Chris of course very much enjoyed telling this story, and told it at every opportunity - including once on a job site, when one of those guys with the boots, silver dollar belt buckle, and ten gallon hard hat said we should come watch some real bull-ridin' out by Stockton. We were certainly quite keen on this, and after many false starts headed out into the central valley.

What we found was a sandy ring, with high wood fence on two sides (shattered in many places), a barn with humongous loudspeakers on a third, and on the forth, six rodeo gates. Around us were exactly the sort of people one might expect to find at such a place, about one in three sporting a brace, cast, or crutches. We were of course hooked, and planned to return the following week to ride.

That next week we brought our camera, camera-woman Kalynn, (and only a few minutes of tape - why can't we ever get it right?). We listened to Gary Peterson's sermon, and then his prayer - for this is, of course, Christian bull riding - and then settled into the business of riding - scrounging a helmet, spurs and rope, paying our $20 and signing the sign-up sheet (no liability waiver, mind you), talking with the purple-chapped PGBRA rider (that's Pro Gay Bull Riding Association), and watching guys get gored we we await our turn.

As you can see, Chris and my rides were not nearly so eventful as others, about which I only complain in public.