Page 8 of The Pieces We've Lost

colter

My ears pounded with the clapping and screaming of fans in the arena. Reid and I weren’t set to compete until the second week of the rodeo and the days had gone by painfully slow. I ached for the rush of competition, and our time was finally here, whether we were ready or not.

There were five different groups with eight competitors in each, all competing to make it into the semifinals and championship rounds. The first week had consisted of us watching the competition we could potentially see if we moved on and practicing as much as we could without getting fatigued. This time also allowed us to get into a winning mindset. We were in the company of some of the best cowboys in the world.

I lived for this atmosphere, the expectations to perform well and take home prize money rising with every success. Many men crumbled under this kind of pressure. Not me, though. My focus was on one thing—throwing the rope with perfect timing and catching the steer’s hornsso Reid could come behind me and finish the job by roping the legs.

The time to beat this round was six-point-five seconds.

Attainable.

Very doable.

“Ladies and gentlemen, your next team comes from way up north in the Treasure State. We’ve got two young cowboys from Silver Creek, Montana, tonight. Colter Carson and Reid Lawson!” The announcer called out our names. “Let’s give them a big ole Texas welcome, shall we?”

“You ready for this, bud?” I looked over at Reid.

He nodded, but it looked like his nerves were getting to him a little.

If I got nervous, it was generally only for a moment and went away the second I stepped into the arena, but the pressure affected Reid a bit more than me. I was always there to help ground him and keep his mind locked on the task at hand, though.

We guided our horses into the boxes on opposite sides of the chute and backed them up, Reid positioned on the right side and me on the left. My horse, Faster Than a Silver Bullet, aka Bullet, had been with me all throughout college and my professional career. He knew exactly what to do and lived for this as much as I did. Maybe even more.

The worst that could happen during this run would be to break the time barrier and get a ten second penalty. While it wouldn’t put us in last, it sure wouldn’t put us in first. The next worst thing would be to get no time for failing to rope the steer, but that wasn’t going to happen. When Reid and I were on a roll, we were like a well-oiled machine—perfectly in sync, movements smooth as honey.

It had taken a couple years of roping together to develop the type of chemistry we had as header and heeler. When we first started out, Reid was working on his confidence as a freshman roper, even though he was damn good, and I admittedly was a bit arrogant coming off my first season. My former partner and I had made it to the College National Finals Rodeo and placed in the top three for team roping. We could have been first, but my heeler at the time was much slower than Reid.

I took a deep breath and glanced over at Reid to make sure he was ready. I was the one who would give the signal for the steer to be released from the chute. Our timing had to be perfect.

Reid tilted his chin up, letting me know he was ready, so I nodded and the chute opened. The steer ran perfectly straight out of the gate and once it had reached the advantage point, my horse and I took off with Reid following behind a couple moments after. A rush of adrenaline went through me as I swung the rope over my head and focused on the honda, locking in on the perfect timing to throw the rope and legally catch the steer’s horns.

There were three ways you could legally catch a steer’s head: around both horns, around the neck, and a half head, which meant the loop went underneath the horn on one side of the head, either under the chin or neck, and on top of the horn on the other side of the steer’s head.

“There’s Colter Carson on the head,” the announcer chirped in the background.

Once I caught both the steer’s horns, I jerked the slack out of the rope and immediately dallied to restrict the steer’s movement and turn it so Reid had access to rope its legs.

“And we’ve got Reid Lawson on the heels, folks.”

Reidcame behind the steer and expertly roped the hind legs. With ease, we both guided our horses backward to face each other and remove slack from the ropes. That was when the time stopped.

“How about a five-point-seven for the cowboys from Montana?” the announcer called. “Let’s give them a round of applause, shall we, and then we’ll move on to our next event.”

While it wasn’t our fastest run, it was still enough to put us in first place for the round and a great position going into the group championship round the next day.

“Reid, Colt, my boys. What a great run!” Mikey clapped us both on our backs after we had exited the arena.

“Thanks, man.” Reid acknowledged him, but I stayed quiet. I was wondering what he was about to get us into.

“Listen, a bunch of us are going downtown to the bars tonight. You should come with us,” he suggested.

I generally didn’t like to go out the night before a competition. There was too much risk of either a hangover the next day or someone doing something they would regret. With how crowded it would be, I wasn’t sure I was convinced.

Before I could protest, Reid answered for the both of us. “I think that would be fun, right, Colt? Have a little fun. Destress before tomorrow?”

I thought about it for a moment and weighed the options of going out versus doing nothing at the trailer.

“Yeah, all right, let’s do it.” I conceded. What harm would going out do, realistically? Besides, I could make sure I left at a reasonable time.

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