S. John Collins / Baker City Herald Zack McVay of Redmond attempts to win the prize during the final round at the Baker City Bull Riding event Saturday evening. He was one of six riders to make the finals.

Behind The Scenes At Baker City’s Bull Riding Event

By La’akea Kaufman

kkaufman@bakercityherald.com

Underneath the announcer’s podium, perched in their respective corners of the dugout, Saturday night’s bull riders are clad in Wranglers.

Behind them, the bulls shove one another restlessly in the pen.

Beyond them are the platforms where the riders will mount the one-ton animals, the gate that will let them into the arena, the audience filing in to cheer them on.

The mood is light, but the riders are silent as they prepare themselves for what they hope will be an eight-second ride.

They are doubled over stretching, cowboy hats bowed forward. They’re spooning gobs of chewing tobacco and spreading it between their gums and their bottom lips. They sip water and stare at the ground.

One man takes to the corner of the stall to relieve himself. Nobody so much as looks his way.

If you’re surprised that there isn’t some kind of elaborate pump-up routine, don’t be. For these riders and this sport, it’s all about mental preparation.

“I’m not thinking about bull riding at all,” said Baker City rider Johnny Owens. “The more I think, the more nervous I get. I’ll just take a couple of breaths, count to eight and exhale and stay where I want to be.”

J.R. Fuller and Landon Koontz stand about five feet apart on the pulpit overlooking the bull pen.

They’re surveying the animals, eyes jumping from bull to bull.

“That’s a lot of hamburger,” said Fuller, a longtime bull rider from Nevada.

Koontz tells him it’s his first rodeo. He says he was really nervous earlier in the day, but he’s feeling better now.

“Everybody gets nervous,” Fuller said. “That’s the nature of the beast.”

Indeed, trying to stay atop an animal roughly five times your size while it’s writhing violently underneath you is enough to make anyone sweat.

The baby powder helps with that.

The riders dump it in their shoes, rub it across their shins and line it on the inner thighs of their chaps to absorb all that perspiration.

They rub their riding ropes with rosin, a sticky, amber residue made from tree sap.

They tape their wrists and thumbs to keep their joints from hyperextending during the romp.

They cinch their belts close to their bodies, some with name-plated belt buckles of past titles won, others with a simple leather string.

“I say a prayer,” said Kyler Braseth of La Grande.

Many of his fellow cowboys do the same, some cupping their ears to drown out the country music blaring from overhead speakers.

Then, it’s 6 p.m. and John Wayne’s voice replaces an old tune about a wagon wheel with his poem, “America, Why I Love Her.”

The cowboys hold their hats over their hearts, and remain standing for the national anthem.

The crescendo of the “Star Spangled Banner” signifies it’s showtime, and the mood immediately shifts in the dugout.

The men clap, hoot out in celebration, some of them jump up and down and beat their chests.

The bulls come funneling through the gate, the cowboys shut them into their assigned stalls and begin harnessing them. Some have help from other cowboys but most accomplish the task alone, straddling the bars on either side of the bull, yanking the rope around the animal’s underbelly.

After he’s done roping up his bull, C.J. Santana stands back, removes his hat, and approaches the bull calmly, his left hand outstretched.

The skin on the top of the animal’s back twitches under his touch for a few seconds, but it soon relaxes. Santana shuts his eyes, his chest rising and falling slowly but visibly, hunched over his bull in silence for a few long moments.

“The best thing to do is to think nothing at all,” Santana said.

In the stall directly to the left, Jory Markiss shifts his weight back and forth, exhaling harshly through gritted teeth. He hits himself in the chest and shakes his head.

“I’m gonna have fun out there,” Markiss said.

See more in Monday’s issue of the Baker City Herald.