BULL RIDER   BY   DAVE "GROG" CARPENTER     Grog's Old Cowboy Card     Note: What follows is a fictionalized re-creation of when I came out of the chute on a rodeo bull on July 8th, 1976. Several years ago, I took a Creative Writing Class, and just for the hell of it, I wrote the below story. Even though I wrote the story as fiction, the events are actually true!   It all started when I made a simple comment that bull riding looked like it was fun. It was after the Little Britches Rodeo in Williams, Arizona, on July 4th, 1975. A friend, Joleen, who lived with her husband, Carl Seaward, in Spring Valley, west of Flagstaff, bet me a beer, payable at the Sultana Bar in Williams, that I wouldn't come out of the chute on a rodeo bull at the Bill Williams Mountain Labor Day Rodeo! At the time, unfortunately for me as it turned out, I was drunk enough . . . and "stoopid" enough . . . to call her bet!   When I drove over to the Williams rodeo grounds in September to enter the event, I was informed that the RCA, now known as the PRCA (Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association), had changed their rule. In order to enter as a local contestant, I had to have a driver's license with a William's address. I didn't have one. Nor did I have the extra $40.00 to join the RCA. Soon after that, the Kowboy Kountry Club, a Steak House overlooking an outdoor rodeo arena, opened up on the north side of Flagstaff. So, the bet was still on for the following summer!   Although I won the bet, it did cost me a bit! I went easy on Joe Branch in the story. In reality, though, besides remaining overnight in the Flagstaff Community Hospital, I received a couple scars and lost several teeth in the encounter with "Alfalfa"! But, eventually, I collected on the bet and drank that beer in the Sultana Bar!     "Hey, that bull riding looked like fun. I oughta try it!" Joe Branch said to his friends, Lydia and Jim Stewart. Joe was sitting with his elbow out the open window of the old Ford pickup truck, with Jim driving and Lydia in the middle. They were headed north on Highway 64 towards the Grand Canyon after leaving the rodeo grounds in Williams. They'd spent the day watching the boys and girls riding and roping in the Little Britches Rodeo over the Fourth of July weekend.   "I'll bet you don't!" exclaimed Lydia as she looked up at him. Her blue eyes twinkled and her long blonde hair shimmered from the glow of the dashboard lights and the reflected glare of the headlights, sharply contrasting with Joe's brown eyes and black short-cropped hair.   "Oh yeah! What do you wanna bet?" Joe said, then took another drink of cold beer from the can in his hand. He was already on his third six-pack of the day. He had been drinking beer while sitting in the rodeo grandstands and during the fireworks display after dark. It was now late evening as they drove back to Lydia and Jim's home.   "I'll bet you one thing," she said while taking a sip of her beer, "those boys probably have more time riding on animals than you've spent sitting on barstools. They make it look easy. But, just to make it interesting, let's say I'll bet a case of beer that you don't come out of the chute on a rodeo bull, and I'll even pay the entry fee! How's that grab your drunken ass?"   "Now you've pissed me off! I can do anything a kid can do! You're on! Just let me know when and where! And speaking of piss, I gotta go," Joe said when he finished his beer. He dropped the empty can behind the seat and grabbed another beer from the small cooler between his legs.   About then, Jim reached the Spring Valley Road, a cindered track that meandered east through pinyon-juniper and ponderosa pine forests toward Spring Valley and his and Lydia's 'farm' -- a small house and barn on 20 acres. After turning onto the road, he pulled over to the side and Joe staggered over to a large juniper tree beside the road to relieve himself.   At almost six feet tall, and with the rugged physique of a man in his late-twenties who worked as a Forest Service Timber Cruiser, he was having a difficult time standing upright because of all the beer he'd drank that day.   Jim, still in the truck, commented, "Well, I don't really want to get into this dispute, but there is the Bill Williams Mountain Man Rodeo over the Labor Day weekend in a couple months. Even though you live in Flagstaff, you can enter as a local contestant without having to be a member of the Rodeo Cowboys Association. But, are you sure it isn't just the beer talking now?"   "Now there's an opportunity," said Joe, ignoring Jim's last sentence. He buttoned his fly and started back to the truck. "Then I can show this 'girl' that I'm just as good as a 'boy'!"   "Okay,'big man'," Lydia chided him, "I'm going to look forward to watching a huge 'boy-type cow' knock you down to size!"   She giggled and playfully squeezed her husband's leg and whispered, "This should turn out to be fun, as well as interesting." Joe didn't hear her comment as he climbed into the truck cab again and closed the door.   