Was not quite in time with MacDaddy.
Oklahoma Rodeo.
On the road with Wes, a stocky, 45 year old rodeo announcer who was once a good bareback bronc rider. We arrive at the rodeo grounds with only minutes to spare and briskly go to work setting up speakers and chords.
The rodeo grounds at Clayton are beautiful; lush grass behind the pens, hundred metre long arena with bleachers both sides and large trees behind that. The bulls roam idly in the pens. They are big but seem relaxed. Around the pens, there are Ford Pick-Ups, horse trailers, trucks and men in cowboy hats looking purposeful. People begin filing in, sitting on the steel bleachers.
There is an orange sky and wafty breeze and I feel relieved that we have escaped the stifling heat of Texas. As I sit on the bleachers , listening to Wes warm up the crowd with deep tones of excitement, there a steady stream of wildly in love 17 year olds parading hand in hand past me. The town of Clayton consists of a petrol station, a hotel, and a dollar general store, maybe love isn’t a bad option.
By 7pm there is a pretty big crowd, around 1000. I guess it must be half the population of the town and surrounding ranches. This is small town America at its purest. At a canteen, you can buy a chilli dog for a buck, a hamburger for a buck fifty, and a soda for three quarters.
The first event is bareback bronc riding and most of the participants appear to be the male half of the love struck couples roaming the grounds earlier. And those boys can ride pretty good too. After the open bareback they have the junior bareback and I watch kids younger than 7 being tossed into the dirt from spritely ponies. The standout of the junior bareback is a 9 year old called Jako, After riding his bucking pony for the required 8 seconds, his dismount is smooth, his stroll from the horse to fence complete with cowboy swagger, and his back flip celebration from the top railing of the fence acrobatic, ala current world No 1 Renato Nunes.
Cody, brother of Wes, the rodeo announcer, approaches me.
“Still getting on a bull Aussie?”
“Um, yeah, but I don’t have any spurs.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll find some.”
“You’re not going to put me on a psycho bull, are you?”
“Nah,” he responds with a smile. “I’ve got a perfect little jump kicker for ya.”
I sit up on a fence railing to get a better view of the rodeo. A boy climbs up the fence and sits beside me. It’s 9 year old Jako, fresh from his domination of the junior bare back. He hands me a little toy gun and I pull the trigger and immediately get zapped with a jolt of electricity. He cracks up laughing. I hand him back the gun.
“Pretty good trick,” I confess.
“You talk funny. Where you from?”
I tell him I’m Australian and he immediately apologizes for zapping me with the gun.
“Can I get your phone number?” he asks.
“Why do you want my phone number?”
“I’ve never met anyone from Australia before,” he confesses. “I’ve gotta tell my teacher when I get back to school.”
Jacko has been riding horses since he could walk. He’s got a cheeky smile. He wants to be a professional bare back rider. He wants to travel the world. He shows me the gap in his teeth.
“Hey, I used to have that when I was your age,” I tell him.
We are sitting on the fence watching girls ride fast and hard around barrels. It is now dark. I have seen the program on a folded sheet and know bull riding is next and start to feel sick. I say goodbye to Jacko and walk to Wes’ dodge pick-up, get my gear and climb a fence to the back of the chutes. The bull riders are in a huddle. A minister is amongst them saying a prayer. He motions me over. I join the huddle. Each bull rider has a hand on the others back.
The bull riders quickly get to work when the huddle breaks. Some strap on spurs, others comb their rope with a wire brush. They all look young and nervous.
“Hey Aussie. You got yourself some spurs yet?” Cody shouts from the other side of the fence.
“Still looking,” I respond.
“You need some spurs?” the minister asks. “I’ve got some in my truck. I’ll run and grab them for ya.”
The ministers name is Tony Shoulders. Like Scott Mendes, he was once a professional bull rider . He is also the nephew of the legendary Jim Shoulders. Jim Shoulders, having won sixteen championships in rodeo, including seven bull riding and four bare back titles, is generally regarded as the most accomplished rider in American rodeo history. And here I am in Clayton, Oklahoma, borrowing spurs from his nephew. I’m already wearing the silver vest and black boots that Scott Mendes wore in his bull riding days and it occurs to me that my entire bull riding outfit has been provided by two ministers. Surely I can’t get hurt now?
The bull they’ve lined up for me is a black Brahma called MacDaddy. I guess he weighs about 650 kilos – not the biggest, but also not the smallest.
“Any advice?” I ask minister Tony Shoulders, moments before sitting on MacDaddy
“Treat it like surfing. You’re a cork in the ocean and you’ve got to find your balance point.”
I hear Wes introducing me over the loud speaker. The clown and announcer are bouncing off each other, making jokes about my surfing background. Surfing U.S.A. booms over the speakers. My right leg is squashed between the chute and the side of MacDaddy. I cannot seem to get it around the girth of the bull.
“Ya ready?” I hear the gate men ask.
“Not quite. I can’t get my leg around the bull.”
“Ok son. Take your time.”
I spend a minute trying to push the bull off the side of the chute so I can get my leg around him but he does not want to budge. I decide to just ride and try to swing my leg underneath him when he leaves the chute. I nod my head. They open the gates. At some point, I mistime a jump and the bull pick me up with it’s head and launches me over its horns. Weightlessness. Dirt. I feel the bull’s hooves on my leg. I need to get up. I need to run.
While running towards the crowd, I notice they have exchanged Surfing U.S.A. for Another One Bites the Dust. I examine personal damage when behind the chutes. I have a bruise swelling on my arm, sore wrist, and sore leg from being stomped on but am pretty sure that nothing is broken.
I pack my bull riding gear gingerly, sling the bag over my shoulder, and make for Wes’ Ford Pick-up. I have survived my first open division bull ride in my first rodeo. Now, all I’ve got to do is learn how to stay on for eight seconds.
