BoWenkle

The wintry breeze whistles from the crack beneath the window seal in the aged two bedroom log cabin. For me and my cousin Dylan, we prefer the amenities of the way things used to be, long before technology and cellular devices. I’m paralyzed between a measly blanket and the freezing sheet which has me squirming to find a nestle of warmth. The time is exactly 4:07 am; I know because for the past hour, I’ve been fixated on the candescent glow from the casio alarm clock which seems to be in sync with my heartbeat. With every passing moment, my anticipation about today’s challenge grows stronger and stronger in my belly as a raging stew attempting to boil over. The months of training, praying, and hoping I can live up to the legendary father is about to become reality. See, In the small Alabama town of Fort Deposit, there are only two choices for a young man, the steel mills or the professional Bull riding circuit. I, for one realized at age 9, that any man worth his salt was destined to become a wrangler. My father George, was known across the continent for his glory days of taking on the biggest and baddest bulls bread from championship lines. As a matter of fact, my father still holds the record for the most rides without being ejected from the beast. Please keep in perspective, this was in 1979 before the sport was recognized as it is today. My father was state champ in 1980, 1981, and went on to claim the title as The World’s Bull Riding Champion in 1982. The championship circuit accumulates the first week of January in New Hampshire every year. Wranglers from all over the World embark on the sleepy town of Skalawagaugh to prove their dominance in the field of Bull Wrangling. Talking about pressure!

It has been nearly 30 days since I left Alabama en route to New Hampshire. It was imperative to leave the State so I could focus on the task at hand. Accompanied by my trainer Dylan, we thought it would be a great idea to familiarize ourselves with the local ranchers to gain an advantage over the competition. Besides, the media attention and frenzy in Alabama over my statewide sweep and championship in Alabama would cause an unneeded distraction to my preparation. As well noted, Alabama is known for breeding some of the country’s fiercest bulls weighing in well over 1,500 lbs. The novice bull wrangler knows his limitations, and for many, a bull of such mass would instill a fear which could result in serious injury or death. For all intent and purposes, I believe 1,600 lbs is the heaviest bull I’ve wrangled in my 20 years in riding; however, I’ve accepted all challenges and believe I could handle the likes of Bodacious, Oklahoma’s biggest and baddest.

Preparation and training for professional Bull Wrangling competition can be quite bearing on both the physical and mental. The main components to success is of course, the agility and physical conditioning of the wrangler. For the past 45 days preceding our journey to New Hampshire, I was put on a strict diet which includes the intake of 4,500 calories a day. A bull wrangler must maintain a healthy weight that will offset the bull and allow the rider to maneuver as one with the beast. Much like any wild animal in the jungle, fear and lack of control can be felt by the massive mammal which will instantly seal a rider's fate. At normal weight, I am a frail 150 lbs soaking wet; however, for competition, I usually balloon my weight to a massive 215 lbs which enables me to persuade the beast with the strength in my legs, while dominating him with the mass of my upper body. The time is now 5:30 am, and I can smell the aroma of bacon cutting through the cedar logs blazing in the fireplace. The temperature in New Hampshire in January has been known to dip well below the teens, and today looks to be no different as I can see my breath with every exhale.

“Good Morning, today is the day we bring home the trophy, finish your breakfast so we can get some agility reps before making our way to the competition” Dylan uttered in an energetic, but creepy tone. A balanced breakfast is just one key element that is needed to succeed in the wrangling business, but I have lost my appetite. I believe Dylan senses the fear building inside my soul in lieu of the task at hand. I forcefully finish the breakfast on my way to the foyer to gear myself to face the bitter cold. For today's competition, I will dress in my best pair of wrangler jeans, two pairs of long johns, and my custom stitched cowboy sombrero my brother sent me from his last competition. My brother, also a wrangler, never had an interest in the pro circuit; however, I believe if he gave it any real consideration, he would be better than myself. After completing my usual regiment of calisthenics and a three mile jog up the mountainous terrain, I am showered and dressed for the competition. As we draw within eyesight of the arena, I glare at the trailers of some of these wranglers. The unbelievable money spent on some of the wranglers trailers is massive in dollar amounts. I crouch in the seats of the small four door sedan we rented on our arrival. Could you imagine the embarrassment of a wrangler arriving in a car? Nevertheless, the average wrangler has a host of sponsors that shower them with extravagant gifts in hope that their client wins the competition while elevating their brand. Although approached by many lucrative sponsorship deals in the past, I refused all offers and preferred to represent one entity, my family’s name.

