Eight Seconds

 

I have a secret.

I guess it’s not really that big a secret. I mean, not like I’m a spy or anything…
I love the rodeo! Yes, I know I’m a city girl and always have been. But there’s just something about people and horses doing what they do.
And cowboys in tight jeans?
Who’s with me on that one?
For my sixteenth birthday, Mom and Sally put their heads together and bought us all tickets to Calgary, Alberta for the world-famous Calgary Stampede.
Rodeo at its…dustiest.
Can I just say I was thrilled and leave it at that?
We picked the Hilton, which was within walking distance, or, if one is with Sally, one long sprint from the Saddledome.
Each morning, we dressed in what we fondly believed looked ‘cowboy’ and headed out for the fairgrounds/EVENT.
And each evening returned, dusty and happy for a shower and recaps on the evening news.
For me, exactly as I had dreamed it.
For Mom and Sally? Well…they were gracious in their ‘enthusiasm’.
The first two days slipped harmlessly by.
Then, that third and final day.
You have to know that no experience with Sally ever remains…normal.
Ahem…
We were watching the bull-riding.
For you neophytes, this is the event wherein man is pitted again 2000-pound beast by perching his slender, Levis-clad self atop a muscular, leather-clad behemoth.
Then, in a monumental battle of wills, attempts to remain there for eight loooong seconds.
Interestingly, it is the ONLY event wherein a cowboy uses skills he wouldn’t actually use on an actual ranch, doing…actual cattle stuff.
But it is uber exciting!
Now, because these large, male cattle are, for want of a better word, unpredictable, the powers-that-be decided many, many years ago to add something to the scenario.
Clowns.
Okay, they may look funny to us. And even do ‘funny’ things in the arena, but their actual purpose is really quite serious.
Distract the big guy while the small guy sprints for safety following the ride.
Enough detail…
Sally had befriended one of the youngest bull-riders, Mark.
Because she was…Sally, and did that sort of thing easily.
Mark was the next rider on the program.
So Sally was down by the fence in the warm July sun, watching intently.
Across the arena from us, the chute opened and a brown and white cyclone emerged.
With Mark clinging to its back by a slender rope.
And one hand.
The first few jumps went well.
Bull bucking and twisting.
Mark clinging.
So far so good.
Then the inevitable parting of the ways.
From this point on, things didn’t go smoothly.
Normally, the rope to which the rider clings maintains its tension by his grip. He is actually, physically, holding the two ends together. When he lets go, so does the rope.
Occasionally, this doesn’t happen. The rope, for whatever reason, binds. It’s called getting ‘hung-up’. And the watching audience comes to its feet with a gasp as the cowboy dangles by one hand off the side of a still-miffed and enormous daddy cow.
Now most of the time, the situation resolves itself. Rope lets go. Rider falls. Clowns distract the bull and the man sprints to safety and awaits his score.
But sometimes, all hell breaks loose…
And of course, it did. Here. Now.
Because.
Mark attempted to release.
The rope refused.
And suddenly, he was hanging, quite literally, inches from the hooves and horns of death.
By one hand.
The clowns went into action, dodging and weaving around the bull. One of them tried to move in close and pull Mark free.
But the bull spun, flinging Mark’s body outward like some sort of appendage, and chased the clown off.
And that’s when I noticed that someone else had stepped into the middle of the arena.
A slender fifteen-year-old girl.
Carrying the brightly-coloured scarf that had just moments before been around her neck.
She waved it and the bull’s head went up. Now bulls are colour-blind. But they do respond to waving.
Much like a teen-aged boy…
Mom rushed to her feet, then cleared at least two rows of mesmerized audience members in one leap.
I couldn’t move.
The bull made a couple of hop-steps toward Sally, then charged.
A moan went through the crowd and I noticed several astonished clowns blinking and staring as the bull swept past them.
Just as the bull reached my sister, she glided to one side and, grabbing for Mark’s arm, jerked down on it. His body came loose and he dropped to the ground.
She spun around and stepped a few paces away.
Okay, I know what you’re thinking. They do things like this all the time in bullfights halfway around the globe.
But we’re talking about a young girl.
Who has never even SEEN a bull before.
The bull came at her again and, once more, she spun to one side at the climactic moment.
By this time, the clowns had gathered, managing to distract the bull and direct him toward the nearest bulls-only exit.
Sally knelt down beside Mark.
And I collapsed into my seat.
Mom reached Sally about the same time as the guys with the stretcher.
I thought I’d see her smack the back of Sally’s head with a well-timed, well-deserved, mom-precision slap. But instead, she wrapped her erring daughter in her arms.
Whew.
Okay, the excitement didn’t quite end there as we were forced to spend the next few hours in the offices of the event administrators, explaining and apologizing.
For a while, there was even talk of charges.
But finally, they settled for a guarantee that Sally, if she ever thought of returning, wouldn’t.
And we were allowed to return to our hotel room.
I know many of you have experienced a rodeo.
But if you ever want to REALLY experience one…take Sally.
Please.

Use Your Words is a word challenge issued by, Karen of Baking in a Tornado. (She who keeps us all pointed in the right direction.)
Each of us submit our words to her, and she then distributes to the other members of our circle.
It’s totally fun.
Sally fun.
My words this month were:
rodeo ~ glide ~ picked ~ warm ~ exactly
And given to me by Karen (see above). Thank you, my friend!
 
Now go and see what our other friends created!
You’ll be glad you did!
Baking In A Tornado
Wandering Web Designer
Part-time Working Hockey Mom 
Climaxed
The Crazy Mama Llama