The first day of the rodeo began with usual ceremony. Grand Entry has groups from area rodeo chapters prance around the arena with flags a wavin’ and shirts neatly tucked. There’s singing of the National Anthem and O Canada, which is really a ploy to let us know what lurks under those Stetsons and Baileys. A riderless horse is guided around during a prayer for cowboys lost.
Then it’s on to the events. I got to catch up with folks and enjoyed myself. I tend to spend more time than I probably should in the vendor area, but I knew the DJ and a t-shirt seller.
Mark Weigle also performed to a sadly empty audience. He sang that Bears song and kept pointing my way during the chorus and I got all red faced. I really don’t consider myself a bear from the outside, but if you’re one of three people there, and the only one with a beard, I can understand the mistake.
Dinner at McDonalds had our small party drooling, and the conversation was light and fun. A great bumpersticker idea surfaced, but it has legs, so I won’t blow it.
That night, it seemed that it was the goal of many to get me good n drunk (of course, I just liked to think that – my yoga teacher does say, “It’s all about me”). Regardless, there was success with more bourbons and sevens than I can count (they were watered down methinks, or I have one helluva stamina).
I remained upright though, and managed not to fall into the pool. I met a great feller from Kansas City, handsome dark features, wonderful graying beard, a photographer. He likes ’em “beefy” but I’d still like to find out more about him and his work.
Lessee, what else? Well, as I start to get drunk, I get huggier. I was staying at a remote hotel that night, so when a friend from Hot Springs was leaving, I opted to take the ride back and leave my car there. It was a great first day.
I drank as much water as I could, watching some nonsense on HBO and drifted to sleep.