They'd all been friends for the past four years, ever since Jim had started spending his summers off as a school teacher to work in the woods as a temporary assistant on timber sales with Joe. They laughed as they continued eastward toward Spring Valley.   Sign on the Spring Valley Road, a few miles east of Highway 64     During the next month and a half, Joe was constantly reminded of the bet by Jim while working in the woods, and by both of them on their occasional weekend 'get-togethers' -- either at the 'farm' or at Joe's apartment in Flagstaff. Lydia was particularly relentless in her verbal barrage until he decided that he would have to go through with it.   Joe decided that the first thing he had to do was find out what he'd talked himself into. After work one day, he called several western wear stores in town and was finally given the name and phone number of a local rodeo photographer, who also competed in rodeo saddle bronc and bull riding events.   When he called the number, the phone was answered with a "Howdy!" by a man with a heavy western drawl. Joe asked him if he was Charlie Randall, the name given him. The reply was, "Shore 'nuff." Joe explained his predicament and the response was half a minute of raucous laughter, followed by an invitation to drop by Charlie's house.   When Joe knocked on the door, it was opened by a tall, wiry looking man in his early thirties, wearing a western style long-sleeved shirt, faded blue denim pants held up by a leather belt with a large ornate buckle won in rodeo competition, and an old scuffed pair of cowboy boots. Joe introduced himself and was surprised by the strength of Charlie's firm handshake.   "Come on in and set a spell. Ya want a beer? I was just about to have one myself," Charlie said as he walked toward the refrigerator in the adjoining kitchen.   "Sure. Might just as well. A few beers started all this anyway," Joe called out, then sat down on an old couch in the living room.   Charlie chuckled as he handed Joe a cold beer. He sat down in an adjacent battered rocking chair. "From what you told me on the phone, it was more than just 'a few beers' that got you into this!"   "Yeah, I reckon that's true," he said with a sheepish grin. "By the way, why were you laughing so hard on the phone?"   "Well, I'll tell ya, them bulls in the Little Britches Rodeo looked easy to ride for them boys because they were relatively easy! Nobody wants to see a kid get hurt, so although the bulls are tough enough to give them a good ride, they are specially selected for their trait of not being extremely aggressive. On the other hand, bulls used in professional rodeos, like the one you've talked yourself into riding, are the 'meanest and raunchiest' animals the stock contractors can find."   "Why's that?" Joe asked. His face had suddenly become a shade paler.   "The sport, as we call it, demands it. A cowboy is scored by points, if he can stay on the bull for eight seconds. So, the more action the cowboy and the bull produce, the more points the ride is awarded. The meaner a bull is, the less it wants that feller on its back, so it is going to do everything it can to get  rid of him. And, how high the cowboy is in the total point standing at the end of the competition determines how much, if any, money he'll earn. Besides, the spectators in the grandstands pay their money to watch the action. If there ain't none because the bulls are passive, then they might just as well stay home, barbecue hot dogs and play badminton in their backyards."   "I see what you mean," Joe said nervously, "but it sounds like the cowboy doesn't stand a chance against the bull."   "Naw, it ain't all that bad, at least while he stays on the bull. Once he gets off, then he'd better watch his butt! If you're ready, I'll get us another beer, then I'll show you what I call my 'tack room'."   "Sure," said Joe. Charlie walked to the refrigerator, got two beers and handed one to Joe as he led him to a room cluttered with saddles, harnesses, ropes and various rodeo paraphanalia.   As he picked up various articles of equipment and showed them to Joe, he explained each of them. "Chaps protect the rider's legs from rubbing against the fence in the chute. In the arena, they serve as extra padding when the cowboy comes off the bull. Finally, they are also 'showy' -- they flap around during the ride.   "The rowels on the spurs, as you see, are wired so they don't turn. By pointing the toes of the boots outward, the spurs are locked into the bull's side to help keep the cowboy on its back.   "Besides the spurs, this 'bull rope' is what keeps the rider on the bull. It goes around the bull just behind his shoulders, over a gloved palm, around the hand once and then is held in place by closing the fist over it. To release it prior to dismounting, the hand is opened and it just slips free. The bell attached to the rope on the underside of the bull just creates noise and further irritates him."   Joe said, "It sounds like he's gonna be pissed off enough already by having me sitting on his back and digging spurs into his sides, without further adding to his displeasure!"   