Crash course

Gazette, The (Colorado Springs), Oct 7, 2006 by DAVE PHILIPPS THE GAZETTE

Mamas, if you don't want your babies to grow up to be cowboys, never, ever tell them about the Lyle Sankey Rodeo School.

Lyle Sankey is a champion bull and bronc rider. With a team of other pros, he has been teaching everyone from teenage tough guys to 61-year-old grandmas how to rodeo for 31 years.

His latest three-day school, held in Penrose, drew about 30 aspiring riders from across the country to the first class Friday. Some wanted careers in rodeo. Some just wanted the thrill of saying they'd tried to go eight seconds on the broad back of a thrashing beast.

There was Scott Shirley, a graying public works director from the Chicago suburbs. He had never been on a horse, let alone an angry bull, but had taken his kids to watch the bull riders on the pro tour and figured, "What the hell ?"

There was Colby Carter from Utah, only 16 but riding bulls since 11. In five years, he's broken 15 ribs, an arm, a leg and part of his face. He still limps a little thanks to a bull called Snoop Dog but says injuries are part of the sport. Most of all, you've got to have heart.

And there was Chad Howard, a father of two from Phoenix who wanted to live out a lifelong dream before turning 40 in November.

In Arizona, he's a mounted police officer, so he's used to climbing on the back of a 1,200-pound animal.

"But ours are a little calmer," Howard said as the students gathered Friday morning. "My buddies I work with think I'm nuts."

"Bull riding is like nothing else," said instructor Cliff Katona hours before the students climbed on the bulls. "It's fast. It's furious. It's violent. Look, the best guys in the sport get carried out of the arena on boards. If you're not careful, these bulls will make you cry for Momma."

The students were silent.

"It really all comes down to how much you can deal with pain," Katona said.

He guided them through the details: where to rub sticky rosin on your rope, how to stay squarely balanced over the bull's shoulder and the best way to rake your spurs across his flanks.

Shirley raised his hand.

"Doesn't that just piss the bull off?" he asked.

The teacher paused, as if trying to craft an answer in line with the school's "no stupid questions" policy.

"You want to ensure you get a quality ride," Katona said.

Shirley nodded.

"I'm way out of my element," he said later.

Some of the lessons were strictly rodeo, such as the proper way to put on a stiff, leather riding glove. Other tips seemed to apply beyond the arena.

"Bull riding is all about emotional control," Katona said. "If you can't control your emotions, how are you going to control anything else?"

After lunch, it was time to get on some bulls and find out.

The class donned protective vests and fringed rodeo chaps, and moseyed over to the bucking chute where Katona straddled a glossy black bull.

He paused before reaching down to tie a rope around the bull's chest and looked up. "Y'all have dental insurance, right ?"

Katona went through a dozen safety tips: Always make sure your rope is tight, never dismount when the bull isn't bucking, run for the closest fence as soon as you're off.

Shirley raised his hand.

"Are we really going to remember all this when we're on the bull?"

"Absolutely not," Katona said.

When it was Shirley's turn to climb into the chute, his knees were shaking.

"I hope they gave me a lowend bull. Something gentle," he said.

No such luck. As soon as the gate opened, the bull flung itself out in a twirling fury.

Shirley held on for one, two, three bucks, then sailed backward, landing on his shoulders. As soon as he was down, he was up again, running for the fence.

"What a rush," he said, wiping the dirt and who knows what out of his hair. "I don't know if I'd say I liked it, but now I can say I did it."

Next up was Howard. The policeman's kids, wife and parents cheered from the bleachers. Sweat beaded on his face as he lowered himself onto a big, red bull. He nodded his head and the gate swung open. The ride was a blur -- he couldn't tell how long he held on, but he could sure tell when he came off.

"That ground is hard," he said, spitting dirt out of his mouth. His kids ran over and hugged him.

With two days left in the school, Howard hoped he would gain a little finesse without any lasting injuries.

The number of students generally dwindles as the days go by and casualties rise. All students are required to have health insurance. It's not unusual for them to use it.

Carter, the teenage veteran, was next. He didn't need help tying his rope, and when the gate opened, he rode like a pro: relaxed, but upright, with one hand raised as if waving to the crowd.

Then, just before the eightsecond whistle, his balance dissolved and he hit the ground hard, landing on his bad leg.

He limped away, wiping the dust off his shirt. But in a few minutes, he could no longer stand. Was the leg broken? No one was sure.

His father, a former bronc rider, stood over him.