COWBIKING
In 1979 I took Mary Kay to see “The Electric Horseman” with Robert Redford and Jane Fonda. It was our last year in St. Louis where I was Chief Resident in a demanding urology program. Even though the movie was mediocre, the Willie Nelson song that played with the credits has stuck with me to this day.
Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys
Don't let 'em pick guitars or drive them old trucks
Let 'em be doctors and lawyers and such
Willie’s advice helped me stay the course and become a fat little urologist with rubber shoes. Those verses reflected the way I raised my family and encouraged them to pursue the best post-graduate education possible. This plan worked really well until I went mountain biking in Harriman Park with my son-in-law, Sam, a lawyer from Utah. We could have re-written the words and saved ourselves some excitement.
Mamas, don’t let your lawyers and doctors be cowboys
Don’t let ‘em herd cows and say things like “shucks”
Let ‘em file briefs, deliver babies and such
When Sam and I went to Harriman Park, mountain biking, we didn’t set out to be cowboys. We went to pedal up Heart Attack Hill on our way to go around Golden Lake. We wanted a day in the fresh mountain air, away from rubber gloves and meetings. We wanted to have a vigorous ride and rest on the wooden bridge going over Thurman Creek and have nothing better to do than contemplate our navels and tell a few stories. As we started out, cows were not included in our strategic plan.
Even though we wisely chose Coronary Bypass over Heart Attack Hill, we were still regaining our stamina as we rode Ridge Trail down across the meadow leading to Golden Lake. The herd of 40-50 Black Angus steers grazing on the other side of the meadow took notice. A few of them started toward us and we pedaled faster. The faster we pedaled, the faster they came toward us until the whole thundering herd was stampeding. For no apparent reason, tons of beef that a few moments earlier were placidly grazing suddenly turned and charged. They seemed to be intensely focused on our utter destruction. Being bold men of courage, we looked at each other and screamed like little girls. When our activated adrenal hormones kicked in, we became turbo-charged and managed to pedal up the hill on the other side of the meadow — just ahead of the mad cows. As we crested, we saw over our shoulders that only a few of the cows had come partway up the hill before stopping — the rest of the herd stayed in the meadow under a great cloud of settling dust. We watched them for a moment and it looked as if the cows were suddenly confused as to why they had been chasing us. If you think the cows were confused, imagine how we felt.
Sam crested the hill ahead of me. As we stopped to catch our breath, he told me that we had both done a good job of getting away from the stampeding Angus herd. I told him that I almost kept up with him, despite being nearly twice his age. Sam confessed to thinking that he figured that he only had to go fast enough to stay ahead of me. This week, my friend, Blair, who has been around cows all of his life, told me that the cows were not actually chasing us or stampeding and would have stopped if we had — not something that they teach you in law or medical school. My dreams occasionally take me back to that afternoon where I am biking with Sam in Harriman Park. We are being chased up the hill by 50 tons of stampeding Angus. Suddenly, it is dark and I am in bed--Mary Kay is shaking my shoulder and wants to know why I am screaming like a little girl.
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