Even 30 years ago, Fairview, Utah, put on a pretty good rodeo. Gary happened to be mounted and in the arena when the bull ridin’ began. Ike was a big, rough blue-gray Brahmer with horns like petrified cedar and the disposition of a constipated bank examiner.

Ike dislodged his rider with ease, made straight for the 6-foot arena fence and cleared it by two cow lengths. He broke for downtown with Gary hot on his heels.

Ike’s first stop was a garage. The shocked owner saw the big bull gallop by and slide in. Thinking to trap him, he closed the garage door.

Gary had just turned his horse into the driveway when the garage door exploded in a shower of splinters and glass. Ike thundered by him with a good portion of the door skewered to his head.

He ran across the street, scattering lumber, and drove himself between the shavs of a parked pony cart – head first. He picked it up and smashed it into the side of a car.


Gary went to buildin’ a loop as he headed down the street. Ike poked his head in a service station, decided against payin’ a visit, bounced across the next lawn and into a backyard, where a picnic was in progress.

“Don’t anybody move!” screamed Gary as Ike wandered among the frozen relatives, squealing toddlers and potato salad. Gary roped him, but the rope broke when Ike jumped over the neighbor’s privacy fence. Someone threw Gary another rope. He dropped the horn knot over the saddle horn and roped Ike again.

He set his horse. When Ike hit the end of the line, Gary might as well have been chained to a boxcar dropped off the Bay bridge. It jerked him and his saddle up and over the ol’ pony’s withers.

Ike ran across the back porch as Gary and his horse sorta hopped along behind him like they had their pants down around their knees. Ike made a loop around the porch posts, then headed back to the street. The posts tore out with a screech, and the roof collapsed like a hot dog stand closin’ its eyes.

Finally, Gary’s buddies got two more ropes on Ike. They tipped him over on the curb and managed to guide him (as in guided missile), across the road. But not before he kicked in the window and driver’s side door of a curious onlooker who had stopped to gape.

Ike lived to make several more tours. There were some arenas he just didn’t care to stay in.  end mark