Michael's ME-anderings, 2012: POST #15 -- The Famous Preston Night Rodeo

Just before sundown...

It's the Famous Preston Night Rodeo. "Famous?" you say? Well, it may not seem that famous to you. Chances are you've never heard of it. Chances are, you've never heard of Preston (pop. 5,214 in southeastern Idaho.) But the locals take great pride in their rodeo. And they should. It's a really, really good one. It's famous for two reasons: foremost, because it was the first rodeo in the country -- 70 years ago -- to schedule events at night in a lighted arena. And second, because it attracts most of the best cowboys in the PRCA due to its $40,000 purse and its scheduling and logistical proximity to the (truly famous) Cheyenne Frontier Days, "the world's largest outdoor rodeo and western celebration."

Preston is a mere 30 miles north of Logan, UT, the closest 'big city.' So I headed up Hwy 91 out of Logan on a hot Friday evening to attend the 2nd night of Preston's 3-night rodeo. When I got to town, I saw that the highway was lined thick with pick-ups, people and folding camp chairs, all awaiting... what? Yup. The big pre-rodeo calvalcade up Main Street. I immediately pulled the '02 over to the curb and got out to take my take my place by the side of the road... just moments before a couple of 'we-mean-business' sheriff's deputies straddled their flashing-light cruisers across the highway, re-directing traffic onto side streets.

Kevin & Gailey

In fact, I had parked right on the parade route. But hey. No problem. Plenty of other vehicles had done likewise. It's just that every other vehicle in sight was Enormous and Made in America. I'm certain that more than just a few curious onlookers imagined that my very odd, very little, very old, very German car must certainly have been some sort of parade prop. I was sorely tempted to confirm their suspicions by popping the trunk, extracting my Clown Bike, and peddling haphazardly up and down the double center line while grinning foolishly, waving wildly, and loudly singing Michael's Own Medley of crowd-pleasing cowboy ballads. Fortunately, I realized that I knew no cowboy ballads -- never mind that I can't sing -- so I simply stepped back, took a breath and looked around. That's when I spotted Kevin and Gailey sitting in their pick-up. They had parked atop the asphalt strip in front of an abandoned store front. I smiled and strolled over to Kevin's open window. I knew I'd found a couple of new friends... and a wealth of information and insights into all things Preston.

I greeted Kevin with a gentle, "Hey." He responded with a warm, "Howdy." Right. Cultures now converging. "Can you tell me what direction the parade will be coming from?" I asked. That's all it took. We talked about the parade and its participants, many of whom they knew. We talked about the town and the surrounds. Kevin & Gailey are dry-land farmers, living five miles back into the hills... but they're life-long residents to the area. "High school sweethearts?" I asked. "No," Gaily said emphatically. "Kevin was two years ahead of me, and we didn't start dating 'til his senior year." Hmmm. Small town Idaho must assign some pretty narrow definitions to high school romance.
We talked about farming and farm equipment, the dry summer, and the price of corn and hogs at auction. Kevin was friendly and forthcoming. A good thing. He did most of the talking, and I was able to veil my agri-ignorance with an earnest expression, an occasional not-too-stupid question and a lot of 'uh-huh-ing'.

Stars & Stripes & Smiling Cowgirls

Then, just as I was reaching the outer limit of my cow-town conversational competence, the parade came into view. It was led by a mounted honor troop of flag-carrying cowgirls. Then followed the Preston Grand Marshal, the very beautiful Rodeo Queen and her not very beautiful court, and a fabulously funky procession of livestock, tractors, floats, fire engines, 4-H, and yes -- of course -- the Preston High School Marching Band.

The parade ended with, well..., I don't know what it ended with. Because the last official participant in the parade -- a big white SUV sporting colorful crepe-paper streamers and the door-side decal of a local real estate broker -- was followed seamlessly by a long line of other big, slow-moving vehicles that had no streamers and no door decals. They were just folks heading up the highway to the rodeo grounds about a half-mile away. I followed them on foot and arrived at the fairgrounds faced with a daunting dilema. Buy a ticket? Get some food? Wander the Carnival Fun Zone? I decided to do all three. It was obvious that the carnival was delivering big-time fun for young and old. The Lions Club cheeseburger was a gorgeous greasy gastronomical glob. And my rodeo ticket... well, as luck would have it, I ended up with a really good seat.

Any solo traveler can tell you that there are risks and rewards that come from being a solitary stranger. Ticket-buying can be very rewarding, as good single seats are often still available after all the good sit-together seats have long since been snatched up. I was thinking about this while waiting in the ticket line. And that's when I was noticed by the perky, attractive woman who was managing the ticket booth. She could see I was on my own, so she side-stepped her ticket-sellers to make sure I would have what she described as "the best seat in the rodeo." Thank you, ma'am. In fact, she'd gotten me a terrific seat, right in the center of the west side of the arena, with the glare of the setting sun to my back. And, oh golly, wha'dya know? ... as the rodeo started, who should plunk down in the seat right next to me, but the woman managing the ticket booth. Oh-kaay... !

the longest 8 seconds in the world

'Twas a great night at the rodeo. Cowboys, clowns, queens, patriotism and every major rodeo event -- saddle broncs, bareback broncs, calf wrestling, team roping, barrel racing, and bull riding.

"Give that cowboy a hand, ladies & gentlemen."

The folksy farm-centric banter of the rodeo announcer was entertainment unto itself. And between the marquee events there was even a trick riding display and a Mutton-Busting competition (kids blasting out of the chutes on the backs of fast-running sheep, desperately hanging on for a wild ride against the clock.)

Just before the final event was over, I said my farewell to the rodeo and to my seat mate, and I was able to arrive back at my Logan campus lodgings before midnight, already thinking about my next-day's 100-mile drive to Park City to meet up for more hiking with friends Larry & Sheila (see Post #10.)