As I stood at the registration table, I heard a distinctive voice behind me, “Hey loser, or shall I say second place ya better get used too”. Without turning our heads to feed into the irritating nonsense, Dylan whispers, “I knew it was only an amount of time before Big Judd reared his ugly head”. Big Judd was only the favorite to win the entire championship. For the past five years, Judd has placed one or two in every competition he entered and hated my success with a passion. As I made my way to my mounting station, I acknowledged Judd by only a wave of my hat as myself and Dylan focused on the challenge at hand. The stage is set and I’m tagged as the number 18 wrangler in a circuit of 20. The rules of the competition are sudden death, one toss and you're out. As the field mounted and made their attempt to wrangle the bulls, I felt confident that I would be successful. With the field at number 16, 80% of the riders have been eliminated due to dismounts and unsuccessful pins. “Number 17” is called by the announcer, and the rider from France mounts on his bull that comes off the scale weighing nearly 1,200 lbs. I wish him luck with a heartfelt gesture of the tip of my brim, and the gate swings open. Within 30 seconds into his ride, the bull sends him hurling nearly 20 feet and he lands awkwardly into the red dirt. The crowd grows concerned as the young french man looks to be in severe pain and possibly has suffered career ending injuries. The fear which was at a minimum has now grown to a feverish pitch. A stretcher carrying the french man has just left the arena to a standing applause and the announcer has just screamed that I will be up next. The arena workers make their way up the stadium terminal and I can hear the footsteps of the beast. I am scared and terrified to see the bull I must face.

As the arena workers break the terminal and approach with the beast in tow, I can tell that the bull is massive in weight. The announcer yells, “ladies and gentlemen, meet the South’s most feared bull, Bowenkle, coming in at 1900 lbs”. I gasp in disbelief. Due to the weight of the beast, I know if I could just survive the first 30 seconds and manage to wrangle the beast within 1:30, I would secure a world record which would automatically eliminate all competition. The stagehands secure the beast in the cage adjacent to me as I climb the rail to mount Bowenkle. The stagehands use careful technique to ensure they secure the beast and make it out of the cage without incident. Bowenkle is in rare form, as if he hadn’t eaten in days. The cage is nearly coming apart from the seams due to Bowenkle ramming his massive head into the structure. I throw my drop towel on his back and straddle his sides with my thighs and distribute my weight to an equilibrium. The announcer states, “On three, one, two, three.” The gate swings open and Bowenkle's first move is a massive leap which nearly sends me into the stands. I somehow managed to stay mounted as Bowenkle bucked and bucked in sporadic fashion. I had only one strategy, to tire the beast out in the first minute, then I would be free to make my move. The announcer screamed, “30 seconds' '. In my mind, the time that had elapsed felt to be more like an hour or two. “How long can I endure this brutal abuse, I pondered”? As the announcer screamed, “the minute mark was approaching”. I knew this was my opportunity to make my move, and I sprung into action. I mustered the energy I had left inside my frame while straddling the massive beast, taking both of my hands, I forced the bull's massive head to the left. The move took him by surprise, I felt the fear racing through his silk layered fur. The momentum of his massive frame began to shift and he swayed like a sailor at the bar around closing time. As I dismounted, Bowenkle tripped over his right hoof which sent him hurling to the dirt. I seized the moment by grabbing my rope and began to lasso style tie the beast's four legs together. The announcer screamed, “ a new World Record and Champion has just been crowned, 1 minute and 26 seconds.”

As I took the podium in preparation to receive the covenant trophy, I couldn’t help thinking of my father and how he must have felt when he was crowned Wrangling Champion of the World. Wow, what a feeling!