Ty Phillips - Blacktop Cowboys: Riders on the Run for Rodeo Gold

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CONTENTS

TO MY MOTHER,
WHO ALWAYS HAD A THING FOR COWBOYS

Introduction

At any given moment, there are thousands of rodeo cowboys traveling throughout North America in elaborate truck and trailer rigs. Each year, many of these cowboys cover more than seventy-five thousand miles on the road and in the air. They are men with colorful names like Speed and Jet, Rowdy and Howdy, Rope and Cash. Now, they all will grin and tell you they do it because theyre too lazy to work and too scared to steal, and that rodeoins somewhere in between. Of course, it goes much deeper than that. Most of them are reliving the young lives of their fathersyesterdays rodeo stars and todays walking wounded. Truth is, most rodeo cowboys are born, not made. They are branded at birth for life at two speeds: 85mph or a standstill. And its a hell of a ride. For any week spent living on the road, a cowboy might buy himself all of one minutes showtime in arenas often scattered across several states. At its essence, the rodeo life is an elaborate game of poker. The gamblers ante up their entry fees, always betting on themselves. The steers are dealt in blind draws. The difference between winning and losing always comes down to tenths of a second. Once the pot is divided and the crowds are gone, the cowboys pack up and drive hundreds of miles through the night to find another arena by sunrise. To play the game again. For those who can afford it, it is the time of their lives. For those who cannot, it is a gritty existence loaded with crushed hope, mounting debt, and the simple worry of how to get to the next rodeo town. Yet, even for the luckless, it is the time of their lives. This is the story of one loose-knit band of cowboys, mostly steer wrestlers, on the road during the 2004 season. It begins one January afternoon in the Southern California rodeo town of Norco.

CHAPTER 1

The Road to Denver

NORCO, CALIFORNIA

SUNDAY, JANUARY 18

Luke Branquinho unzipped his pants and began pissing into a fresh pile of horse manure. A bubbling green liquid oozed atop the parking lot dirt in small streams, a spent mixture of alfalfa hay and countless Coors Lights. The bleary-eyed cowboy stood beside a Ford F350 pickup in a halfhearted bid for privacy. He steadied himself by gripping the trucks bed with his right hand. His left arm hung limp by his side.

A couple hundred yards away, small groups of people made their way from the grandstands at Ingalls Arena. The remnants of the California Circuit Finals rodeo crowd followed a strip of asphalt that snaked its way down a steep hill and led to their cars. Children, many dressed as cowboys and cowgirls, talked to their parents in excited tones about the wondrous things theyd just seen, far too young to have any idea what cowboy life really meant.

As Casey Branquinho sat in the drivers seat of his truck, waiting on his brother, a woman walked over to the rig. Her son, Levi Rosser, had just won the bulldogging event and twenty-six hundred dollars. Still pissing, Luke turned his head toward her and smiled.

Hey, he called out, tell your son congratulations for finally getting some this weekend.

He didnt get some this weekend, she said.

Well, maybe hes a queer.

Hes not a queer, she said. Hes just kind of private.

Maybe he needs me to come over and counsel him.

No, Luke, thats really the last thing he needs, she said, touching Casey on the arm before turning to walk away. Good luck in Denver, guys.

Luke finished his business, wiped his hands on his jeans, and walked to the passenger side. He opened the door and poured himself into the rig. He leaned back into his seat, winced a bit, and began massaging the flesh behind his left shoulder with his right hand. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his last silver can of pain relief. He popped it open, took a long drink, and then set the can in a cup holder and resumed the massage.

A few hours earlier, Luke had been in prime position to win several thousand dollars. He had bolted into the arena, slid off his horse, and grabbed his steers horns. But when he reached out for the animals nose, he felt his left shoulder give and he let go of the steer. The pin from a surgery years earlier was all that kept the shoulder from coming out completely.

Casey shifted the truck into gear and looked over at his brother.

Hows the shoulder?

Sore.

Yeah, Casey said, nodding as he guided his truck and a forty-foot trailer through the parking lot.

Before long, the dirt and gravel gave way to city streets that emptied into the endless hum of Interstate 15. Outside, the setting sun struggled to push light through the smoggy air that hung above the mountains east of Los Angeles.

ONTARIO. VICTORVILLE. BARSTOW.

The brothers spoke sparingly. Dark circles of exhaustion hung beneath their eyes. The 2003 rodeo season officially ended that January afternoon in Norco. And the off-season lasted all of about two hours: long enough for Luke to get drunk and for Casey to ready his horses for a long drive. The 2004 Wrangler ProRodeo Tour winter opener was set to begin in Denver the following day.

Settling in for the trip, both men reached out for their cell phones. Lukes rang before he could dial a number. He looked down to see who was calling: It was his old buddy and traveling partner, Travis Cadwell.

Hey Trav. Just out here rodeoin buddy. How bout you? Thats good. No, were just leavin Norco now. Well, I was fixin to win the steer wrestling, but my fuckin shoulder came out. Yes it did. Youre a dumb skinny fucker, you know that? Yeah, exactly. Whatever. No, Levi won it. I dont know. When you gonna break out, at San Antonio? Tucson? All right. Hey, I got another call, Ill talk to you later.

Luke pushed the wrong button and lost the call. He gave up, leaned back in the seat, and closed his eyes. Casey turned up the volume on the radio to hear the Carolina Panthers put the finishing touches on their NFC Championship Game upset over the Philadelphia Eagles.

This is the deepest penetration for the Eagles today, the announcer said.

Luke looked over at Casey with the dumb grin drunk people wear.

I got some deep penetration last night.

With who?

I cant remember, Luke said. I think I drank too much.

Lukes phone rang again. Recognizing the number, he quickly took another drink of his beer and put the phone to his ear.

Hey there. What? Fuck! Youre naked? I want to see you naked. Can I see you naked tomorrow night? Well, that sounds good to me, too.

Suddenly, Luke dropped the phone to his waist and exhaled in frustration.

These fucking phones! he screamed.

He looked over at Casey again. She was, fuck, she was about to talk dirty to me, too.

Who is that? Casey said.

Lindsay, Luke said, dialing her number.

Lindsay?

Arizona.

Oh, yes, Casey said, smiling and picturing the pretty young brunette woman.

Luke put the phone back to his ear.

So, I get to see you naked? Youll do a little dance for me? You will? Yeah, well dance. Well, youll dance and Ill watch. Stay naked til I get there.

Casey shook his head and laughed. Then he looked at Luke.