Well, it all started with a movie, yeah, you know the one. Hell, at the ripe old age of 46 I'd never been on a horse before, but I knew I wanted to ride the bulls. It's mid-life stuff, you young'uns don't need to know about that stuff just yet. After doing a considerable amount of research on bull riding, all fingers seem to point to the Sankey Rodeo School. Lyle Sankey, the school's head coach and owner, holds a number of clinics around the country and I signed up for the 4-day school at a ranch in Rose Hill, Kansas. Please don't, for your sake, confuse this with a dude ranch.

I wanted to drive from Maine, where I live, to Kansas. I have flown over the country enough, now I wanted to see it. Many of you probably remember seeing my ads looking for a riding partner. Well, as luck would have it, I had the good fortune and privilege to hook up with fellow ASGRA member and bull rider extraordinaire, David H. I picked him up in Virginia and we shot out to Kansas. I would advise anyone who is planning on going out to look for a riding/driving partner. It made the trip much more pleasant and David is one of the best. It took two days to get out there and we just slept in the truck on the way out instead of getting a hotel.

There were about thirty of us at the school for bull riding. At the same time three other clinics were going on at different places around the ranch, saddle bronc, bare-back, and bull fighting. The age range for bull riders seemed to be between 13 to 52. Most of the students there had ridden before and were there to improve their skills. The first morning you get your equipment. You can buy it if you want, I bought mine. The morning moves along pretty quickly then we broke for lunch. After lunch on the first day, we rode bulls. I knew that if I didn't ride that first day I wouldn't ride. I will tell you that Lyle is very good about selecting bulls that match the rider, but please, don't think that he is going to give you one that you could go on a trail ride with because it just ain't gonna happen. It's still a bull.

We were all at the chute when I got assigned my bull, the mouth was dry and the hands were wet. I got in behind the chute and everyone was excellent at letting me know what to do without making me feel like a complete idiot. Once on the bull, they pulled my rope over my hand and it tightened and I thought "F***, my hand is not going to release from this". So, I slid my hand out a little and Lyle sees all. I saw his hand reach in through the chute, grab my wrist and push my hand back up into the rope. The only thing left was to nod my head. I nodded and time slowed right down. The gate opened and that bull's head came around and we bolted from that chute. I came off that bull and hit the deck. I think my head hit the bull's head because I was out for a few seconds. As a woman told me the next day in the best Texas accent, "Honey, you had your bells rung".

Even though I rode only once in four days and stayed on for probably less than a second, everyone, from my fellow bull riders to the coach made me fill like a winner. The important element is to face your fears and get on. It is all about controlling your fears so you can do what you need to do when you are on the bull. Also, it is important to know what your limits are. I have a partner and we have three children. My family depends on the incomes of both my partner and myself. My goal going out was to ride at least once. I met that goal. Our children, 14 and 17 years old want to go out and ride next year and I have first hand knowledge of what that is all about. But if I was twenty years younger and single it might be a different story.

Some of you are probably wondering if I was in the closet while I was out there. First of all, I was there to bull ride not make a political statement. Making a political statement would have detracted from what I went out there to do, bull ride. With that said there was no reason for me to come out. If I had brought my partner we probably would not have shown affection to each other beyond a high five just out of respect for the people around us. For that matter I didn't see my assumed straight counter parts show affection to each other either. There might have been people who figured me out; however, everyone made me feel welcome. I never once felt uncomfortable there and met people that I will probably stay in touch with. One last thing, don't think you are going to go out to the bars when the day is done. You're just gonna be too tired and sore.

Birthdays in September

Happy birthday folks

Coosie's Corner*

Ingredients

4 Eggs beaten until thick and lemony
1 box Duncan Hines Devil's Food cake
1 box instant chocolate pudding (or vanilla)
1 pkg chocolate chips (or about 1 cup to your liking)
1 cup sour cream
3/4 cup cold water
1/2 cup vegetable oil

Instructions

• Combine dry cake and pudding mixes.
• Add beaten eggs, water and oil.
• Beat for 3 minutes.
• Stir in sour cream and chips.
• Put in greased/floured Bundt pan.
• Bake at 350 degrees for 50 minutes.

* Coosie is a slang term for a trail ride cook. He was generally renowned for a bad temper and his total control of the cooking area.

The cook on a cattle drive was often nicknamed "Coosie," an Americanization of the Spanish word cocinero meaning cook. He was generally renowned for a bad temper and his total control of the cooking area. More about the Coosie

ASGRA History In Review

Thirteen Spurs Newsletter, May 1994

But what was it all really like? lt was a great learning experience, for sure. It was a lot of hard work under a hot sun, it was some bad spills and bad breaks. It was watching ga bloopers-like video of your performances, and being able to see what you did wrong. It was the frustration of doing something wrong yet again, and it was the satisfaction gained when you finally got it right. It was the realization that you have a l-o-n-g way to go before you'll be competitive in an event, and the exhilaration and pride of watching friends perform really well. It was a lot of dirty clothes and bruises and some muscles, and most of all it was a lot of fun.

