Posted on August 15, 2017
Please let me make it through these next eight seconds.
…just one more time.
Pure silence, then the vacuum of space explodes.
The rustic crack of the gate breathes fire into the beast below.
Stillness in the air is replaced by a typhoon.
With a jolt, my life begins again.
Taunt but forgiving, I lay back as my world rockets forward and just as quick plunges off a cliff.
Amped up, fear begins its transition into a rush of adrenalin.
I revel in the high… “do not lose focus” I repeat to myself.
This trickling wave of confidence brings panic as well, “f o c u s”
The whiplash spin shoots me to the left before I get blindsided by a gyration to the right.
Contradictory twists: the head floats one way, the hips another…
My spine begins to cry, impossibly trying to center itself. Trying to center life.
Within this chaos, I feel at home.
I rise, and for a moment I feel like a little kid being tossed in the air by my parents…
A smile breaks on my face ~ although buoyancy with a bull is never a good thing.
A coppery, metallic taste fills my head as I wonder, “am I flying, or am I dreaming?”
The growing expanse of space between the bull and I no longer matters.
Even apart, I feel connected.
We share the fear and anger; our will to survive.
My hand and arm is a coil of steel, pulsating life throughout my body. I will not give in nor will he.
All of time melds into the present. “I have no past, I have no future.” I love this beast I am riding; our moment to define freedom and strength, while bound by our fate.
“F o c u s ” ~ My mind cuts back to previous failures, too many to count ~ matched by my broken bones.
Each failure preparing me for the next ride…each ride more expensive than the last.
Life is a game of inches, of missed opportunities, but this time I shall not lose…
In a split second, my mind shifts to the crowd and just as quickly my point of balance ceases to exists.
Forces pull at me from every direction. Gravity becomes a myth.
Chaos erupts and my mind chases to catch the moment. My grip tightens further ~ a negligible pop in my wrist brings a searing pain and snaps my attention.
All falls quiet. I listen…
“…the sound of the wind, this violent wind is sweetened by the distant roar of a crowd.”
My arm is on fire, holding onto a knot of fury ~ hand clenched with a vow never to surrender.
“We are still one my friend, I’m not going anywhere…” My heart explodes as I dance along the razor’s edge of survival.
The howl of my voice matches the cadence of my heart.
My grip unravels. I slide back and meet a timely swing of the bull’s hip, escorting me free into the air.
Embraced by the sweet calm of the night, dust fills my lungs as I hit and roll off to the side. Hand cramping, wrist afire, I scan the crowd with hungry eyes of hope.
To see her smile, her eyes, her accepting me as the cowboy I am, but there is no one. Emptiness.
There are no words to match this pain.
She too becomes a myth. This dream of a perfect ride.
Please let me make it through to the next rodeo.
…just one more time.
Posted on November 4, 2015
Lack of sleep makes concentration difficult. I’m on my third cup of coffee and I can’t help but stare out the window trying to recapture last night’s fading dream of a life of a cowboy.
“找不到你公司税务登记证 ! 在哪里?”
The sound of these foreign words spin me back to reality here in China.
“如果找不到太麻烦!” My secretary again looks at me for a response.
I shut my eyes and focus on the feeling of “Let’er Buck” – a touch of the West, a touch of home.
A world away, I taste the dew of the morning and roll out of bed to gaze over never-ending wheat fields. I imagine saddling up the best friend a cowboy will ever have and head out to face the day.
The feeling of adventure mixed with a taste of adrenaline I suppose is why the cowboy often has a wistful smile as he saddles up.
It doesn’t take long for the soft eyes of my horse to be replaced by the glare of my secretary. Her continual banter in Chinese steals me away from my daydream.
The figures on the spreadsheets in front of me wrestle each other in an endless battle to determine whether the year will see a profit or a loss.
There will be a lot more wrestling with figures before the day ends and the freedom of a ride has never felt so far away. Running on the wind lifted by the cheers of a crowd.
