EXCERPT FROM THE RIDE Short story featured in Icarus Syndrome "We pulled into Rio at high noon, mummifiedby dry heat till another Talon fighter jet streaked in fromnearby Laughlin Air Force Base and startled us back tolife. We came for the annual George Paul Memorial BullRiding challenge--"The Toughest Rough Stock Event inTarnation," according to promotional flyers tacked aroundthe Texas border town. The promo fliers, now collector''sitems, were Lone Star reboots of the Return of Godzillamovie poster--from the 1984 Kaiju ("strange beast")movie--where the scaly monster claws the air, swarmingwith Japanese fighter planes. The Del Rio edition hadswapped out the monster for a fire-breathing Brahma bull,with supersonic talons jetting between its horns. Many champions, past and present, had traveled to DelRio, including the current points leader out of Henrietta,a five-time world all-around champ and the only broncon the circuit to ride each rough stock event: bareback,saddle broncs, and bulls. But we''d come to shoot Jaime"Legs" Maldonado for Telemundo, a Spanish language TVchannel I occasionally worked for in the late 1980s. As the writer on a proposed documentary on Legs(which never came off), I had zero qualifications, havingnever seen a rodeo. My grade-school friend, directorRuben Amaro, filled me in about Legs, Del Rio, and bullriding during the flight from Los Angeles.

Brazilian riderswere climbing the world standings, said Ruben, worriedthe sport was getting outsourced. Diversifying, for sure;but most of this crowd looked "rawhide" (American) allthe way, from the big Stetson "El Presidente" Cowboyhats on their heads, to the warty, hand-tooled, ostrich skin boots on their feet. A dozen busloads of fans had spent the day just overthe border, in Ciudad Acuna, and many had a load onwhen the stadium lights clicked on, heat waves ripplingover the bleachers. A water truck rolled through thearena, dampening the dusty sod, and made a second passwith one hose turned on the stands, where men stoodbare-chested with brown reservoir water washing overthem and into their open mouths and blowing the hats offtheir heads. The announcer, who went by the stage nameof Ferris Irons, shuffled around the arena with a wirelessmicrophone, and over a John Philip Sousa march blaringfrom the PA, in a drawl thick as linseed oil, gave a speechabout "these great U-nited States." Miss Del Rio--a moon-tanned Nefertiti in a stringbikini--cantered into the arena on a haughty palominoand half the crowd leaped up whistling and punching theair. As Miss Del Rio circled, cargo bounding and clutchinga wooden flag pole as ''Ole Glory rippled overhead, thenational anthem sounded over the PA and everybodyremoved their hats, held them over their hearts, and sang.Ferris Irons eased us into prayer and everyone bowedtheir heads as he sanctified the riders, the stock, the fans,Yankee Doodle, Old Mexico, and all of creation.

I glanced behind the corrals at the cowboys limberingup and rosining their gear. Each took a knee, pulled offtheir hats, and closed their eyes. Their faces set likeRodin''s Thinker as Irons, with the solemnity of last rites,bargained with Lord Jesus Christ about "being on thesquare" with the cowboys, and "protecting Our Father''s champions," and a bunch of other blasphemies in this highkitsch theater. Irons said, "Ahhh-Mennn," heavy-metal rock burst overthe PA, and the crowd exploded. Telemundo threw little money at these one-off shows,so we didn''t have a remote video truck with real-timedisplays, meaning the two cameramen were shooting"iso"--in isolation. Since we didn''t have an on-camerahost, once he positioned the cameras to his liking, therewasn''t much for Ruben to direct till the interviews afterthe show. We climbed onto the catwalk above the chute,perched over the last partition and peered down at thefirst cowboy, straddling the steel fence poles beside thefirst bull. The stall could scarcely contain the colossal, slobberingBrahma bull, which snorted and rocked as the cowboyshimmied around on its bare back, trying to find the sweetspot.

The bull hated being mounted and clearly consideredit as an act of domination, made worse by several mencinching a braided rope around its torso, behind thebulbous hump on its neck. On top of this rope was a thonghandle the cowboy clutched with a gloved hand, gummywith rosin. He wrapped the tail of the rope around his"business" hand and yanked it tight enough to pop hisknuckles. Meanwhile three other cowboys pulled a second"bucking rope" around the bull''s belly, close to its furry,pendulous balls, yanking the line so tight the bull startedjumping and jackhammering the stall with its rear hooves,its horned head rearing back fixing to gore the rider on itsback, savage eyes red as the sun. "Coming out with Travis Pettibone on Skoal Psycho!" The guy working the PA cranked the rock track.Travis Pettibone shoved down his hat, gritted his teeth,and nodded. The gate flew open and a ferocious chunkof snorting, bucking, chuck-roast-from-hell explodedfrom the chute. It spun left, kicking its back legs so highit nearly did a handstand, snapping its giant head straightback.

This was no farm animal, but a highly tuned athletein its own right. Travis was all flying limbs, yet hung onsomehow and the crowd went off. Skoal Psycho spun right and yawed into the fence,slamming Travis into a sheet-metal sign for Santiago''sSteakhouse. The bull whirred away and Travis droppedlimp to the ground. The bullfighters'' faces were paintedlike clowns but their job was no joke. One raced up andlured Skoal Psycho toward a guy on a tall black horse, whohazed it to a gate opening to the back corral. The bull shotthrough the breach knowing another guy was waitingback there to ease the rope slip-knotted around its belly. The second the arena cleared, paramedics raced inwith a gurney.

An ambulance with its tailgate open backedto the rear of the arena and they lifted Travis onto thegurney. He sat up and tried to get off, but a bullfightergently pushed him back down. They loaded Travis up, theambulance sped off, and another, lights flashing, backedinto its place. I ran back along the narrow catwalk toward the chute,my sneakers sloshing through pools of inky "tabacca" juicecrooked old rodeo hands kept spewing onto the slats. Jimi Hendrix''s "Astroman" blared over the PA and Irons yelled,"And it''s Cody Lambert on Cajun Moon!" The gate flew open, Cajun Moon rumbled out andjumped completely off the ground, sunfishing--kicking allfours, twisting and rolling--landing like a runaway train.The bull dug in its hooves, snapped its haunches almostvertical and Cody Lambert shot off into the night, landingin a welter of elbows, knees and trampled soot. He musthave wrenched something, but he crabbed to his feet,sprinted to the fence, and clawed up it as the big blackBrahma bull rumbled after. Cody looked safe enough,clinging 15 feet up the chain-link, but Cajun Moon keptsnorting and bucking beneath him, trying to loosen therope throttling its gut.

The bullfighters decoyed CajunMoon around and the man on the black horse drove itback into the corral.".