Charlie laughed. "You're probably right in your own case, but the cowboys who do this for a living want all the action they can get, just to score high points. Anyway, that's about all there is to it. Got any questions so far?"   "Well, you make it all sound so simple. But am I gonna have to buy or rent all this stuff just to make one ride to satisfy the bet?"   "Naw, I'll tell ya what, I'll be at the Mountain Man Rodeo myself, so you can just use my equipment and I'll help you get all rigged. Okay?"   "Sounds more than fair enough to me. I sure appreciate all your advice," replied Joe.   "No problem, glad to help. Oh, by the way, it's tradition that all contestants wear cowboy boots, hats and long-sleeved western style shirts," Charlie  advised.   They talked for awhile longer about the finer points of rodeo bull riding, then Joe left and went home.   Several days later after work, Joe went to the western wear store and bought a pair of cowboy boots, a red and white-checkered western shirt and a cowboy hat. A sign on Charlie's 'tack room' wall had read:                THE BIGGER THE HAT, THE BETTER THE COWBOY   So, Joe bought the biggest cowboy hat the store had in stock. As it turned out, the hat didn't help his riding abilities a bit!   On Friday afternoon of Labor Day weekend, Joe drove to the rodeo grounds in Williams after work, parked his Chevy pickup truck and entered the large blue building where several cowboys were standing around talking. After showing his driver's license to prove he was a local resident, Joe used the money he'd previously gotten from Lydia to enter the bull riding event and received his contestant pass.   Receipt for the Bull Riding Event   Grog's Contestant Pass at the Kowboy Kountry Club in Flagstaff     He was told that it would be about an hour before the drawing, which determined who rode which bull and when, so he had a couple of beers at the Sultana Bar downtown while he waited. After about an hour, Joe went back and was informed of the results. He then drove to Spring Valley where he'd planned to spend the weekend.   Lydia was sitting in a chair and Jim was lighting a barbecue grill on the covered front porch when he drove into their yard and parked. "As luck would have it," Joe said with a grin as he walked up to the porch, "I drew the bull riding event tomorrow afternoon."   Lydia, wearing a pair of white shorts and a flowered halter top in the summer warmth, started giggling and said, "Okay cowboy, now you can show us how easy it is."   "I never said that it was easy. I just said it looked like fun. I reckon we'll find out tomorrow. I'm as ready as I'll ever be!"   The next day, in the spirit of the occasion, they all dressed in western clothing. Most conspicuous of them all was Joe wearing the barely broken-in cowboy boots, Levi denim jeans, the red and white-checkered shirt and carrying the large black cowboy hat in his hand. Lydia refrained from comment about his appearance other than to say that he looked nice.     Grog, the "Wannabe" Bull Rider     When they arrived at the rodeo grounds in Williams in Jim's pickup truck, they separated -- Jim and Lydia headed for the grandstands -- while Joe put on his hat and wandered around to the back of the chutes. He quickly spotted Charlie, who greeted him cheerfully. "Glad to see you made it here."   Joe replied with a smile, "Didn't have much of a choice about it. Got a personal escort from Lydia."   "Wal, it's gonna get busy around here pretty soon, so for the time being jest set up on one of the fences and watch the action. The first event will be bareback riding, followed by saddlebronc, which I'm entered in. Once the horses are out of the chutes, and they are running the womens's barrel racing and the calf roping, they'll run the bulls into the chutes. I'll get together with you then."   "Okay, see ya later."   Joe sat on a fence and watched. Charlie placed second in that 'go-round' of saddlebronc riding with a score of 69, then sat on the fence next to Joe as the bulls were herded into the six chutes adjacent to the arena. Joe had drawn 'Alfalfa,' a bull in the first round, while Charlie had a bull in the second half dozen.   While other events: steer wrestling, calf roping, team roping and barrel racing took place at the west end of the arena, Charlie and Joe walked over to the chute under the announcer's platform. Joe stood on the low step and looked down at 'Alfalfa,' a Brahma bull standing placidly in the chute. Saliva splattered its face and a greenish ooze covered its rump. Joe noticed the bull didn't have any horns and commented, "He sure looks docile enough to me."   "Don't count on it," was all Charlie said.     Joe strapped the spurs to his boots, then buckled on the buckskin chaps Charlie had loaned him. Midway through the barrel racing event, Charlie had Joe climb over the top of the fence and sit on Alfalfa's back. Through the teamwork of several cowboys surrounding the chute, the "bull rope" was placed around Alfalfa. The flat braided rope was pulled tight around the bull, both ends placed in Joe's resinned glove, then one end was wrapped around it and he took a firm grip on both sections of the rope. He pounded on his fist to further tighten his grip.   