Never a Wrong Turn (Ever): Greybull and Basin Wyoming 8/7/10

Today we drove 58 miles from Cody to Greybull and camped . You can take one picture of the route and use it over and over again to indicate what the country we drove through was like. It was very dry and barren until we started downhill into Greybull which is in a greener river valley. Then we went to another country called the Big Horn County Fair and Rodeo. This country is in the middle of the United States, but the culture is very different.

The fair was held in Basin, Wyoming. During the day, we saw three music groups perform which all appeared to be extended families singing hillbilly and gospel. I particularly enjoyed one woman in about her eighties bent over with an osteoporosis hump on her back plucking away at a big bass. There was a carnival – it consisted of an blow-up slide and a belt driven cylinder with seats that spun two people upside down at a time, and could be towed by a pick-up. The local 4-H and FFA were healthy and present, with animals of all types, sugar beets, hay and tomatoes. The local ladies showed some amazing quilts.

The fair.

The carnival

Local luxury

belt driven hay baler

music

The animal barns were great!

Who stole the cookie from the cookie jar?

Who me?

Couldn't be!

Then who?

Blackie stole the cookie from the cookie jar?

And I am glad I did!

Who will help me bake some bread?

Not us - we are leaving!

I get my bread provided!

But the rodeo was the best. We learned that the “slack” is the pre-rodeo competition made up of the overflow from the rodeo. When we were in Cody, we had the opportunity to go to the nightly rodeo but didn’t. Everyday an old red Cadillac with big bull horns on the front would drive around announcing the rodeo, but it just seemed too commercial. The Big Horn County Rodeo was anything but commercial. Everybody was dressed for the occasion. We saw short, tall, fat, thin and wide cowboy hats, pink, purple, black, brown, turquoise and green cowboy boots, western shirts of any type imaginable and everybody, young and old, had belt buckles. Even little kids had the complete outfit. The show started with the children riding sheep. The winner hung on to her sheep for dear life and wasn’t letting go for anything! The field was littered with plopped children and sheep were skeedaddling away. Then the royalty came from every county around. Young women, dressed in appropriately wowing cowgirl duds came racing into the arena with their horses cruising at full throttle, waving to the crowd while riding one-handed. And of course every county had a junior rodeo princess too – girls around nine or ten, racing their horses just as fast as the older girls.

Local girls competed in barrel racing and local men competed in bronco and bull riding. We calculated that at least one-third of the bronco and bull riders were injured when the animals said “no thanks” to being ridden. The announcer would tell the dumpees to “walk it off” even when the rider had to be lifted off of the field. The announcer would also tell the injured that they won a tee-shirt for compensation. One family in front of us had advised a young woman on horseback warming up to walk her horse and calm him down. When she started her barrel racing run, her horse got confused and thought he was one of the bucking broncos. She hit the dirt with the wind knocked out of her, but was walking fine when we saw her later. Teams of two, many of them father and son or daughter roped calves which had their horns all wrapped up for protection. Individuals roped calves as well. And after the rodeo, everyone was gathering for the rodeo dance, but we were too pooped to stay. Those cowboy folk just have more get up and go than us.

When I was fifty, I decided to take horse back riding lessons. Better late than never! After a year or so, we bought horses and over the next seven years owned or fostered six horses. As hard as I have tried to improve, I still have to think about every movement on a horse. Watching the rodeo participants was like watching professional ballet. The riders don't even think about what they are doing and riding is as natural (or more natural) as walking. I am not sure whether the riders are extentions of the horses or the other way around, but they move as one organisim with one brain. I think I could ride everyday for the rest of my life and still not acheive the fluidity or ease of this Wyoming ballet.