Under the Wire

In the past when a cowboy got ready to leave for a rodeo, he loaded old Dobbin in the trailer, crawled into his truck and pulled onto the super slab. Today, nothing really has changed, except for one thing. When he climbs into his truck, we’re talking truck.

The last contestant parking lot I saw could have been easily mistaken for a truck stop. It was not filled with Dodges, GMCs or Fords. Instead there were rows and rows (at least as close as a bunch of cowboys can come to parking in an orderly fashion) of Kenworths, Peterbilts and ... well, I’m not sure what else. All I know is the entire lot looked like a Rip Griffith truck stop during an Eastern Colorado blizzard. There were still a fair amount of diesel duallys scattered here an there. They were hard to see, dwarfed by the big over the road rigs hitched to the portable Super Eights a serious cowboy now calls home.

It’s easy to see why cowboy (and cowgirl) types have switched to the big rig pullers. For one thing, the trailers have gotten so big, bump out living quarters and all, not just any old one ton could pull them.

Actually, I’m kind of proud of my cowboy friends for making the switch to the semi-tractor transportation, Many a serious competitor drives 100,000 miles or more a year chasing the gold. That adds up to a new pickup every year or two, at 60 thousand dollars or more each. Since I’ve always had to finance my pickups six years or more if they’d let me (which the bank never did), it’s not hard to see the problem here. The big rigs are designed to travel millions of miles routinely. My friends are buying a retired over the road rig with a few million miles left in her. For a fraction of the cost of a new pickup, they’re cruising the highways in big rig style. I’m not sure who is teaching these guys how to shift through 18 to 30 gears. Whoever he is, I wouldn’t want his job.

Regarding the truck stop appearing parking lot I referred to earlier, packed with serious over the road power and luxurious creature comfort trailers. This was not a rodeo I had entered. I was just passing by on my way going fishing. I wish I could have entered but I couldn’t. I’m too old. It wasn’t a pro rodeo full of 20-year-old hot shots who can tie a calf faster than I can button one shirt sleeve. Nope, I couldn’t enter this rodeo, packed with over the road rigs and thirty thousand dollar trailers, because … well ... it was a Junior Rodeo. The world is getting kinda strange.