First place

The race finish is a swirl of dust, color, cheers, and hoofbeats. Fathers meet children at the finish line, thundering through a human shoot, inches from where I've positioned myself with the camera. Sweat of the winning horse is auspicious; a crowd will soon chase the tired animal across the steppe, slapping the flanks for good luck. The winning rider however, is whisked from the horse, placed in the shade, and all but ignored. His time will come later day as he receives ayrag and gold medals for his efforts.


Finish Line

I am most struck by the transformation of young riders into virtual machines; glazed eyes, dust-caked face, mechanically whipping exhausted animals across the finish line as if they are riding into eternity.


Last Place