Words alone can not capture the flavor of the entire weekend, but some of the following quotes were captured for repeating.

Okay, when do I kiss it? (Robert M. getting clarification on chute dogging techniques from our instructor, Harold)

My hand is stuck in my pants. (Bill A. at dinner Saturday night).

That felt great, I needed that! (W. getting dumped off his first steer).

(sorry due to space only a few could be used)

Rodeo School of Hard Knocks By Steve J. . . . . . .and a broken home and some broken bones are all he'll have to show for all the years that he's spent chasin this dream they call rodeo . . . Rodeo , by Garth Brooks We came to Charlottesville the first weekend in April all 21 of us. We came from Washington and from Richmond and from Philadelphia. We came with different mixtures of anticipation, hesitation, determination and experience. Some came primarily to help out, but mostly we came to learn. Bob Alexander's ranch was the site of ASGRA's second rodeo school. Unlike last year, when school was canceled due to insufficient registrants, this year's school was filled far in advance of the weekend. Instruction was provided in two events; steer riling and chute dogging. Our instructors were Bob Alexander and Kenny, which are both professional cowboys, and Bob is our Atlantic Stampede stock contractor. It doesn't take long to appreciate that cowboys and cowgirls are athletes in the true sense of the word. Guys like Harold make taking a steer down look so easy. But it takes lots of practice, physical conditioning, training and talent to be successful. As with other athletic events, injuries are part of the game. We certainly suffered our share that weekend. By Sunday afternoon, about half the participants were hobbled by one injury or another. Three were particularly serious. On Sunday Robert M broke his right collarbone in two places during chute-dogging, and someone we all know and love broke his right wrist dismounting from a great ride on a wild steer, and Charlie W fractured his lower back vertebrae from his steer ride. For those still standing on Sunday afternoon, a competition was held in each of the two events. The holder of the best time in each event received a buckle. Congratulations to JoJo for winning the chute-dogging buckle, and to Marty R., winner of the buckle for steer riding. Great going, you both deserved it!

Editorial Many of you know me as the ASGRA secretary, webmaster for both ASGRA and IGRA, and of course now the editor of this newsletter. You may also know me from my personal website, CowboyFrank.net. I recently posted an article on my website which I entitled "Ignorant Experts" discussing an anti-gay e-mail I had received. The guy was complaining that by calling myself "A Real Cowboy" (which, by the way, I don't), I was attacking the most American thing in the world. He insisted that "real cowboys aren't gay". In the 8 years my gay website has been online, I have only gotten 3 such e-mails. Within 2 days of my recent post, I received the following message from a real straight cowboy. Keep in mind the title refers to the original negative e-mail, not me. Pigs don't know pigs stink. Your ignorant expert obviously has his ideas of real cowboys from Hollywood. When Roy Rogers insists that real cowboys don't cuss, I say F**k that. I am Japanese by nationality. I have an Indian name (withheld). My first ranch job was near Powder River and we all know Wyoming cowboys do sheep when we need to give the buffalo a rest. I don't carry a gun; I don't need one. I don't drink because a deputy in Oregon strongly suggested I quit, which also has something to do with why I don't carry a gun. I am not gay, but I have many friends who are. I also have many friends who are Republicans and I am willing to even forgive that. So if there's anyone who fails the cowboy stereotype sniff test, it is I. But real cowboys are secure enough in their cowboy-ness that it isn't anyone else's affirmation that will make them any more or any less a cowboy. A cowboy is a boy who works with cows, including wranglers who are boys who work with horses. That simple definition, offered by my first ramrod in Wyoming, says nothing about sex, nationality, religion or lack thereof, sexual orientation, drug of choice, planet of origin, or manner of verbal expression. I can tell you got one thick hide and you're willing to share the benefit of your experiences with horses. If you're not a real cowboy, you make a damn good replica. While my friend's message was speaking directly to me and made me feel very warm inside, his last sentence really hit home. It made me think of all the cowboy and cowgirl acquaintances I have made since I became involved with gay rodeo. Some of you are cowboy admirers, some cowboy wanna-bees, some rodeo cowboys and cowgirls, a few are real cowboys and cowgirls. But all of you are real people. Whether real cowboy or replica, you all make damn good friends. Thanks for making the last 5 years the best part of my life. Cowboy Frank

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