Eric Luper's Random Musings

Yesterday was a research day for my next novel. I don't want to reveal too much, but the book is about teen boys, Thoroughbred racing, and race fixing. That, and booze, girls, monkeys, speech impediments and hot rods. So, I hoofed it up to Saratoga (pun intended) and had a day of information gathering.

The book takes place in 1934 Saratoga, and many of the old buildings have been preserved. And fortunately I have an "in."

One of my scenes takes place at the Lincoln Bathhouse. Mineral baths used to be very popular as a health remedy and Saratoga is one of the sources for the most effervescent and highly potent mineral waters anywhere. Here is a picture of the Lincoln Bathhouse, which is closed for baths and open for the NYS Court of Claims. The rear section of the building was preserved as a bathhouse for historical purposes though:



In the 1930's the Lincoln was the largest bathhouse in the world, averaging 4,500 baths per day. This building is massive and filled with around 750 tubs, all kinds of obsolete therapy machines, workout equipment and sweatboxes. A sweatbox is one of those washing machine-looking things that Jerry would trap Tom in to shrink his body down to the size of a pea. People used to really use them. Here's a photo of a row of sweatboxes, which are essentially a wooden box with a head hole and about 25 lightbulbs:



Then, I decided it would be a good idea to check out what a real mineral bath felt like. So, I went to the Roosevelt Spa on the other side of the park and had me a mineral soak. It was all in the name of writing research, of course, and it was only $20. Here's what that looked like:



Yes the water looks dirty, but I prefer to think of it as beer-colored. Apparently, when the clear mineral water mixes with the clear hot water some reaction happens that turns it to something akin to chicken broth. The water was fizzy and it felt like taking a bath in warm club soda. It was a 40-minute therapy, which included 30 minutes in the water and 10 minutes taking all kinds of pictures and drying off and putting my clothes back on. And before I get all the comments from you, yes I felt as though I was getting into a dirty tub!

After my hydrotherapy, I zipped over to the National Museum of Racing, where they have all sorts of exhibits about Thoroughbred racing. What a great museum. It has been remodeled recently and all I can say is "wow." Even if you are not a racing enthusiast, you should check out this museum if you ever end up near Saratoga. One of the new exhibits is the horseracing simulator. Despite the warnings, I went on even though I am pregnant.



Imagine a mechanical bull shaped like a horse in front of a screen. The horse lurches and lunges like a real Thoroughbred! Here I am on the back of the beast, who I lovingly named Killer (don't I look like a badass?):



And here I am riding Killer during a sloppy cantor around the Oklahoma Training Track (which ironically is located in Saratoga and not anywhere near Oklahoma):



All I can say is that I have developed a new appreciation for what it is jockeys do. Perching on the balls of your feet in the stirrups (or "irons") as the horse roils and lurches beneath you without yanking those reins all over the place, herniting a disc, or falling right off is a feat that you cannot understand unless you get on Killer's back. I urge you all to do it (unless you are pregnant like me). After about a minute I had to hold myself up by putting my hands on Killer's back and standing up in the irons. And here I am the next day with sore thighs, abrasions on the insides of my ankles, and a profound thankfulness that Killer didn't throw me to the carpet!

Oh, the sacrifices I make to bring you all good fiction!