08/07/2026
11:09 PM. It's quiet now. No more music on the PA. No more crowds hollering or crazy behind-the-scenes hustle. It's just a mostly-empty lot with a few vans and campers scattered throughout. Horses whinny and the occasional generator kicks in, but other than that, the world becomes small and quiet. Now it's tailgates, cheap beer, and stories that get taller with each re-telling.
"I didn't miss him out tonight - that was a terrible call."
"Remember Ogden that one time?"
"Man, I hope I draw good next week. I need a check bad."
"Maybe I'll become a team roper. Wait, do team ropers get girls?"
"I'm empty here - hand me another."
No one sees these moments. They happen in a v***r, and are gone, but they are nonetheless sacred. Rodeo is a young person's game, and none of us stay young too long. In this moment, and in this quiet, we find our peace. The company of friends, the sharing of conversation, and a place on rodeo's unpredictable road that feels like home. It's a home that is new every night, but under the same stars, we wind ourselves from contestant lot to contestant lot, and gather as rodeo family. Yes, even for a lowly photographer who gets included.
Tomorrow it's another draw. It's another lot. But it's the same thing again, and we wouldn't have it any other way. Somewhere there's someone that hasn't heard the story about that time in Tremonton.
I'm empty here. Hand me another?
