An official kind of guy told me that some 10,500 people had breakfast Friday morning in downtown Redding. The annual Asphalt Cowboys Pancake Breakfast was still packed when my late butt got there at 9:15 a.m.
That’s a lot of flapjacks, Jack. Some guy smacks down the second maple syrup on my plate like it’s a deal that I asked. But it’s cool. I probably deserve to be smacked.
What a sea of people. What a slice of Redding.
How does that Budweiser theme go?
And then at night — the Redding Rodeo. Buckle bunnies. Wrangler butts drive me nuts. Steer wrestling. Team roping. A cowboy margarita nearly flopping into your Coors from the box seats.
On the arena floor. I swear, this one bull rider was robbed. Right out of the chute, his bull launches, like, 15 feet in the air. The cowboy stays on. The bull spins, He stays on. We all cheer wildly. He gets something like a 78. What? Is this a popularity contest? This guy’s not in the money? Tough biz.
But I believe a Cottonwood cowboy was leading after Friday’s first rounds in bull riding. Had this been a few years ago, I would have told you his name. Jay something, I think. A few years back, I was in the chutes with the cowboys covering the rodeo for the Searchlight. What a great vantage to watch the event. I was fortunate. But my reporting was messed up sometimes.
I would frantically track down all the leaders in the various disciplines and report them like that’s something Redding readers were hanging on. Did anyone care? Hell, no.
Really, it’s about those massive Budweiser Clydesdales. It’s about those pickup men and bull fighters. It’s about the Redding horse drill team. That group always used to irritate me when I was covering the event because they delayed the rodeo and I’m on a night deadline, right. It was nice to just sit back Friday and watch beautiful horses and the skilled riders and just relax. I’m still covering the event. In a different way, I guess.
Do I point out that the sound of the band by the beer booths was competing with the general PA during the rodeo? Not the band’s fault. I just don’t remember that from years past. Maybe you don’t go to the rodeo and complain how your feng shui’s a little thrown by a conflicting sonic dynamic.
Coors, anyone?
The barrel racing is more exciting than you’d think. Calf roping and steer wrestling — the animals do sort of take a beating. Maybe it’s like “Goodfellas”: “The way I saw it, everybody takes a beating sometimes.”
But I cowboyed up. Heck, I just thought about Lane Frost. Ty Murray. Don Kish. Tuff Hedeman. John Growney. Wolfman. Red Rock. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m just throwing out rodeo names trying to establish some street cred.
Doesn’t Ty Murray dance now?
All the rodeo officials wore pink for breast cancer awareness. An African American president and PRCA officials are wearing pink. That’s what I’m talking about!
I’ll score that one an 89.
And the fun continues tonight. There’ll be some rank bulls. You can bet.
