A couple weeks ago, near the end of a long return trip from Seattle, I saw the strangest thing. I was traveling through the Kettle River Range and as I was passing this large ranch, I caught a glimpse of a small family cemetery plot.
I have no idea how many folks rest in that plot and I suppose it’s not all that important. But what is significant is that the plot is smack dab in the middle of a barrel racing arena.
No lie.
Complete with trellis, a little garden and a white picket fence.
And of course a barrel racing course.
Oh and don’t forget the fragrant aroma of horse and cow manure.
I admit that this scene completely diverted and captured my attention for miles. I nearly went back to get a picture of this oddity. I still might.
I pondered what would ever possess a family to do such a thing? I mean not many people get to have a family plot these days anyway, so why would you site such a luxury in an outdoor horse arena? Hatred for the deceased? Revenge? A really bad marriage?
Or maybe those dearly departed souls were true, die-hard (no pun intended-I swear) barrel racing fans?
A friend of mine, Destry Flemming is a very talented former rough stock rider and extraordinary barrel racer. In a story I wrote about him several years ago Destry mentioned that any barrel horse worth pure alfalfa and hot feed should always be “deadly in the alley”. That means fast as hell on the home stretch. Preferably earning a time under 15.09.
Yet in this context such a catch phrase takes on a whole new meaning.
Especially when Deadly in the Alley also includes a home-stretch obstacle housing the remains of those whom most assume that once buried, intended to rest in peace. Not spend eternity trampled to pieces.
Still I am not convinced that getting ones six-feet-under, ticket-to-ride below three barrels of the fastest times in all of rodeodom is all that bad a way to spend the ever after. Many guys would give their eye teeth for the priviledge of forever getting trampled by pretty ladies. At least in my circle of friends.
Think about it.
Say for arguments sake that on this side of heaven you were a total fan of fast times, fast horses, and really fast women-ladies with an attitude who could sit light speed rides with the best of ‘em-. Say you never missed a country fair, rodeo, or gaming event where all those gals truly defined deadly in the alley and literally took your breath away. Say you loved beautiful horses all your life.
So now that your soul's long gone, why wouldn’t your flesh want to bask as close to the action for as long as any sense of your former self remained?
And how heroic wouldn’t you just be knowing that your bad self, lying there forever in state, inches from all those flying hooves, didn’t just inspire sharper turns, quicker times, and more than a few of them pretty ladies to loose their fear of the here after.
I didn’t see any serious signs of major wrecks in the plot. I didn’t see any fresh ambulance tracks. So maybe, just maybe, these days the girls who have the fastest times also have the ghost riders running alongside them for encouragement. Ghosts that are Hootin and hollering and scaring those barrel racers toward new world records, "best of" placings, and lots of heaven's glory.
I bet that more than a few Cowgirls have this secret weapon. They're the ones who are well schooled at chasing the future right alongside the past as they race around those cans-And, in the process, demonstrating a whole new take on what it truly means to be deadly in the alley.
Now that's a way of living that's truly deserving a big shiny gold buckle.
The story Deadly in the Alley can be found here:
http://www.highmountainranch.com/SomeDay/Ch6.shtml
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