Pedley’s Ponderings

Kickin’ and I’m a chicken 

     This weekend brought yet another first for me here at my job with Mid-America. I got to cover Rockwell’s Kickin’ & Chicken event, and it was definitely an interesting experience.

     I had never been to a rodeo before this weekend, which is somewhat odd. I’ve lived in Iowa my whole life and it seems I should have found my way to one somewhere along the line. However, I had not, and I didn’t know what to expect.

     I was looking forward to seeing the mutton bustin’ portion of the show Friday evening, but I got there too late. I arrived just in time to see the rodeo clown riding around on a bull for the opening event, however. Now, I could “see” that it was a bull he was riding, and was rather confused as to why this particular bovine was so obedient. Nonetheless, I strapped in and set up shop with my camera.

     I quickly realized that bull was an exception to the standard. After the first riders got bucked, dumped and trampled, I knew I was in for a rather cringe-worthy show. I felt somewhat guilty when I’d laugh at these painful displays brutality, but I guess it’s what these riders signed up for.

     Some folks say rodeos are cruel to animals, and they’re right—the people that participate in them sure take a beating. It doesn’t take long to realize that once the gates open, the rider is in the bull’s world. The low number of eight-second qualifying rides proved that, and it was impressive to see someone last the whole time. To do so is definitely a feat not many could accomplish.

     But I’m not sure that they’d want to. After all, these bulls have horns, hooves and very powerful legs. I couldn’t believe how high some could jump when they had a rider on their backs. When you see bull weighing over 1,500 pounds in a pen the last thing you think of is agility. However, I failed to take into account how angry they were about to get. You rarely see cows doing much other than grazing or walking, so it’s hard to realize the kind of power those muscles can put out unless you witness them in action in a setting like that.

     After seeing many bulls reign victorious, the show had a halftime event. Two men got on a teeter-totter and were subjected one bull’s fury. It seemed to be a draw—the men were able bob up and down to dodge the bull pretty well, but the he still got in a few jabs. This bull was feisty, and he even gave me a close encounter that left me rather humbled.

     You could say I was a little jumpy after seeing so many riders get stomped and chased. I was standing right next to the fence after all, so the only thing between me and a lot of angry sirloin was about two inches of steel bars. It was safe, but my nerves were still on edge. The bull’s attention had strayed in my direction in between jousts with the insane men on the teeter-totter, and he set his furious sights square into my lense.

     He eyed me for about four seconds, kicked up dirt and beelined it in my direction. I was doomed.

     I jumped two steps backward and to the side in one of the most whimpy displays of terror ever seen at a rodeo, I imagine. The bull made a fool of me, as he didn’t even get within seven feet of the fence before he halted his advance. He snorted in victory and briskly trotted away to find another victim, leaving only one embarrassed photographer in his dust.

     I tried laughing it off with the spectators around me, but the bull had done his intended damage. I didn’t receive cuts, bruises or bumps like the riders, but I suffered a severe case of broken pride.

     I gained a degree of respect for the riders after this weekend’s show. I don’t know what drives someone to voluntarily ride one of these muscle-bound bulls. Maybe it’s bravery, an enhanced sense of masculinity or just sheer stupidity, but I know I don’t possess enough of any of these qualities to hop on and try my luck.

     Nick Pedley is the regional news editor of the Hampton Chronicle, Sheffield Press and Pioneer Enterprise.