Ceese, Will and Tom are all wearing German football shirts by the time we surface – either national team or club teams. Becks beer is produced from the fridge, and we settle down to a nail-biting match. Germany’s superb performance, however, has us all absolutely enraptured as they coast through to a semi-final against the Netherlands.
After the match, Lesley suggests she drive us out to Folsom Lake (a man-made reservoir that feeds a hydro-electric power plant) for a walk and a swim in the fresh water. Alice and I, Will, Morgan and Nicky the dog pile into the car and before long are strolling around a really pleasant area of parkland with cool clear waters lapping at the shore. Lots of families have brought along barbecue equipment and are setting up gazebos for an afternoon in the sun. We walk around the lake, throwing sticks that Nicky occasionally decides to retrieve from the water, before finding a secluded area of pebble beach where we decide to go for a swim. The water is refreshingly cool on such a hot day, and we happily tread water while Will and Morgan tell us about life at Willamette University.
Before long we head back to the house, where we have lunch and watch the second match of the day. Alice and I, having booked tickets for tonight’s Rodeo, then start to discover the delights we can expect: lots of cowboy hats, flags, rhinestones, yee-ha, horses, cows, sheep, fireworks, high cholesterol food, and beer. We aren’t to be disappointed!
Lesley kindly drives us to arena, or at least close. The roads are congested with hundreds of people heading in to watch the Rodeo. She drops us off a couple of blocks away in order to avoid getting stuck in too much traffic, and we walk the rest of the way: it’s not hard to find with all the other people heading to the same place! At the gate signs reveal that it’s sold out, and disappointed people who came assuming they could buy tickets on the door are phoning their friends to tell them not to bother coming up as they won’t get in. We, too, struggle to get in. The woman checking tickets asks if we’ve had our bags checked yet. Being the honest type, we say we haven’t, which causes us a problem: despite not saying anything on the website or the online ticket, cameras are apparently not allowed in the arena.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to take it back,” says the woman on the gate.
“Back where?” I ask. “Don’t you have a locker system for storage?”
“Nope, just leave it in your car.”
Ah, yes, the assumption that we have a car. Frankly, it’s impossible to get around without one, so we’re incredibly fortunate that Lesley is so kind as to shuttle us around for these first few days. However, she’s headed home and so we don’t have anywhere to store our camera. Trying to explain the situation to the ticket woman is met with blank looks and steadfast refusal to allow us in. She stamps our hands with the entry stamp anyway, but we have to walk back from the gate and work out what to do.
I suggest to Alice that we wait a few minutes, each put on the spare sweaters we’ve brought, swap bags, and try again. We successfully find a route to avoid the woman who had denied us entry, and when asked by someone else if we’ve had our bags checked we of course answer truthfully: yes we have. We didn’t, however, mention that we’d been told it wasn’t allowed in.
Walking quickly to our seats on the concrete stand we find that things are already underway. A denim and leather-clad man is trying to catch a calf and tie its legs together in the fastest time possible. Of the ones we see, only one does it legally as the others all apparently give the calf too-short a head start. It’s good to see the animals get a chance.
Next up is a pair of guys doing the same thing, but this time on horseback. One has to lasso the calf’s neck, and once it starts kicking the other gets the hind legs. They then hold the calf for a few seconds. I guess that if your calf escapes on the ranch this type of thing is handy to know how to do. I doubt many of them do the manual cow-wrestling we’d seen at first.
Other events come and go: riding bucking bulls; riding bucking horses that hadn’t had a saddle on them before; that sort of thing. Between each of these contests a ‘comedy act’ comes on to fill the time, which consists of a 40 year old man who blacked up with boot polish, and his son (who for the whole night I was convinced the old guy came calling ‘Bugger’. It turns out it was ‘Booger’ but with a strong accent.) Their act is pretty slick, but sadly conforms to every Rodeo stereotype we have fixed in our minds – they crack a lot of anti-Obama jokes, criticise California’s (impressive) move to green energy, and of course look like a dated act from the Black And White Minstrel Show. They, do however, come out with a brilliant line: after one of the bull riders falls off and gets trampled by the bull the older guy says, ‘give him a big hand: he’s had his head stamped on by a bull but he’s tought cos he’s an American!’
The highlight of the Rodeo comes in the shape of Mutton Busting. Ever wondered where rodeo riders learn their trade? The answer is as a six year old kid wearing an oversized motorcycle helmet and holding on for dear life to back of a sheep. Few of the kids last for more than a second, but one holds on for nearly 8, all with one of his arms in a cast from falling off a sheep the previous month. He wins the competition easily.
The night closes with a firework and laser show. For a country (and state) reeling from economic collapse, I’m certain a large amount of investment opportunity is exploded in an array of pretty colours and loud bangs. We’re not sure how the poor animals must feel with all this going on. The lasers are projected onto a white sheet hung over the announcer’s box in the rodeo ring; various laser images of stars and stripes, guns, cowboys, space shuttle launches, and the AT&T logo are cycled through again and again.
Leaving the rodeo we find our way on the road back into town. Lesley has kindly offered to pick us up when we call her from her borrowed mobile phone, but the traffic is so dense we think it’s pointless doing so until we’re somewhere clearer. Finding our way to where we watched the cattle drive a couple of days earlier, Will calls just as we’re about to phone. 10 minutes later they’re picking us up and we regale them with our experience.
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