Adventurous Legacy

Introspection can sometimes reveal things to you that are so innate you don’t give them conscious thought. Tuning you in to qualities or traits about yourself you’ve never even questioned or considered because they’re so deeply ingrained in the fabric of your being that you’ve never given it a second thought (or even a first thought if we’re being honest). I’ve always credited my husband for introducing me to Jeeps and the Jeep lifestyle, and deservedly so. But as I was trying to draft my brief contributor bio for an article I’d written, it was also my husband who helped me see the origin of my adventurous roots in a way that I’d never really acknowledged before. And the credit for that was due the other man who shaped me into who I am today.

Growing up the daughter of a Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association (PRCA) bulldogger, I don’t remember a time when we weren’t going to a rodeo. The event also known as steer wrestling for those who are unfamiliar with the sport, falls into the timed event category and features a contestant that initially rides out on horseback flanked on the opposite side of the steer by the hazer (another cowboy on horseback who keeps the steer running straight), then dismounts the horse in stride to wrestle the steer to the ground. While there are a few more nuances to it than what I’ve just shared, you get the gist.

This wasn’t my dad’s full-time job. He was a carpenter by trade and worked as a construction superintendent most of his life. He was good at it and largely enjoyed it, but it wasn’t his first passion. So he rodeoed around work, often driving home in the middle of the night just so he could get up and go to work the next day. This probably explains why he was also a man who liked his naps. But he loved the rodeo life and went as often as he could. He didn’t win much, just an occasional go-round and even the average a handful of times but that didn’t deter him. He was still bulldogging at the age of 65, after he’d retired from working.

Many of my more vivid, treasured memories from early childhood revolve around my time with him and what he unsuspectingly taught me about going your own way. Most of the time when we arrived at the rodeo grounds, I’d go with him to enter and get his contestant number. If I couldn’t keep up with his long strides he’d ask me “am I gonna have to pack ya?”. And he usually did, bending down low enough I could climb up on his back. I’d always pin his number on the back of his shirt for good luck. He was a man who believed in luck, whether good or bad, and had both in good measure. We went to a rodeo in Dallas one year when I was pretty young, just the two of us. We stayed in a motel, which I thought was the greatest thing. Then I hung out in the bleachers while he ran in the slack. I’d bet him that he couldn’t beat four flat (a pretty good time of throwing a steer in 4.0 seconds) and then he went and did just that. He showed me.

Rodeo was a part of my life through him, and I still have a great appreciation for that lifestyle. I’m proud that my dad was a cowboy, but I never had any desire to pursue the sport alongside him. Horses were alright but I could take them or leave them. I rarely rode with Daddy and only then when I was little, it just wasn’t my thing. But maybe adventure was. And I was just independent enough – like him – to find my own way of doing it.

Jumping off a moving horse onto a moving animal and throwing it down takes an adventurous spirit, stubbornness, and a will to do just exactly what you want to do. The late, great actor John Wayne (a favorite of both the men in my life) is credited as saying “courage is being scared to death but saddling up anyway.” I always saw this as just a normal part of who Daddy was. I like to think I inherited most of those qualities - good, bad, or otherwise. Once I began to really look, I found there were a lot of parallels in the types of adventure we chose. It’s all about the thrill of facing a challenge, doing your best whether you come out on top or not, and enjoying the company and the atmosphere along the way.

Perhaps my dad had a little of that same wanderlust that drives me. As he became more established in his career, he was in a better position to travel a bit further and enter some larger rodeos like San Antonio, Denver and even Cheyenne. I vaguely remember us going to a rodeo in Colorado and driving the car up Pike’s Peak. I was young enough that I don’t remember much about it, just being in the thin, cold air at the top and a vague notion that perhaps someone had gone over the side. I also remember the time he installed a pool at our house when I was young and had a pile of fill sand stacked up nearby. I’d borrow some hot-wheels cars and make roads up the “mountain”. I didn’t know then that I’d grow up to do just that in real life.

I started out much like he did, local backroads without much thought to conquering the bigger stuff yet. I was just happy to get out on some rough terrain. Then as I became more aware of the opportunities to take my passion to the next level, I began to explore places I hadn’t even dared to dream of going. I would imagine the freedom and the joy I feel in pursuing my adventures are much like what he felt and I’m grateful he passed that on to me.

Daddy never got to go on any Jeep trails with me. I’m not sure he would have enjoyed it, but I like to think he would’ve understood my need and passion for it. While I’d previously never thought of the parallels in our adventurous ways, I understand them better now. Maybe part of his legacy was to encourage me to go out and discover what set my soul on fire and then do it to the best of my ability. Thanks Pop.