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The Rodeo                                                           Debra Tuckett

    It was a blistering day, in the mid 30s C I reckon and it was the last day of the Kyle Rodeo, so George planned to take us to this 'not to be missed event'. All I know about rodeos is that they have 'bucking broncos' and this comes mainly from watching cowboy films as a child.
    Now I'm an animal lover, so I'm not the most enthusiastic member of this trip. But not being one to pass up a new experience, I join everyone else in the van. It's like seeing La Reata Ranch for the first time; nothing has prepared me for what I see at the Rodeo.
    Kyle is a very small town, so I'm astonished looking at the programme, at the number of events and participants. I soon realise that cowboys have come from as far as Alberta to take part. This is a serious business, not just messing about with ropes and cattle. Almost every male is wearing a cowboy hat - sensible in this heat - and I can see and hear the horses and cattle in large pens. I find myself a good seat high up and pull my hat down low to get shade from the ferocious sun. George is nearby, which is good because I have lots of questions to ask him. Like what are those two men on horses doing in the middle of the arena?
    They sit tall and dignified on their magnificent horses. They have a presence. If there was royalty among cowboys, they would be princes. In fact they would not have commanded any more respect if they'd been sitting on pure white horses in suits of shining armour,
    "They're pick up men" says George, "you'll see soon. They get the bronco riders off the horse and release the belt around the horses' belly." I'm already impressed and they haven't done anything yet.
    To my right horses are being loaded into the small holding pens next to the arena. A voice announcing the next event calls everyone to order. My sense of anticipation is acute. I wouldn't be surprised if John Wayne (my childhood favourite cowboy hero) rode into the ring any moment now. Then the first bronco rider is announced followed by an explosion of horse from one of the pens. The horse, with a tight leather cinch around its lower abdomen, is quite simply going berserk, kicking and bucking and swirling around in impossible circles. How the rider stays on a single second, let alone the required eight, is completely beyond my comprehension. The cowboy is being thrown around like a rag doll, his neck and spine being whipped back with every jerk from the horse. No crash helmet, no protective clothing save chaps made of leather covering their jeans. I am completely mesmerised
by this spectacle and if eight seconds feels like a long time to me, it must seem like an eternity to those riders.
    This first cowboy stays on for the full eight seconds when a bell is sounded. Then those cowboy princes launch into action. With a calmness and ease that completely belies the difficulty and danger of their task, one of them grabs the rider and neatly transfers him to the back of his own horse, while the other leans down and releases the cinch from the bronco. I am in awe of this smooth and safe recovery of the bronco horse and rider; this must show because George smiles and asks simply,
    "Are you impressed?
    I am so impressed that at this moment I can't speak and simply nod my head, which I know does not adequately express my admiration of the skill and bravery being played out before us, but I get the feeling he knows anyway what I' m thinking. Several more cowboys are catapaulted into the ring and some are thrown to the floor.