at Dubuque.

The dog races are another of her families traditions. They usually go once or twice during their stay at River of Lakes, and it is indeed a fun thing to do. It is very much just like the horse races, with the grandstand, clubhouse, betting windows, tote board and all the other racetrack paraphernalia - just no jockeys and no horses. We arrived during the first race, obtained our programs and seats, and begin to make our picks for the second race.

Barbara and I had gone to the horse races a couple of times last year so we knew pretty much what to do, that is: read the tote board, bet on our picks, and when to cheer. The hardest thing was to stop calling the dogs 'horse'.

"Which one do you like?"

"I like that four horse, I mean dog."

From going to the track years ago with my old friend Jim Vettraino, I recalled that there was a lot of so-called 'useful' information in the program. Statistics about each horse, how it was running, had been running in the last few races, and might run tonight. At the horse races with Barbara I had made a point of studying these items in order to pick horses most likely to win. However, it did sometimes seem like the more information I tried to incorporate into each pick the farther to last my particular selected horse actually ran. So I had inquired how she might be making her picks since she seemed to be spending a fair amount of time at the pay window.

"Oh, I just bet whichever horse I seem to like when I first look down the page, or whichever one I like when they parade by, or if I like their number." Hmmmmm. . .

This makes no sense what so ever to me. I mean, that's like shooting in the dark, guessing. Not even attempting to calculate, narrow the odds by clever deduction. Not even an educated guess. However, I wasn't exactly knocking them dead, as I mentioned, using the handicap method, so. . .

This time, at the dog races, I don't even attempt to handicap. Really. I just bet hunches - whichever horse I mean dog strikes my fancy. We usually do it like this: we each bet two dollars to win on the one we like, then each pitch in a buck to bet two dollars on whatever the long shot is, for a total of six bucks per race. There are 13 races but we missed the first, so the most we can lose is 12 times six or $72 - which sounds like a lot but isn't really when you remember that a night at the movies with one child is about 50 bucks.

And, here's the strange part: using her 'first glance' method the yardmaster picks winners in the second and third race. Luck? Intuition?

Now we are actually playing with house money and Barbara decides that the only way to win big is to think of it like a lottery, bet the longest odds of all for the biggest payoff. Fine, I say. I mean, what can I say - she's winning.

"We'll bet trifectas!" She announces.

As if it isn't hard enough (for normal people) to just pick which dog will win - a trifecta only pays if you pick correctly all three of the first places; win, place and show. Yes. You must bet correctly which dog will finish first second and third and they have to finish in the order you pick, and then you have won a trifecta.

So now we are betting our favorite hunches, the long shot, and a two dollar trifecta. Eight bucks per race. The few dollars we are ahead go fast, but I actually hit a couple, Barbara hits again, and by the last race we are only down about 20 bucks. Which isn't at all bad for a night out. The problem is that a winner only pays maybe six to ten dollars on a two dollar bet, and we haven't hit any of the long shots or won any trifectas.

And don't seem likely to hit any as it's the last race. We make our picks okay up to the trifecta. The problem that arises is that for the last race the trifecta is a superfecta, and one must pick the first four finishers correctly. Yes. Pick four horses I mean dogs in order out of eight running. Give me a break. I tell Barbara that if they posted the odds against somebody hitting a superfecta, no one would bet. She maintains that she is the one in one million that would hit, and would bet anyway. Even knowing the astronomical odds. So we decided somebody's got to win, and it may as well be her.

"But I don't have a fourth number, for the superfecta." She laments.

"What numbers have you been playing?" I ask.

"My birthday." Hmmmm. . .

She glances yet once again at the program, as if for inspiration.

"I like the number two!" Okay. July 31st plus a 2. 7-3-1-2.

Well, oddly enough, the 1, 2, and 3 dogs are all picked as favorites, and are figured to be in the money, somewhere. But the No. 7 dog, ' Boxxcar Scooter', is the long shot. Hmmmm. . .

The yardmaster is excited.

"I feel lucky", says she. "If I win can I yell and scream?"

"If you win, you can do anything you want as long as you keep your clothes on." Says I.

They're off!

And 1, 2, and 3 are near the front, but 7 ain't. Old Boxxcar Scooter is back in the pack and better start scootin' pretty quick. A piercing shriek in my left ear announces a burst of speed from the Boxxcar and damned if he isn't making a move. They're coming around the far turn into the stretch and it's 1 and 3 for the lead, 2 and 4 for second, and here is - yes! It's Boxxcar Scooter on the inside and moving up fast!

Now, I have to admit, that at this particular juncture, I was starting to get into this race just a bit myself. But not much, because these things just don't really happen.

Now it's pandemonium at the old dog track. People are yelling and cheering on their favorites, waving their arms and jumping around and a voice I don't immediately recognize as my own is screaming, "Come on 7, come on 7!"

At the wire it is 7 and 3 for the lead, and then it looked like the No. 1 dog, and then maybe 4 or 2, who can tell?

It's a photo finish for first and forth.

The yardmaster's cousin was standing behind us and had bet the 2 dog, and so had been watching the 2 and said it came in fourth. Some thought the No. 7 won the race. Others were equally sure it was the 3. Barbara couldn't tell either but was shaking like a leaf. I was babbling incoherently and didn't know whether to sit down or stand up. But since no one else was sitting down I remained standing and felt strangely calm.

Basically I figured there was no way she was going to pull this off so why all the fuss? However, as the hush fell over the crowd and the winning numbers were posted on the tote board every atom of my attention was right there as it came up in perfect glorious order 7,3,1,2 and

POW! Barbara shot straight into the air like a rocket and sounding like one too. You might say she went into low earth orbit.

"Grab her!" yelled her mom. She's going to lose the ticket.

Luck, you say? Intuition, you ask? Chance?

I don't know either, but it paid $2700 on a 2 dollar bet at the old dog races in Dubuque.