HORSERACING IS A BIG DEAL IN KENTUCKY, and the Kentucky Derby is the pinnacle of the genre. The event is steeped in tradition that features the finest horses, betting, mint juleps, and beautiful women wearing absurd hats. Possessed of an abiding fondness for two of the four, I was thrilled to be invited to attend by Louisville-based political consultant Ted Jackson. The famous race takes place on Saturday at 6:11 in the evening and lasts barely two minutes, but the buildup and the aftermath are a big part of the Derby experience. Our festivities got underway Thursday night at the home of "the original wild man of bourbon," as the invitation called him -- Bill Samuels, CEO of Maker's Mark. This turned out to be a barbecue with entertainment by no less than the original wild man of rock'n'roll, Little Richard. Although Slightly Decrepit Richard seemed a more appropriate sobriquet, he did manage his famous caterwaul. Nostalgia ran high, but for me the most memorable sight of the evening was our host in his purple lam sequined jacket with matching hair. Friday morning brought a trip to the Maker's Mark distillery for a country fair, complete with a questionable Ferris wheel, dunk tank (which Bill Samuels, clad now in red flannels, cheerily mounted), country ham, corn souffl , and the finest potatoes au gratin you can imagine. Pickled delights in Mason jars on checkered tablecloths, and of course mint juleps, rounded out this Kentucky spread and fortified me for my first sight of Churchill Downs. This has been home to the Derby since 1875; home, too, of a preliminary race, the Kentucky Oaks, run for the 127th time the day I was there. Making our way, we almost got lost among the tattooed gods of four wheel drive and their shirtless minions of the infield, before eventually achieving the sixth floor clubhouse. Soon I was feeling right at home, a Washington hack chatting politics with state legislators, a Kentucky congresswoman and gubernatorial possibility, and even a prominent New York congressman who offered a solid tip for one of the races. From up here, it seemed a long way to the barely clothed Woodstock-like revelers below. After the Oaks, an elegant dinner at Big Springs Country Club was just the ticket, although ten hours of mint juleps may have left one's personal elegance frayed. Sleep did its work in time for Saturday and the big race. This day began with a country barbecue under the patronage of the Courier-Journal. Among the first guests I met were senator Mitch McConnell and his wife, secretary of labor Elaine Chao. McConnell was handing out laminated cards in response to a scathing article the Courier-Journal had reprinted from the New Republic. The piece makes allegations about the couple's China connections, and the cards carried ersatz Courier-Journal headlines like "McConnell Has Secret Meetings with Chinese Pandas" and "McConnell and Chao Spotted at Chinese Restaurant Using Chopsticks." One more brunch done, it was off to the races. This time we were in the second floor Eclipse Room. With about fifty minutes between races and seven races before the Derby, there was plenty of time to chat with the Colombian ambassador, eat, drink, and watch Pamela Anderson slithering about. Still, I was pleased at the arrival of an escort to take us back up to "Millionaires' Row," the floor of power, courtesy of state senate president David L. Williams. Among the eminences present was Bill Samuels, barely recognizable in a business suit. Up to this point, sheer ignorance had caused me to avoid betting, and afforded me the chance to watch others fritter away their money. But the big race was coming up. So through an arcane scientific process, I selected number ten, Dollar Bill. "I like the number ten," I reasoned, then placed my forty dollars -- in time to watch Monarchos's impressive win and Dollar Bill's finish in penultimate place. A private dinner hosted by corporate interests followed at Vincenzo's, an excellent Italian restaurant. The Pendinnis Club provided entertainment for several hours. And my final Louisville experience? The more pedestrian Outlook Inn bar in the Highlands neighborhood. What is unfortunate about Louisville is its similarity to New Orleans: The bars don't seem to close. Next thing I knew, it was 5:15 A.M. My flight was at 6:50. Feeling like a rock star, I was dropped off at my room, picked up my things, and managed to hail a cab to the airport. The gods smiled again, and the gift shop was open. I bought a German shepherd-sized racehorse for my daughter, made my way to the gate, sat down, and made a pillow of Alexandra's new toy. It was Derby time and the living was easy. May 21, 2001; Volume 6, Number 34