Rodeo Pilot

Ace Manymotors

Back in my younger days, I was a pilot for a few local cowboys as they attempted week-end rodeo marathons. Normally, cowboys on the local rodeo circuit throw their gear in an old car or truck and drive to a rodeo somewhere or maybe two, on their weekend days “off.” Jim Liles and I worked together at Garrett-AiResearch (an aerospace manufacturing and service company). Jim was a long-time cowboy, as was his brother Joe. At the time, their events were limited to bareback bronc riding, although both had competed in many other events as well over the years. Both were in their 40s by then and they were slowing down some; both of them had broken nearly every bone it is possible to break at one time or other. So they did not ride bulls anymore.

At the time I knew them, they were riding in Turquoise-circuit rodeos around the southwest USA. Talking flying with me one day, Jim got the idea that if he could get me to fly him to rodeos, he could maybe hit more than one or two, which would increase his chances of winning somewhere and would make the endeavor more worthwhile. I was game, so Jim and Joe, and usually one other cowboy friend (Norm Bennett, for one) would head out with me on a given weekend and we would plan on hitting three rodeos.

I don’t think we ever managed to get to all three, it just never worked out that way. The plan was that if one of them would win, that guy would pay for the plane. If none won, they'd split the plane's costs and my expenses. I was time-building and considered that my "pay." I was getting flying time for ¼ the normal cost -- a bargain for me.  Getting to watch a lot of rodeo was a bonus as well – I’ve always loved the sport – it’s in my blood.

On one such trip, we got to the Show Low rodeo on Saturday afternoon and the Bloomington, NM “Angel Peak Stampede” that evening. We planned to hit the rodeo at Zuni-Black Rock, NM the next afternoon, before flying home with the winnings. We’d arrive at the airport and Jim would have pre-arranged with someone to pick us up. In Show Low, the cowboys competed and I waited in the stands, anxiously watching the cloudy skies, with fears we’d get socked-in by afternoon thunderstorms and miss our chances in Bloomfield. I don’t remember much about Show Low that day – whether they won or lost – but we did get back to the airport and off to Bloomfield in time.

In Bloomfield, our ride from the airport was the famous bull-fighter Jess Franks. Jess and his wife picked us up at the airport in Farmington in a big boat of a Cadillac convertible, a 1975 Eldorado I think, and along for the ride was his show-partner chimpanzee. I had a full beard and I doubt that chimp had ever seen anyone quite as hairy as me. He watched me suspiciously from the front seat for a few moments, but soon worked his way inch by inch into the back seat where I was sitting -- and into my lap. He had both hands in my beard, stroking it and peering deeply into my eyes. He thought he and I were of like species, I think. I was HIS kind of person and he was VERY interested in me. I liked him too; it was a special moment…

At the Angel Peak Stampede, I had to sit in the stands with the attending crowd, as there were no separate stands for the performers or their families as there sometimes is. Jim, Joe and Norm were all on the other side of the arena, competing in their events. But they wanted to make sure I was accommodated properly – after all, I was their pilot and that made me somewhat of a VIP in their minds. Just about every time there was a break in the action, one of them would trot across the arena and yell up at me where I was sitting in the stands – “Hey Bob! Need anything? You OK? How about a coke or a hot dog?” I was sitting there, in my jeans and sneakers, a t-shirt, baseball hat, and a Brigham Young-style full beard. People were looking at me like “who is this guy?” I looked like the kind of character these cowboys might beat the hell out of down at the bar after the show if they were feeling a bit mean. And these guys were treating me like maybe I owned the arena or the rodeo stock.

After the show, we hit a couple of local nightclubs for a few drinks where the guys tried their luck with the local senoritas, without much luck. So we all head back to the motel. There, I discover that this is definitely a low-budget operation… ONE room, two beds, four or five cowboys and one airplane driver. So that night I shared a bed with one or two cowboys. It was an interesting night. At least they didn’t wear their spurs in bed.

The next day’s flight to Zuni-Black Rock wasn’t possible, probably because of weather. Low-level flying in the inter-mountain west isn’t always advisable on summer afternoons – the mountain-sides and canyons around here are littered with the remains of flying machines who ignored that truth, not only because of stormy mountain weather but also hot, thin high-altitude air isn’t conducive to adequate engine power or good, strong lift. 

I never knowingly let “get-there-itis” get in the way of a safe arrival for me and my passengers. I was overly-careful in that regard, perhaps, but I am still alive. Many are not and I can name some of them, they were friends. Mistakes in aviation are inherently unforgiving and often fatal. The ground is hard. When I made mistakes, I was always lucky enough to survive them. There were more than a couple and that leads to a certain amount of humility in any person who can think.

On another trip, the guys had me take them to Monticello, Utah and the later plan was Albuquerque, for one. We left Phoenix for Monticello and along the way over-flew the Mount Elden fire at Flagstaff. Today, the bare slopes of that mountain are evidence of that fire’s destructive effects some 35 years ago. Before that day, it had been a pine-forest clad mountain.

At Monticello’s rodeo, Jim was hanging around socializing with friends and other competitors after their riding for the day was done. I was sitting in the stands worrying about the lowering, darkening skies. So Joe went down to the announcer’s stand and had Jim paged – we didn’t know exactly where he’d run off to. The rodeo announcer blares out to the whole arena that “Jim Liles, your pilot is looking for you and if you want to make Albuquerque, the time to fly is now.” Jim got hoo-rahed for that one – most cowboys get to the rodeo by driving all night in old rattletrap pick-ups and these guys had a pilot (and an airplane)?

We didn’t make it of course. As soon as I checked on the weather along the route to Albuquerque, it was obvious we couldn’t make the trip that afternoon or evening. So we got a cheap motel room, had supper and then holed up with a bottle of cheap bourbon. Next morning, our only possibility was to head south for Phoenix – Albuquerque was still out of the question. So we loaded up the little airplane and took off for home.

We didn’t get fifty miles. Just after passing over Blanding, while headed toward the “light,” I decided the path ahead was no-go. Whipping that little Grumman around to return to Blanding, I discovered (to my horror) that the storm front was about to engulf us from behind as well, like two big pincers. I hadn't been looking back that way; and that storm was about to give us all a big “hug.” I got that aircraft safely on the ground at Blanding about 30 seconds or so before that storm and its winds hit the field. That was one aviation experience that taught me what real-world no-go weather for a light plane looks like.

We tied the aircraft down snug and safe, borrowed the airport manager’s car and went to town for breakfast while we waited for the storm to pass. That probably took about an hour – just long enough for us to eat. When we got back to the airport the sky to the south looked pretty good. So we took off, and flew down across Monument Valley and Lake Powell; we were surrounded by fluffy white cumulus clouds all the way to Flagstaff. The air was smooth as glass (which is really unusual around fluffy cumulus clouds) and I banked that little four-seater back and forth around and among those clouds in a serene dance as we flew south through some of the most spectacular scenery in the country. It was one of the prettiest, most glorious flights I ever experienced, and in the fabled calm after a storm.



The lovely Grumman AA5B Tiger