• Colorado - September 7, 1970: The Sky High Stampede. At the rodeo, the bull drawn for me to ride was named “Charlie Brown.” Good grief! Spotting a small group of cowboys leaning against a fence overlooking the herd of bulls, I sauntered over to ask if anyone knew anything about my bull. They nodded and pointed to a huge hairy bull with impossibly long horns, all the while chewing and spitting tobacco in careless cowboy fashion.

“Charlie Brown is one mean sum-bitch,” one of the cowboys told me.

“He ain’t never been ridden,” another cowboy added.

Furthermore, it seemed old Charlie Brown liked to go after a fallen cowboy. “That bull likes to eat cowboys for lunch,” I was told.

This, clearly, was not good news.

It was time for the saddle bronc riding. Steve Herrera helped Gary get his saddle on his horse. A few chutes over, the gate opened and a wildly bucking horse jumped and kicked its way down the arena. Abruptly, the cowboy flew out of the saddle . . . but his right foot stayed hung up in the stirrup.

In a frenzied motion that instantly got everyone’s attention, the rider was being jerked up and down like a rag doll with his foot still attached to the stirrup as the horse continued bucking across the arena. In the stands, the crowd was in a hush and on their feet. We could almost hear the helpless cowboy’s skull crack as the horse kicked him mercilessly with both hooves in the head . . . over and over again! The rider’s foot finally dislodged from the stirrup, but only from the sheer force of the horse kicking him away . . . and he came to rest in a twisted, crumpled heap on the dusty arena ground.

Watching all this, Steve mumbled matter of factly, “He’s dead. Ain’t nobody could’a survived those blows to the head.” This was clearly stating the obvious.

An ambulance drove into the arena to cart off the motionless body that only moments ago was a fearless young bronc rider. I looked to Gary Greaves, the next rider. “You okay, Greaves?”

Gary quietly answered, “Ah kin handle it, Pard.”

And handle it he did. With the intrepid manner that earned him the moniker “Gunga Greaves,” Gary climbed aboard his bronc, popped out of the chute and made a damn good ride! I guess he figured the bronc riding had claimed its victim for the day, it was safe for old Gunga-Greaves now.

There are five primary events that comprise a typical professional rodeo, and they generally are presented in this order: bareback bronc riding, calf roping, girls barrel racing, saddle bronc riding and bull riding. Bull riding is always the closing event. They like to save the most dangerous event for last. That way the crowd will stick around to the very end, in anticipation of seeing some hapless bullrider get maimed before their very eyes.

Since the fans had already gotten their gory thrill for the day in the saddle bronc riding, the crowd may have been eager for a double treat.

Charlie Brown was of the Scottish Hylander breed. I had never before seen such a bull. He was huge and hairy with a long, thick coat. Plus, there was a rack atop his head that would shame a Texas Longhorn. In fact, his horns were so long that he had to turn his head sideways just to fit within the bucking chute. This position put both horns parallel to one side of his body and put me at a distinct disadvantage. Each time I attempted to slide up close to my bull rope, in order to get a good handhold, the bull’s horn would bang my knee. I was thereby prevented from beginning the ride in a secure position, with a good handhold on my rope.

Making do, I nodded for the gate to open, hoping I could quickly pull myself up close to the rope once the bull’s head turned and the horn no longer prevented me from doing so. Perhaps a truly great bull rider could have pulled off such a feat, but it was beyond my capability.

That bull bounded out of the chute and my mind became focused on avoiding those extremely long horns that were gyrating back and forth across my line of vision. I tried not to think about the words I’d heard earlier, “That bull likes to eat cowboys for lunch!” The gravitational pull that accompanied each jump the bull made was bone-jarring. He twisted and turned, leaped and lunged - kicking up dust that engulfed me like a tornado. In spite of my best efforts to stay astride this powerful toro, soon my face was buried in the arena dust. But, it was my lucky day . . . the bull did not come after me.

Steve’s bull was the twin brother of Charlie Brown, but without the killer reputation. As it was with my ride, the long horns prevented Steve from starting out of the chute with a good handhold on his rope. Steve hit the dust before the qualifying time had elapsed.

We two California bull riders left Kremmling, Colorado feeling a bit more humble and even more broke than when we arrived. But, it wasn’t a total loss. We were both leaving with all our bones intact. Now we’re on our way to Odessa, Texas and Lovington, New Mexico to compete in two rodeos held concurrently. Maybe by the time we arrive in Texas our pride will be back intact as well.

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