One year ago, on an early Saturday morning, I woke up in New York City, tiptoed out of the house, and caught a cab to JFK airport. By midday, I'd arrived in Salt Lake City. There, I rented a car and headed out to the South Jordan Equestrian park where I was welcomed, practically regaled, by none other than a bagpipe trio. As I ventured past the trio, I entered into an enormous tent, with perfect white meringue-like peaks reminiscent of the Denver airport. I discovered hundreds of men and women decked out in their Sunday finest adorned in elaborate hats, sipping lemonade and champagne as they gazed out over pristine polo fields.