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The Last Barrel Ride
In 1956 I entertained the idea of becoming a champion barrel horse
rider. Many hours of practice at the rodeo grounds on my palomino Chico
convinced me that I had a chance, so I entered the Hallettsville Youth
Rodeo. My parents, Chico, and I traveled from Jacksonville, Texas, to
Hallettsville for the big event. I had my new embroidered cowgirl suit,
favorite blue and yellow boots, my name stenciled into a new belt with
belt buckle of a bucking horse, new blue felt “Stingray”-style hat, and
blunt rowel spurs: I was ready to win. The small town of Hallettsville
was filled with young competitors for all of the rodeo events. Chico and
I ran the first event and our time qualified for the second round; our
picture was in the paper, but Chico had a swollen ankle the next day. In
order to continue qualifying I borrowed my friend's horse the next
night. Once on this horse, I realized what a well-trained athlete he was
compared to Chico. I backed him into the chute, the flag went down, and
we bolted for the first barrel. He cut too close, I lost one stirrup,
the second barrel was coming up, we hit it; I was off to the side of the
saddle like a trick rider, and instead of heading for the third barrel
in the triangle the horse whirled and headed back to the starting line.
I managed to hang onto the side, but with the horse’s sliding stop I
catapulted forward and landed in front of the bucking chutes where all
the young cowboys were hunkered down--the same cowboys from whom a young
girl would have loved to receive admiring glances. As I lay there, I
noticed that the arena turf was very soft and deep. Perhaps I could dig
my way to China and never be seen again. When I stood up even my boots
were full of dirt, but the crowd applauded and this was the beginning of
the end for my attempt at barrel racing fame.
Sandra Gilstrap
Round Rock, Texas
Published:
November 14,
2005
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