Greg Gilchrist

GOLDEN GATE FIELDS, CA -- On bright June mornings at the end of training when a cool breeze is skimmed from the top of San Francisco Bay, Golden Gate Fields suspends in midair. The remaining horses gallop by almost silently, save for a sound like the ripple of a kite tugging at a string. Behind them, the infield water fountains shiver and hiss while above, western gulls turn and wheel on invisible wires. It's a world contained--its shoulder braced against the whirring cogs of time, straining against the pull. Then...