I hold up my hand, and the Chinese words stop mid-sentence and for a second all is quiet, a rare moment of peace.
“I should’ve been a cowboy…” I mutter, a common wish for most guys I grew up with, although for me I admit a life on the back of a bucking bronc is not in my blood.
The courage to ride requires a special spirit infused at birth. The adrenaline rush of the ride, the feel of the rope, speed of the chase and mixing blood with mud is a lifestyle meant only for the few.
What I am chasing though, is almost as elusive, the spirit of the cowboy. The legend created by songs and stories I’ve heard growing up: the down-to-earth attitude, importance of treating each other well and when taking a fall ~ fearlessly dusting off and saddling up again.
Dusting myself off, I stare at my computer and pound out another business email…
The essence of the life of a cowboy defines the spirit of my hometown of Pendleton, Oregon. Waking up every morning with the annual September dream of becoming a cowboy, if only for a day.
To walk out onto the infield grass and take it all in, feeling the crowd with the beating heart of the grandest rodeo in the world, the Pendleton Round-Up.
Around the world there are company executives pilfering the paychecks of their workers, politicians focused on lining their pockets and places where a hard day’s work has become a myth of days gone by.
The cowboy spirit flows through Pendleton with the memories of past cowboy heroes such as Lane Frost, Mike Boothe and Mike Currin – men as genuine in the arena as they were outside.
Also the present champions, Trevor Brazile, winner of four consecutive all-around titles at the Pendleton Round-Up and bareback champion Ty Breuer, showing the heart and spirit of cowboys still run true.
For some, the dreams of the West and the cowboys who built America may be disappearing, however they still remain a strong foundation for the people of Pendleton.
Ranchers and farmers understand there is no such thing as an easy ride and to grab an opportunity when it arrives, knowing it may not come again. So when the rope leaves their hand there is no doubt it will find its mark.
The echo of the rodeo reverberates in my mind, as my fingers struggle to tap out a message on my iPhone. These hands stand in stark contrast to the callused hands of a cowboy holding a rope and reigns.
Any calluses I do have are quickly fading away, perhaps similar to the fading cheers a cowboy hears as he walks away from the arena one last time.
Years ago when I was in my mid-20s, I was talking to a bronc rider after an excellent ride and he said something I’ve never forgotten: “The opening of a bucking chute is like the start of a new day. Some days will be tough with rough rides and broken bones – those days are to be remembered because it makes good days like today taste all the better.”
Patience. Belief. Hard work. Cowboy logic.
There are many things I’ve learned from rodeo champions over the years, but perhaps the most valuable lessons have come from the local farmers and ranchers.
Growing up, my annual summer job at PGG operating Rew grain elevator during harvest stands as one of the best work experiences I’ve ever had.
The many people I worked with at Rew helped form my character, each one having the heart of a Pendleton cowboy. Two such cowboys, Bob Byers, who can create a solution for any problem and Terry Simpson who has an outlook on life second to none; both men define Pendleton perfectly.
From Pendleton to Calgary to Cheyenne and to cities around the world, the spirit of the life of a cowboy flows free and strong. Looking out the window again, I put on a George Strait CD to fit my mood and the music even makes my secretary smile.
Here in China, I’ve found the soul of the cowboy both in myself and in the great people I work with over here.
Closing my eyes, I feel the wind on my face and the pounding of hooves and earth blending perfectly with the music. I feel great.
Yes, I may be thousands of miles from home but all I need to hear are the words “Let’er Buck” and I am right back in the middle of the Pendleton Round-Up arena and it’s a perfect day.
The beginning of December is where the last piece of magic will be performed when future champions get ready to ride at the National Finals Rodeo in Las Vegas.
Cowboys who grew up in small towns around the country, holding onto a belief that one day their names will be dancing in the bright lights of Vegas. Their focus locked-in on the final ride of the year and the chance to etch their name in the history books and become a part of cowboy folklore.
Good luck and good health to all. 祝你们好运气，健康.