The Dirt is Flying

The trailer slowly rose to life the morning of Rodeo 2013. Grumbles and groans reverberated through the compartments as everyone roused themselves and began to get ready for the long day ahead. As soon as everyone was awake, we gathered out things, mostly food and beer, and set out.

By this time it was about 10 am. The bright Alabama sun was already shining brightly through the tall pines in the trailer park. James and I drove the truck, with coolers and people crowded into the bed. Soon enough we rounded the corner, and headed down the one way road to the rodeo entrance. Hundreds of pick-ups were lined up along the country road, and they barely inched along, as we edged closer and closer to the chaos we knew was already unfolding in the fields.

We blared country music out, which ultimately was drowned out amongst the other trucks. We watched as rodeogoers walked the long road down the to entrance. A couple of people were out of the trucks, already drinking a morning brew and tossing a football around. Inch by inch. Song after song. We were getting closer.

After almost an hour of watching people walk towards the entrance gates, and slowly crawling our way there ourselves, we approached the great fields. We quickly passed through security and whipped into the huge fields, following the other trucks bounding along the makeshift lanes, through mud holes, with the Alabama dust, the rich smell of charcoal, and classic country music rising up around the us as we went.

Flags were flying, people were everywhere, music was loud, and the sun was already hot. We found our spot and immediately unloaded our canopy and coolers - both, our saving graces for the day.

From that point on it was a whirlwind of cold beers, southern clay, and a beating sun. We walked through the fields, admiring others' truck decorations, outfits, and music. Tossing beers left and right, making new friends, and letting the smell of food grilling urge us onward.

We made our way to the rodeo ring around noon. We watched as time after time the amateurs were tossed off the bucking broncos high into the air. The ropers would then chase the horses or bulls around the ring once or twice, letting them buck dangerously close to the crowds pushing up against the gates, for good measure. We cheered and yelled, drank and threw peanuts.

We watched the rodeo for much of the day, as well as the mechanical bull - which was as much as a spectacle as any. Any time you put girls in bikinis, cut off jeans, and boots on top of a raucous robot operated by fraternity members you are in for a show. And believe me, the fake bulls had just as much attention as the real ones. (Same could be said for the ladies - Bada-Bing!)

After breathing in our fill of kicked up dirt, and drinking up all of our travel beers, we made our way back to the truck to restock. Thank god for the canopy.

We all sat under our bright red canopy, thankful for the shade, sipped fresh beers, and fired up as many hotdogs and brats we could fit on the grill. We shared our wares with the passerby's and admired the ingenuity of some fellow rodeoers who had brought a red neck slip'n'slide, which they supplemented with an air mattress filled with water and baby oil.

We tossed frisbees. We drank. We sunned. Some of us napped. We were about half way through our day, and still had a long evening to go before the concert even started.