«Are you riding this year as well?” the bearded man looks up at the waitress, as he asks his worn eyes appears from the shadow of his Make America Great Again caps. She smiles and says “Not this year, have to work. But the rest of the gang is going”. I am sitting in a taco bar at my hotel, the sounds from the casino in the next room mixes with the sounds of forks hitting plates. Other than that, there is a weird silence. “Dad is bringing our horses, no rodeo without them”.
I am in Lund, Nevada. A small desert town with a population of 282. Apparently, I arrive in this small city the same day as the yearly rodeo. A happening that gathers almost all of Lund at one event, from the beauty queen to the outcasts, the oldest family members to the youngest. It is almost like being at a big family gathering, everyone knows everyone. The policeman yells to a man walking by: “Andy, don’t drink and drive this year” with a smile on his face. The dry dust lingers in the air together with the question; is he joking or does the drunk man with a beer in his hand usually drive in this condition.
