April 17, 2016
Red Bluff, California

It’s been so long since I last posted to this blog, I can’t believe it and frankly, I don’t like it.  Work has left me feeling absolutely chained to the area, and I’m well overdue to break out and get back on the trail.  Even this entry doesn’t qualify as a “travel” post seeing as it relates to my hometown, but whatever.  It’s something to fill the time until summer comes along and I’m off on my next adventure.  A New England trip is no longer in the works as I just don’t have the time for it.  Instead, I’ll be backpacking through Colorado and spending a week with friends and family back in Omaha.  More details to follow.  For now, I want to talk about my weekend at the Red Bluff Round Up.

The Round Up is an annual tradition in my family.  My dad usually acts as rodeo doc, and as such we tend to get free tickets.  Some years I go, some years I don’t.  This year I opted to tag along with my dad during his time serving as rodeo doc, which meant I was down next to the chutes and literally right next to the action.  Really can’t get any closer.

Well, I guess I could jump over this metal bar here and get a bit closer, but, nah.  I’m good.

For those of you who have never been to a rodeo, you should know that it typically starts off with some over-the-top patriotic gestures.  Like, you can’t just sing the National Anthem at a rodeo.  No.  You need to all say a prayer to God Almighty thanking Him for allowing us to live in America while a cowboy parachutes into the arena waving an oversized American flag and showing off his all-American Les Schwab Tires sponsorship.  THEN you can sing the National Anthem.

You thought I was joking?

Once the appropriate amount of respect has been paid to this great nation of ours, the rodeo begins in all its glory.  The events, which I can guarantee have not been approved by PETA, have a hypnotic beauty to them, as man and beast each compete to try to prove who is stronger than the other, and it’s dance-cowboy-dance in an 8 second ballet testing the fates. People are made here.  They are broken here.  They experience the adrenaline rush of life at its fullest, and all in under a minute.

Of course, a rodeo does not come without danger, and injury in this industry seems to be inevitable.  This too I witnessed.  The pain was palpable, but so too was the sense of human compassion.

As for myself?  I may not find myself being a part of this cowboy hat wearing, belt-buckled culture.  I favor a pair of worn down Converses over a pair of muddy boots, and my idea of getting “lost on the trail” doesn’t require a horse.  Yet, though my clothes may look different, I will always love a good glass of whiskey, and the endless vistas of cowboy country will always be my home.

Cheers,

Rob