Mayfly Melodies

Eleven

Noah

Bull riding is probably the most dangerous sport in the world in terms of head injuries—Jonathan Gottschall

Noah never forgot the first time he'd gotten injured from bull riding.

He'd started on the bulls when he was young, getting onto his first calf at the age of seven. Even at that age, Noah had been bigger than the other kids and he'd learned quickly. By nine, he was on the steers. His dad had kept him there awhile, even though Noah had thought he could handle the larger, more dangerous, animals. While many of the other dad's had pushed to get their kids onto the born-to-buck type bulls by thirteen, hoping to give their kids an edge on the competition, Noah's dad had held off a little longer, waiting until he was sure that Noah could handle the challenge. He'd kept him waiting until he was fifteen before he'd let his son get onto his first bull.

It didn't mean that Noah was underprepared for it. He and his dad had once strung up a large, cylindrical metal container with rope and secured it to different corners of the inside of the barn. When you pulled on a rope, the container moved and they'd used this to practice. Noah had gotten the handle on staying secure on a something that was easy to slip off of and when he did fall, he didn't have to worry about a hoof stomping down on his face.

But all the training in the world could never have prepared him for the real thing.

He'd been seventeen, entered into the junior rodeo, the first time he'd gotten injured. He was competing with the seniors and, with the age bracket that went from sixteen to nineteen, he was among the younger class of the competitors in the class. He remembered being intimidated by the older riders and fighting to keep his expression calm so he didn't show it.

It wasn't his first rodeo. He'd entered in many others before, but it was only his fourth bull riding event. Before, he'd always entered in team roping with Ethan or steer wrestling. He'd even done the broncs once or twice. A bucking horse had always seemed much less intimidating to Noah than a bull. He never felt the same anxiety when he watched the broncs than he did when watching the bulls. The horses, for the most part, always seemed less wild than the bulls. He could predict the ways that they would move and could prepare for that. He had no such reservations with the bulls. They were like firecrackers. Erratic, violent, and Noah was never entirely certain what they were going to do next.

This was especially true at that junior rodeo in West Georgia. Of the seven guys in front of him, only two had made the eight seconds. Noah had climbed into the chute and positioned himself over the bull. The animal, like Noah, wasn't quite a pro. His buck-off rate wasn't as high as the one's that the real bull rider's rode, the ones in the Professional Bull Riders circuit. But, that didn't mean that it was an easy ride.

He'd heard the announcers calling out his name over the loudspeaker. They'd mentioned his dad, how Noah was the eldest son of the great Hank Hartley, one-time PBR World Champion. They all expected big things from Noah. He'd felt the weight of that pressure on his shoulders as he'd settled onto the bull and nodded, a signal that he was ready to go.

Noah was never quite sure how it happened, but all he knew was that, three-point-two seconds after the bull exploded out of the chute, he was on his back on the ground and there was a pair of hoofs coming down towards him. He'd rolled out of the way, narrowly avoiding a blow to the head, but the bull had caught him on the shoulder. There had been an explosion of pain as his shoulder had popped out of its socket but Noah had enough sense to get to his feet. He'd managed to get up and over the fence without getting hit again.

What was most memorable about the experience wasn't the pain or his mother's tear-stricken face as she'd sat beside him in the hospital. Rather, he remembered the way that, for those three-point-two seconds upon the bull, Noah had felt absolutely and terrifyingly free.