City Folk at the Rodeo

Unlike my own parents, my best friend Harve’s parents were always traveling. Luckily for me, Harve and her siblings were allowed to bring a guest on most of these outings. And since she and I were almost scarily inseparable, I could guarantee myself a spot.

One of the yearly outings was to a place called the Cowtown Rodeo.

No, I’m not joking.

COWTOWN RODEO. Located in NEW JERSEY.
{I’ll wait while you digest that.}

It is a little over two hours away but when we were in the back of their minivan/Le Sabre listening to “Car Talk,” it felt like eons.

The first thing we’d do when we arrived was stop and pick up our tickets (so as to avoid the craziness of the line immediately before the rodeo) and set up seats on the bleachers. We’d tie blankets or trashbags to save our seats for later (kids were the first bench right up front, the adults were the last bench right in the back).

Then…it was on to mass chaos — the flea market.

Now, for 10-year-old girls, this was the greatest thing ever. Our parents would give us $10 or $20 and say, “Go. Have fun.” We bought bulk sour watermelons. Glittery purses. A doll that talked and cried (and never seemed to quiet down — I’m talking to you, Harve). There were people haggling, a giant pair of underpants hanging over the $1 underpants bins, cowboy hats, cowboy belt buckles, and the jeans! Enough Lee and Wrangler jeans to outfit everyone in the place.

It was hot. It was loud. And I loved it.

The crowning glory of the flea market was their rotisserie chicken with seasoned potatoes. Every year Harve’s parents would buy it and Mrs. H would pull all the chicken off the bone and cut all the potatoes in half so we’d have enough to go around. It was smokey, peppery, salty, it was red-orange and is kind of giving me a food boner just thinking about it.

Once we’d feast, we’d check in at our hotel and swim for a few hours until getting dressed and heading to the main event: The Rodeo.

As I mentioned, the kids (me, Harve, Harve’s brother and guest, and for a while Harve’s cousins) sat right in front next to the chainlink fence. The appeal of sitting so close was that when broncos would buck or bulls would crash into the fence, you’d be showered with dirt. This was exciting stuff.

At the Cowtown Rodeo, they also have a band: Dave and the Wranglers. These guys have been around as long as I can remember and they play the same tunes every Saturday night — ber der der DING DINGA DING DING, DING DINGA DING DING. It’s hokey, it’s southern, and I wouldn’t change it a bit.
Like all rodeos, they have rodeo clowns who serve a dual purpose:

1. To keep the cowboys safe. 
2. To entertain the crowd with corny banter with the MC.

One year, they asked for volunteers to play a game before the rodeo started. Harve and I were terrified of being noticed, but her brother wasn’t and got picked along with 2 others.

With all eyes on them, the three contestants were blindfolded.

But wait, the rodeo clowns had sneakily dismissed the other contestants, leaving just Harve’s brother wearing a bandana in the middle of the arena. Why him? In his Izod golf shirt, pleated khakis, and loafers, this kid clearly was not one of the locals and stuck out like a…preppie at a rodeo.

And that’s when the real fun started. They had him eat a banana as fast as he could while dancing a jig in a circle. Thinking he was competing for a prize, his antics were as exaggerated as possible — high jumps, clicking his loafers together, the banana hurriedly chomped and chewed.

After a few minutes of this, with the entire crowd laughing, they had Harve’s brother remove his blindfold to reveal that he had in fact been competing against himself for the enjoyment of the entire rodeo audience.

A good sport, he laughed and rejoined us for the rest of the show, happy to have been literally at the center of everyone’s attention for a few minutes. What did he win? Probably just dirt in his loafers and a few fun memories.