Ghost Rider

This is my 100th blog post. On blogger, anyway.

I went out for lunch today. There was a woman who kept staring at me. When I was paying at the register, she came up beside me.

"Are you a cowboy?" she asked.

I pulled out my wallet and flipped through some bills. Without looking up I calmly asked, "What's a cowboy?"

"Well it's...do you...um...are you...well I don't know!" she gasped.

Nobody ever knows.

There was an awkward silence. Then the lady at the register pointed to my belt buckle and said, "He's from Texas!"

The woman, apparently satisfied with that definition, said, "Oh!" and smiled. She stood there looking at me a bit longer, apparently just completely amused. I paid, smiled and then bid them both good day.

I didn't have my hat with me. I wasn't wearing anything by Rockmount. Hell I even managed to get all the way through lunch without letting out a rip-roarin' YEEEEEHAWWWW!!!!! I thought I was pretty inconspicuous. Must've been the boots and the belt.

I still don't get it. Not once in 33 years of living in Texas was I ever asked if I was a cowboy, "real" or otherwise. Once there was a guy I came across at a parade in downtown Austin who wanted to fight me just because he thought that that's what men with cowboy hats did, but that was something else altogether.

Of course there were stretches, sometimes several years, when I'd retire the hat and boots to the closet and dress like I'm supposed to - you know, wear the current fashion that everyone else is wearing. One such time was during my last year of college and a couple of years right after. I was sitting in class one day and a professor (who was not a Texan) started raging against cowboys, and especially cowboy hats.

"I don't understand why people still wear those things. It's stupid! Nobody needs to wear a cowboy hat. The Old West is dead and gone!"

Needless to say it pissed me off royally. But it also drove home a thought I'd already been kicking around: that I was about to graduate and become a "professional" and should probably start dressing like a cubicle bunny.

I remember the day I moved to Austin. I was renting a room in College Station and I was so ready to get out of that one horse town. I came home and announced I was leaving. I loaded up my belongings, all of which I fit in my pickup in one trip, and headed for the Big A. I was cruising down that Texas highway wearing a cheap black cowboy hat that never quite fit right (it was all I could afford at the time) with the windows down and Redneck Girl blasting on the stereo. I had stickers of the American flag and the Rebel flag on my bumper, and I was as happy as I could be. I had no job, no home and only one friend in the whole city, but I knew there was opportunity. Life was going to start anew. I ended up crashing on my friend's couch until I got things figured out, and the first thing I did when I got my first paycheck was buy that salad plate-sized belt buckle with the Texas seal on it, the same one the cashier pointed at today. That was over ten years ago.

But I digress. After graduation from college I went to the Men's Wearhouse and bought one pair of slacks, one nice button up, one nice black belt with a very fashionable, ultra-modern tiny silver buckle that didn't actually fasten but instead used friction to keep itself closed (some of the time), and a pair of polished black leather dress shoes with a square toe - apparently a statement that said, "I'm professional, but still laid back." It was just enough to outfit me for job interviews. When I landed my first job I bought a few more pieces, but eventually the slacks gave way to Levis, though I still wore the button ups most of the time.

Side note: I was not wearing my hat the day Professor Anderson went on her anti-cowboy tirade. If fact she'd never even seen me in my hat. It felt like being secretly gay and having to endure some small minded anti-gay ranting. The fool never realized who she was unloading on. And frankly I'm surprised she could get away with that in Texas. It may be true that the "old west" is gone. Even most modern ranchers use pickup trucks, four-wheelers and even helicopters to round up cattle and wild horses because they're just a lot faster, stronger, more dependable and less dangerous than horses. But cowboy hats, aside from being particularly useful and comfortable in snow, rain and harsh sun, are part of the cultural heritage of the United States, particularly the Western states, and most especially Texas where virtually all cattle drives originated and where that greatest of all American icons, the cowboy, was born. Texas, more than any other state, has clung to this cultural heritage and embraced it. It has always had a presence in my life and I have always cherished it. I may not be roaming the plains and roping cattle, but I'm fascinated by the fact and the fantasy of the old west. I have a special place in my heart for Texas and all that she is, good and bad. And I have an obsession with the lands west of the Mississippi and all of the truth and myth contained by this mysterious, rugged and insanely beautiful place.

Soon after college I found myself dissatisfied with the professional life of a cube dweller and started dreaming hardcore about heading west. WAY out west, which is what ultimately brought me to Colorado. And here, surrounded by a serious western wilderness and living so close to my fantasies of a rustic mountain life, it was only a matter of time before the hat and boots made their comeback in my life. I tried dressing like a professional cube bunny at my current job, but most people I work with don't bother with anything other than typical street wear. So I resurrected my Wranglers, my Texas belt buckle and treated myself to a closet full of new Rockmount shirts which I wear pressed and starched. And to top it off, last summer I bought my dream cowboy hat from Texas Hatters, the official hatter for the state of Texas: 100% top-quality beaver felt, hand crafted by a master hatter, perfectly tailored to my head. I toured his shop and he showed me all of his equipment, much of it over 100 years old. He helped me select just the right felt blank that would become my hat. It took him a week to make it, and then it had to be adjusted and readjusted until the fit and shape were exceptional. Then he sewed a natural leather band in it, hand tooled with my name, and fitted it with a custom leather hat band which I designed. I left that shop just as proud as you please. I don't give a rat's ass what anyone else thinks about it. I love it. And now when I go to work I may not look like a cubicle bunny but I'm damn sure dressed better than anyone else. (There is one other guy who wears a cowboy hat - he's a retired rodeo cowboy who, after a series of debilitating injuries, decided that an office job would be better for his health. He also dresses pretty sharp.)

I can't explain it, though I've tried many times. It just feels right. I'm happy when I'm walking in the rain or the snow, wearing that hat and my boots and my coat and looking out across a gorgeous mountain landscape - no one to keep me company but the lonesome howl of a chilly wind. I'm happy when I'm cruising the back roads in my pickup on a gorgeous summer day - windows down, music up and jaw-dropping scenery all around; with nobody to bug me or ask if I'm a cowboy. I'm happy sitting in the tall grass of a Rocky Mountain meadow in Autumn, watching herds of elk bugling among golden aspen groves, with no human close enough to be more than a speck in the distance.

The sad thing is I really don't want to be alone, at least not all the time. I just want to be with people who understand me. But I guess that's asking too much, considering I don't even understand myself half the time.