Charlie said, "You're set now. In a few minutes when it's your turn, just raise your free arm, nod your head and that cowboy out there will open the gate. Any more questions?"   "I don't reckon so," replied Joe.   "Okay. Just a few reminders. Keep a tight grip on the rope and 'think feet' -- hold onto that bull with your legs. When you get off, head for the fence to stay away from him. Got it?"   "Yep."   Across the arena, Lydia and Jim watch the action from the grandstands. After the second bull rider cleared the arena, the announcer said, "Out of chute #3, we have a local cowboy, Joe Branch, on Alfalfa."   Joe raised his arm and nodded his head. When the gate opened and the bull made his first jump out into the arena, Joe immediately lost his grip on the bull rope. Not knowing what else to do, he raised both of his arms above his head. He continued to keep his feet pointed outward and used his legs to hold on until he went over the bull's left shoulder and hit the ground.   Joe sensed a stiffening of his body as if shocked by an electric current, then it slowly relaxed. As he regained consciousness, he became aware of people gathered around him. Several cowboys helped him to his feet and escorted him toward the arena fence near the chutes. As he approached the fence in a  somewhat foggy daze, he heard the announcer exclaim, "That's the sign of a good cowboy, when he can get up and walk out of the arena!" Joe didn't feel any too good right then.   After being helped through the fence and sat down on a box behind the chutes, Joe did a cursory examination of himself. There was a large lump on his forehead, a cut alongside his bleeding nose, some chipped front teeth and a few rips in his pants where the bull had stomped on his legs.   "What the hell happened?" he asked.   Charlie walked up and squatted beside him and said, "That was the damnedest thing I've ever seen! You lost the bull rope on the first jump, then raised both hands. You looked good and were doing fine until ya fell off on about the fifth jump, hit the ground and then sat up.   "You slowly looked around until your gaze fell on Alfalfa, who was about twenty feet away and looking at you. After a few moments, he lowered his head and charged straight into your face! Ya ain't much of a bull rider, but ya shore  can hold a crowd's attention!"   About then, Billy Bronco, the rodeo clown, walked up, handed Joe his hat and said, "Hey Joe, I'm sorry. I tried to keep that bull away from you!"   Joe said through the pain of an impending headache, "It wasn't your fault. As near as I can figger out now, Alfalfa was probably thinking to himself, 'Forget you, I got me a clown right here on the ground!', and then proceeded to do his 'Howdy Doody' routine on me!"   Billy thanked him for his understanding, then crawled through the fence to try to protect the next bull rider.   Alfalfa and Billy the Clown, just after Grog (under the bull) fell off. A few moments later, Alfalfa turned around and did his "Howdy Doody" routine on Grog.   (Photo Courtesy of Randy Neuberger, Professional Rodeo Photographer, Saddle Bronc and Bull Rider)     Lydia and Jim came up to him and she said, "Joe, you look like hell. I think we'd better get you to the hospital and have you checked out for a possible brain concussion, though I doubt that there's a brain inside that bony skeletal mass you call a head!"   "Normally, I'd disagree with you, but I don't feel like it right now." he said. "Let's go."   Jim drove them all to the Williams Medical Center, and they checked Joe in at the front desk in the lobby. Dr. Yarder was on duty that evening. Although the x-rays were negative for serious damage to Joe's head, he decided to keep him overnight for observation. Because the doctor didn't want to prescribe any medication for a head injury, Joe had a mostly sleepless night.   Hospital Statement   Grog's Hospital Bracelet     The next morning, when Lydia and Jim picked him up, Joe had a complaint. As they walked toward Jim and Lydia's pickup truck in the parking lot, he said, "Ya know, I didn't really mind that bull kicking the shit out of me, and spending the night in this lousy hospital! But, what really pisses me off is that damned doctor had the nerve to come in this morning wearing a belt buckle he'd won while in medical school for collegiate rodeo bull riding!"   Bill from Dr. George H. Yard, the attending physician. It is really true! He actually was wearing a collegiate rodeo belt buckle when he came into Grog's hospital room the next morning!     Lydia laughed hysterically, then said, "Maybe that case of beer on ice in the back of the pickup truck that I bought for you for winning the bet will make you feel a little better!"   With the large crumpled cowboy hat in his hand, Joe hobbled toward the pickup truck. His head was bandaged and his chipped teeth grated against his exploring tongue. As he walked, he mumbled an oath to leave the bull riding to the real cowboys . . . and another oath to castrate a particular rodeo bull!