Hells Rodeo


Down the long, straight road into town the police pulled over five cars ahead of me.  The cops of Cody, Wyoming, were nervous.

`Cody Welcomes The Hells Angels,' read a banner across the main street.  The 2,500 member strong motorcycle gang was in town.  According to wikipedia, Hells Angels are known to engage in prostitution, illegal pornography, extortion, drug trafficking and, worst of all, telemarketing.  The cops had reason to be jumpy.

I checked into the last open motel and took the last room.  ``I'm sorry,'' said the woman at the desk, looking both ways and dropping her voice.  ``But there are Hells Angels on either side of your room.''  She took out a piece of paper and wrote down two numbers.  ``If they cause problems, you call the front desk and, if you're scared, call the police -- they ain't far away.''  She pressed the room keys into my hand and I saw in her eyes the words `good luck.'

I am not a brave man.  Groups of teenagers lingering on the London streets make me wary.  But I didn't have concerns about the Hells Angels.  They seem like guys who love their bikes, love their leather, and love to be left alone.  That night, though twenty rough men packed into the rooms on both sides of me, they didn't make a peep.   It might as well have been the grandmothers knitting convention.

The small town of Cody is famous for its rodeo, which locals brag is the largest in the world.  Cowboys come from as far as Australia and New Zealand to compete.  Though I was weary, and the day was late, I decided to go see.

I'd never seen a rodeo before, I didn't think they really existed.  I thought the writers of old westerns conjured them to inject tension into the plot.  But no, before me lay the real thing: a stadium where man challenges beast and the toilet stalls have no doors.

It was with prudish horror that I discovered this last fact.  I don't know if you've ever tried to relax with your pants around your ankles knowing that a cowboy or Hells Angel may pass by at any moment to look down upon your New York Manhood, but it is not an easy task.

Because the rodeo is, much to my amazement, a nightly event I expected the dusty stadium at the edge of the town to be nearly deserted.  But no, families filled three quarters of the stadium and the remainder was a large, dark patch in the crowd composed of Hells Angels.  I sat on the line where these two groups met, between a bald, bearded, bandannaed biker on one side, and a little girl in a cowboy hat on the other.  I looked at all the men with `Hells Angels' written on their backs and wondered if they intentionally dropped the apostrophe to look tougher.

The rodeo began with equestrian challenges.  Horse riders darted around the stadium, circling barrels.  The men came out first, followed by the women.  While the crowd and announcers treated the women equally, the DJ's selected bizarre musical accompaniment.  The men competed against a background of rock and metal, the women had girly songs while they rode: Barbie Girl, Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend, and Manic Monday.  Switching from metal to girly music was disorienting and made it feel a like there were two separate events occurring in the same space.

After the men and women raced, the announcer said `And now for the juniors.'  Little kids in what looked like cowboy Halloween outfits, but which were the real thing, came out to challenge the riding times of the adults.

After the equestrian competitions finished, the rodeo proper began and cowboys lassoed calfs let loose in the stadium.  It did not look like an easy job.  Judges scored the cowboys on how quickly they immobilized the animal.  Much to my relief, if the calf cried out, or looked to be in pain, the judges deducted points from the cowboy's score.

``And now for the juniors,'' said the announcer.  And, sure enough, out came some tiny nine-year-old riding a pony and lassoing his own cattle.

Then came, for me, an unexpected event.  A cow ran across the stadium, while a cowboy chased it on a horse.  Then, instead of lassoing it, the cowboy leapt off his horse, onto the cow, and wrestled it to the ground.  Cowboy after cowboy jumped off his horse to catch the running animals and bring them down while I watched with open mouth.  Running cow, flying cowboy.

Then again came the words over the speakers ``And now for the juniors.''  I thought it was a joke but a twelve-year-old cowgirl wearing an enormous hat with little blond pigtails mounted her pony, chased a calf across the stadium, leapt off and wrestled it to the ground.

``Ten seconds!'' yelled the announcer.  ``That's a new junior record set by little Susie Reynolds.  Won't her momma be proud.''  The girl waved to the woman jumping up and down in the crowd who encouraged her daughter in this sport.

Then the final round.

The bulls.

Two-thousand pounds of pissed-off bovine.  In real life, the bulls are much, much larger than you think they are.  The men looked like they rode atop a Volkswagen.  A metal pen, not large enough for the bulls to move restrained them while the cowboys lowered themselves on top of the beasts.  A horn sounded, the gates opened, and the cowboys held on for as long as they could. 

It was not long.

The bulls in a few mad leaps tossed the men off easily -- usually over their heads so that the prone cowboy landed in the path of the angry bull.  Brave men in that situation had only one person they could turn to: the rodeo clown.

The rodeo clown, whom I previously assumed was only there for entertainment purposes, is the true hero of the rodeo.  He risks his life to divert the angry bull away from the man on the ground by convincing it to chase him instead.  The whole drama, from the starting horn, to the cowboy on the ground, to chasing of the rodeo clowns, to recapturing of the bull is, at most, thirty seconds long.

I watched cowboys risk death and spinal injury until the announcer said, ``Now as you folks may know, we have some special guests in the audience tonight.  Tough men.  They're used to riding hogs, but we invite them to try a bull -- if they're up to it.''

Only in comparison to the Hells Angels could I see how skilled the cowboys really are.  While the cowboys only stayed on the bull for three or four jumps, the horn did not finish echoing in the stadium before the Hells Angels were on the ground.

But one Hells Angel held on for more than a single jump of the bull.  Four, five then six jumps before the bull tossed him.  But he jerked at an odd angle as he came off.  His leg caught in the stirrup, and the bull dragged him to the edge of the stadium before noticing the weight he pulled.  The bull turned on the man, leaping up in the air and aiming his hoofs for the man's skull.  Only through the quick action of the rodeo clowns -- pushing the Hells Angel aside, distracting the bull, and cutting free the rider's leg, did the man survive.   He was the last Hells Angel to ride.

Then, one final time, I heard the dreaded words:

``And now for the juniors.''
 




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