It’s a lot like any other rodeo, on an August
weekend in a fairground arena as folks hide out from the monsoon
rains. Friday-night cowboys with mustaches stroll past women
wearing baggy-in-the-seat jeans and plaid flannel shirts. Tall men
with big hats hug one another, catch up on circuit gossip, and
check out newcomers. Pungent blasts of cigarette smoke interrupt
the sweet smell of manure; the riders down Miller Lite in plastic
cups. They’ve all come to the Bernalillo County
Sheriff’s Posse Arena to watch or ride in the New Mexico Gay
Rodeo Association’s Zia Rodeo, one of more than 20 gay rodeos
across the country.
“You can’t be a cowboy if
you’re gay. It’s not possible.” Ty, who grew up in
western Nebraska, used to believe that. She started riding horses
when she was 2 and participated in her first rodeo at age 8. When
she was in college, she realized she was gay and dropped out of the
rodeo scene. Then she met someone from the gay rodeo, and found her
way home again. “I was like, ‘Well, hee ha!’ I’ve
been back into it 11 years and I love it.”
She’s
one of the 60 or so cowboys and cowgirls who this weekend will
wrestle 600-pound steers out of the bucking chute, ride broncs
bareback and weave half-ton horses gracefully through a series of
poles. When the national anthem plays, the participants take off
their hats, place them over their pearly buttoned shirts and gaze
reverently at Old Glory.
Just another rodeo, in other
words. But underneath the face paint and behind the bandanas, even
the clowns have GQ skin and smiles. Between twangy country tunes
that bellow over the loudspeakers, a contestant talks in detail
about the outfit Christina Aguilera wore during a recent television
appearance.
Punctuating traditional bronc-busting events
are less common contests: In goat dressing, for example, teams work
together to wrestle Jockey underwear onto a goat chained in the
middle of the arena. Then there’s the wild drag race, where
one cowboy and one cowgirl must hoist a drag queen atop a steer and
guide them across the finish line.
Keenan’s one of
the contestants. A flight attendant by trade, he is tall,
fastidious, and terribly mischievous. When I ask if protesters ever
crash gay rodeos, he replies, “Well, sometimes PETA will show up.”
He’s distracted by the goodies in the registration packet: a
rodeo number, safety pins and a T-shirt, along with condoms and
information about HIV testing. “But sometimes, like in Las Vegas,
they’re just given their own area to protest in.” I pursue
the question: Do anti-gay protesters ever appear? Is there ever a
threat of violence? “Oh, please,” says Jeff from Tucson, listening
in. He points around the tent: “Look at these boys. They know how
to kick ass.”
The author writes from
Albuquerque, N.M., where she wrangles bantam chickens in her
backyard.
This article appeared in the print edition of the magazine with the headline Just another giddyup.
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