a day at the gay rodeo.
Saturday, 9.22.01
What Gay Cowboys Discuss Over Breakfast
At 9am I'm downstairs for breakfast by Marriott. The cowboy at the next table looked torn out of a Marlboro ad complete with mustache, shirt, jeans, hat, boots, and Bud Lite contestant number clipped to the back of his shirt. He was telling his breakfast companion about various rodeos in the circuit and events he participated in, and then he went on for a while about skydiving. and that's gay cowboy breakfast conversation.
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By 11:30 found my way to the Del Mar Fairgrounds, an outdoor facility designed to host large rodeo events. Through the gates enter a large open space in which one could buy t-shirts, hats, enlist in the San Diego or Los Angeles Police, register to receive information on products and nonprofit organizations, and of course purchase beer and many varieties of meat products. There's a huge barn for two-steppin', enclosed areas for smaller horse riding events, and an outdoor stage that featured a mix of country & western crooners and cowboy bands.
The main stadium and arena were big. I got in early in a front-row box and got the camera ready for rootin' tootin' spectacle. The Grand Entry & Foot Parade was to take place at high noon; earlier that morning the nice drag queen in the elevator told me this was a must-see item. There was one event before the big opening ceremony, and it was memorable too, I tell you what.
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Words can't do Goat Dressing justice. Two goats are taken into the center of the arena and each are tethered to stakes by ten foot ropes fixed at their collars. Two teams of two contestants stand about thirty feet away from the goats. At the whistle all four contestants race towards two alarmed goats. One member of each team tackles the goat and lifts its legs and hindquarters into the air, the other fits a pair of jockey shorts on the goat. Then the other team member drops the goat and both contestants race back to the starting line; best time wins. End result: two neurotic goats clad in jockey shorts, standing in the middle of a dirt arena full of hootin' and hollerin', boot-stompin' cowboys and cowgirls. Is it art?
I was sitting next to a writer, a photographer, and his assistant for The New Yorker. The writer was an interesting guy from Wyoming whose name I didn't catch, and who spent the past few months writing a feature on gay rodeos- so he was full of good information on the subject. For instance... gay rodeo events are a mix of traditional rodeo events like Steer Riding, Calf Roping, and Steer Westling, and the "camp" events which were created for the gay rodeo circuit, like the aforementioned goat-related situation.
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We sat patiently for the next forty minutes or so during The Grand Entry and Foot Parade, which featured a your standard procession of riders on horseback carrying flags representing the USA, Canada, the rainbow flag, the Golden State Gay Rodeo Association, the Greater San Diego chapter of the Golden State Gay Rodeo Association, the other chapters of the Golden State Gay Rodeo Association in succession, and the other member gay rodeo organizations of the International Gay Rodeo Association. Then there were gay, lesbian, and drag dignitaries, thank-yous to the sponsors and to the organizers, the pledge of allegiance, performances of America The Beautiful and Oh Canada, and the ceremony of the Riderless Horse, a tradition borrowed from the US Cavalry that recognizes fallen comerades. Yadda yadda, bring on the art-violence.
After all the people, vehicles, and animals involved in the above cleared the field there was a pause while the dirt was raked by the rodeo zamboni, then the announcer shouted with great enthusiasm "Let's Rodeo!" The audience roared. Boots stamped. I was delighted to learn that 'rodeo' was a verb.
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It was a while before I could watch another horse and rider pop out of the chute without cringing or averting my eyes to some extent. Eventually you get used to the potential for brief extreme violence, and when a second woman was thrown from a rampaging bronc and then kicked in the face, I was already so desensitized to it I didn't cringe nearly as much. The paramedics showed up, did their thing, and a second contestant was packed off to the nearest hospital. Apparently women are banned from participating in professional rodeo so ladies, if you've got that overwhelming hankering to get thrown from a live animal you know where to go.
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Next up Chute Dogging, in which contestants take turns wrestling a five hundred pound steer to the ground. Then came Steer Riding, which is a lot like Bronc Riding, except with bigger, meaner, angrier animals. Steer Decorating involves teams of two tying a ribbon around the tail of steer. Bull Riding is like Bronc or Steer Riding, but with even bigger and nastier animals. This was the last event of the day which was just as well I was leaving for Phoenix in the morning and one day of rodeo is really enough rodeo.
Headed into town to Hamburger Mary's for dinner. This is one of the gay rodeo sponsors so by 6 it was packed with happy chattering cowgays and cowlesbians. A friendly homeless guy found me a parking spot in their small lot. The place was wall to wall cowpeople sitting, eating, standing, drinking. Part restaurant and part club, and really really loud; in fact louder than I generally like my restaurants. But H. Mary's has a great creative menu, which is always a good sign in a restaurant. I had one of the best turkey burgers & fries anywhere, and probably the coolest waitress in San Diego. She's from the Bronx, and when she found out I'm a New Yorker she offered to buy me a drink and gave me a big hug when I left. Of course she wanted to know all about events back home, how was Giuliani dealing with the whole thing, etc.
I popped in next door at Pete's Coffee for quiet hour - coffee and Cormac McCarthy's Border Trilogy, which I read through the trip. I like matching literature with destinations. There's nothing like Anne Rice's Mayfair Witches trilogy in New Orleans and Vonnegut's Breakfast of Champions when you're losing your mind.
Back at the hotel at 9 and the "Stampede Dance Party" was already a couple of hours underway. More of the same stuff as the night before, but no casino. That two-steppin' just doesn't get any less interesting with time though. Sometime before midnight I decided I wasn't cowboy material and went to bed.
