It all started when Drew Landry visited my office one day. He handed me a flyer for his upcoming CD release party as he explained the highlights of the evening. My eyes shot directly to the words as he said them: Mechanical Bull. Now that was going to be really funny, I thought, having a mechanical bull ride at a party in downtown Lafayette.
It had been years since I went to a dance hall that hosted a mechanical bull. Eighteen years to be exact. The last one I had seen was at a big country bar in Dallas in 1986. A Gilley's kind of place. I didn't ride the bull that night in Dallas, but I admired it from various locations around the room. I viewed it from the bar, from the dance floor, from the table where our friends gathered, and eventually I even viewed it up close.
Since I was just out of college, working my first real sales job and trying to act mature with my colleagues who line-danced until the wee hours, the notion of getting on the bull only remotely crossed my mind. It was intriguing yes, but out of the question. Despite owning two pairs of leather and sued cowboy boots, I didn't think of myself as an urban cowgirl. The movie residue was too fresh, the bull too post-trendy. Not to mention that the Texas female riders that night had that brave, blonde cheerleader look and were a tough act to follow. They knew how to ride for show, tossing their heads back with gleaming white smiles and hands waving carelessly in the air. Being the center of attention in that way had an allure, but I didn't have the courage or the look and never let on to my dance hall buddies that I even contemplated what the bull ride would be like. I discreetly wondered about it throughout the night but moved on to other thoughts as soon as we left the dance.
Fast forward.....July 2004. The party flyer ended up sharing space for about a week with a small wedding invitation hanging from a magnetic clip attached to my refrigerator. The pair represented unique opportunities scheduled for the same day, so my weekend social calendar seemed promising. I pulled the flyer down the day before the party to look at it again. Different type fonts were used to list each band that would be playing, and "Mechanical Bull" was mixed right into the entertainment list, like it was just a normal part of a CD release party. Yet I the reader knew, just like the author and most everybody else probably knew, that this was far from normal. This was so Drew. It was a great hook for attracting mild thrill seekers and folksie gen x party-goers.
I arrived at the event fashionably on time, about an hour after the music started.. I walked casually across the parking lot toward the dance hall as the sun was going down. When I spotted the bull my heart jumped a little and I laughed to myself thinking this was going to be an interesting night. A few other people were gathered on the front lawn, but nobody stood near the bull. Nobody was touching the uninflated red canvas mat, let alone walking on it, like it was to an oddity to be avoided. But it was directly in the path to the dance hall sidewalk and entrance so I decided to buck the norm and just walk right across it. What the heck. I realize now it was the beginning of a personal quest to conquer a mild fear, the fear of the bull.
After greetings and hugs to the birthday boy/CD honoree outside on the lawn, I wandered inside to hear the music and have a beer. I needed them both. Unlike the day I had planned to have, it had been a stressful afternoon rearranging Erin's mixed up flights and searching by phone for her missing luggage. The wedding went on sans my attendance, but I managed to make the reception and now the CD party, so things were looking up for my mental health. I sat down on a stool to listen to the band for awhile. Glancing around the audience, I noticed Sarah Spell sitting at the next table and caught her attention. We talked for a few minutes, and a while later went outside to sit on the worn porch steps.
It was a hot, humid summer night and people were moving about slowly. The bull cushion on the ground in front of us was inflated now, and a few people had ventured to ride. We settled in to watch as bold, petite Christiane marched up to the controller's table. She paid, signed the disclaimer paper, then hopped up on the bull's saddle side. Her friend climbed on the other end to face her. Technically, I think her friend was on the front end, but I wasn't really sure. Actually, I had never thought about two people riding at the same time, but it seemed to work for them. There was plenty of room and it was probably more amusing to have a fellow rider. Their voyeuristic natures were perfect for the fun evening mood.
The bull started to rock back and forth slowly as it turned clockwise, then counter-clockwise, then clockwise again. We speculated what it would be like to ride the bull. I had an interest, but not the courage. I didn't want to be the center of attention with an audience, which certainly was the case for anyone riding a mechanical bull at Grant Street on this Saturday night. It seemed too similar to the tilt-a-whirl, with it's slow motion jolts from side to side. The thought was making me nauseous.
Anxiety grew in my body as I swallowed the last of beer number three and Sarah asked me again to ride the bull with her. She showed me her fancy cowgirl boots, and mentioned that she rode horses during her life. I told her about Spring, my assigned horse for equestrian class in college. All the while I continued to wonder....should I ride this pretend bull? Would I look like a fool? Would the controllers keep it slow? Would I break my neck if I fell? What if I had to puke? I barely know Sarah. What if I puked on her?
Acquaintances passed by on the porch as we contemplated the bull riding, and they chimed in with encouragement and even verbal bribes to boost our intent. The question kept coming for the next half hour: Would I ride? Finally I decided. Yes, dammit. I would ride!
With a sudden swell of courage, I stood, Sarah stood, and we walked to the table to sign up for the bull ride. It turned out the controllers had gone to the bathroom so we had to wait a few minutes. Well, we made it to the sign-in table now so there was no turning back. The others had survived. How hard could this be? I told myself I was making too much of it.
The controller's helper returned first and collected our money. We signed the disclaimers, and stood waiting. As we talked with the helper, a mid-20's looking man wearing a ball cap, t-shirt and jeans, I asked where they were from and learned that the bull and the boys resided in Church Point. It was kind of a let down, because I had assumed this mechanical bull came all the way from Texas. Aggies and rodeo riders practice on the bull, I found out. I forgot to ask if the bull had a name, like Buster or Bullwinkle or Buffy or something. We were the only interested riders at the moment, but he assured us that the line would be long before the night ended.
Then the controller returned. I asked him to please keep it slow though Sarah didn't look worried. We climbed onto the cushioned mat and approached the bull. There were two leather handles attached to the center of the light brown fiberglass bull's back. To the right was a quasi-saddle, which I opted to take. I climbed onto the saddle while Sarah climbed on the front end to face me. We were both laughing now. This was crazy, we said. But we were on it and now had important decisions to make, like how should we put our arms in the air? Parade wave style or full fingers extended? The bull started to sway back and forth in a clockwise direction. We looked at each other and just kept laughing. Suddenly, it reversed directions, still swaying back and forth in slow motion. We screamed a little, and waved some more but not to anyone in particular. We thought we were so haha. I felt like I would fall off and didn't quite know what to do with my legs to stabilize myself. So I tried what the other girls had done and wrapped my legs over Sarah's legs. The leg wrap wasn't working either. Was anybody watching? I felt like I was falling off of the bull but the competitive urge to stay on kept growing. This was crazy. We were barely moving.
I had enough after a few minutes and climbed down onto the mat. Sarah climbed onto the saddle side and continued to ride as I wandered off to the steps smiling. I turned back to look at my riding partner who was smiling contentedly and waving her hand in the air. A cowgirl in her element. As I sat down again on the worn steps, I noticed my hands were shaking, my body was quivering and I was starting to sweat. Small physical consequences, I suppose, in comparison to the satisfaction that resulted from the reality that I had conquered the bull. I was proud.
We didn't get much applause for our ride compared to the male riders later that night who dared high speed twists and turns and eventually fell off sideways and headfirst onto the mat. Small bruises appeared the next day on my inner thighs, just above my knees. I guess it was from squeezing the saddle.
The bruises have faded to a light bluish-green skin tone a week later, but the lingering marks offered me suitable inspiration for storytelling about life experiences in Lafayette. Thank you, Drew and Sarah, for leading me to the bull.