“This is not a rodeo. We don't rope calves, and we don't chase barrels. This is bull riding, and the first rule is just to stay alive.”
It’s not “if” you get hurt in bull riding. It’s “when.”
Professional Bull Riders, the PBR, “has rapidly transformed one of the fastest-growing sports in America into a worldwide phenomenon. Capitalizing on the popularity of bull riding around the world, and the growing appeal of cowboy values, the PBR has attracted many international athletes who travel to the United States to compete exclusively in the world’s elite bull riding tour.”
What are cowboy values?
• individualism
• independence
• freedom
• courage
• loyalty
In the book Folklore on the American Land, Duncan Emrich makes the point that the cowboy is “a symbol of what we as a people and nation have wished as our way of life. He is a projection of our hopes and desires, a projection of our best code of ethics, of our wished-for mores.”
So, when I started to pull together ideas for my first cowboy, I thought why couldn’t my hero be from Kentucky? And why would he come home? Family, of course. And what if he meets his old girlfriend, the one who dumped him so many years ago? Asking myself “what if” is how Kentucky Cowboy was born.
Here’s a bit of the PBR action from Kentucky Cowboy.
World Finals, Las Vegas, Nevada
These weren’t his usual pre-ride jitters. Nope. The tension in his shoulders and the fire in his gut held no comparison to anything else he had ever experienced. Clutching his rosin-coated bull rope, Judd perched on top of the metal chute. He swallowed hard, trying to zone out the noise from the Las Vegas crowd and the pressure he had put on himself.
This was the championship round. After seven rounds in a period of two weeks, he and a Brazilian cowboy were stalemated. Either one could win the finals with a high score. But to win it all, the world title and the million bucks, all Judd had to do was stick on the back of the last bull for eight seconds. His score didn’t matter.
He had drawn Bad to the Bone.
Sweat coated his upper lip. It would be the longest eight seconds in his life. He had put himself in a fix by getting bucked off twice in the first seven rounds. He had lost focus. Forgot to concentrate. Now everything was riding on his final effort. His effort, his injuries this past year, and the accumulation of so many points over the whole season would mean nothing if he didn’t ride this ornery bull one more time.
“You’re up, Romeo.”
Judd jerked a quick nod. He didn’t say a word, just jammed the mouthpiece into his mouth and climbed into the chute. The cowbell tied to the end of the bull rope clanged almost like a warning signal.
As he had done every regular-season event and championship for ten years, Judd pulled the slack out of the rope around the bull’s midsection. Next, he wrapped the rope underneath his gloved right hand and across his palm. Closing his fingers, he made a fist. With his free hand he pounded his fist—once, twice.
Blinking, he shut out the past. The future. Only the present counted. Eight seconds.
His heart slammed into his throat.
Judd nodded to the gateman. The gate swung open and Bad to the Bone blasted out of the chute in three powerful jumps. The bull turned back to the right, spinning, his power building, the motion throwing Judd off balance.
Judd pitched to the right, jerked out of position, slipping. No! I’m gonna ride this sucker. The muscles in his right arm burned from the strain. His jaws cramped.
Where’s that damn buzzer?
He tipped farther to the right, not really riding any longer, just hanging on. Inches from the dirt, Judd smelled defeat. He squeezed the bull rope, holding on with raw determination and fiery gut.
The buzzer sounded.
Judd released his grip and fell hard. He scrambled to his feet, the roar of approval in his ears. Thanks to the bullfighter, the bull veered away to the right. Judd sailed his cowboy hat into the air. It hadn’t been pretty, but he had stuck it. He’d won! His head buzzed as the sweet reality hit home.
