Happy 32 to DKP! Here is another semi-authorized excerpt from his ride along and across the Great Divide:
July 21, 2018, Upper Gunnison Basin
….There was a herd of cows spread out along the seven-or-so mile ride down Cochetopa creek. I worked with Hondo to move them out of the way only when it was necessary. Otherwise we practiced restraint. Chasing cows makes his day. It’s incredible how strong his instincts are. He doesn’t know many commands, and his tendency is to go in front of the animals rather than to push them from behind, but I’m proud that he responds as well has he does to the few commands that he does know. I don’t have to yell, because he listens and reacts quickly. All of this, of course, convinced the passing hikers that these were my cows and that I was the cowboy. An older fellow said hello but through a clenched jaw as if he wanted to complain about the cow shit on the trail but then thought better of making a scene with a young cowboy out in the middle of nowhere. I chuckled to myself as I rode away. …. People love cowboys. The mythic hero of the West - dangerous, chivalrous, handsome. Mostly a figment of western novels, written by eastern writers with nothing to say about cows, but plenty to say about guns and horses and showgirls. The truth is that real cowboys work cows, and cattle work is as unglamorous as it is hard. Long hours, little pay, lonely and rough. Yet somehow cowboys have emerged as the quintessential western character. As I rode by one hiker he said he felt like he was in a John Wayne movie. I had to laugh as I kept riding, not having a witty response ready for a comment like that; but the farther I rode and the more people who asked to take my picture, the more I began to think about the connections between this trip and my own fascination with the mythic hero of the west. I realized that this trip is, in part, about my own desire to be that hero. It is the way in which I could play the part while being an overly-educated person in the modern era. Cattle work doesn’t pay enough anyway, and I’d get bored chasing someone else’s cows around all day. My infatuation with cowboys started from before I can remember. My mom tells me that I would insist on wearing cowboy boots even in the snow, despite the inherent difficulty of walking on slippery soles. She also says that I would insist on putting my pants on before my shirt. I thought that’s how cowboys dressed.
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Happy 32 to DKP! Here is another semi-authorized excerpt from his ride along and across the Great Divide:
July 21, 2018, Upper Gunnison Basin
….There was a herd of cows spread out along the seven-or-so mile ride down Cochetopa creek. I worked with Hondo to move them out of the way only when it was necessary. Otherwise we practiced restraint. Chasing cows makes his day. It’s incredible how strong his instincts are. He doesn’t know many commands, and his tendency is to go in front of the animals rather than to push them from behind, but I’m proud that he responds as well has he does to the few commands that he does know. I don’t have to yell, because he listens and reacts quickly.
All of this, of course, convinced the passing hikers that these were my cows and that I was the cowboy. An older fellow said hello but through a clenched jaw as if he wanted to complain about the cow shit on the trail but then thought better of making a scene with a young cowboy out in the middle of nowhere. I chuckled to myself as I rode away.
…. People love cowboys. The mythic hero of the West - dangerous, chivalrous, handsome. Mostly a figment of western novels, written by eastern writers with nothing to say about cows, but plenty to say about guns and horses and showgirls. The truth is that real cowboys work cows, and cattle work is as unglamorous as it is hard. Long hours, little pay, lonely and rough.
Yet somehow cowboys have emerged as the quintessential western character. As I rode by one hiker he said he felt like he was in a John Wayne movie. I had to laugh as I kept riding, not having a witty response ready for a comment like that; but the farther I rode and the more people who asked to take my picture, the more I began to think about the connections between this trip and my own fascination with the mythic hero of the west. I realized that this trip is, in part, about my own desire to be that hero. It is the way in which I could play the part while being an overly-educated person in the modern era. Cattle work doesn’t pay enough anyway, and I’d get bored chasing someone else’s cows around all day.
My infatuation with cowboys started from before I can remember. My mom tells me that I would insist on wearing cowboy boots even in the snow, despite the inherent difficulty of walking on slippery soles. She also says that I would insist on putting my pants on before my shirt. I thought that’s how cowboys dressed.
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