Kyle Putman says the difference between bull riding and bareback bronc riding is the difference between "getting shot from a cannon" vs. "jumping out of an airplane."
It hurts either way, said the Minnesota man, who broke his neck in 2001 after tumbling from a bronco galloping at 35 mph.
Thankfully for Putman, he spent Saturday a safe distance from the feisty animals, taking dutiful notes in the shade as a rodeo judge.
But there was no shortage of bone-crunching moments at the Sierra Stampede, the eighth annual gay rodeo in Rio Linda.
Angry bulls show no mercy, whatever your orientation.
A record crowd turned out for the event, which has been sanctioned by the International Gay Rodeo Association, meaning winners could qualify for national finals in Denver in October.
Gay rodeos have been a growing tradition since the early 1980s, organizers said, aspiring to preserve Western heritage while promoting a positive image of the gay community and raising money for charity.
But for most people who filled the stands Saturday, the event was simply a chance to hitch up some Wranglers, crank up the Garth Brooks and have a good time.
"We're here to rodeo," said organizer Rob Pierce, from underneath his cowboy hat.
The event's traditional competitions included barrel races, bull riding and "chute dogging," which resembles steer wrestling.
But being that this was a gay rodeo, Piece said there were "a few twists."
For example, the Stampede featured an event called "goat dressing," which was, basically, two people trying to put underwear on a goat.
Then there was the very popular "Wild Drag Race," which involved two teammates trying to lead a steer across a finish line, while a third person, dressed in drag, straddled the steer.
For all the antics, some serious competition took place.
Helmets and body-padding weren't required, but they were a good idea.
Bull riding used to be more popular during the early days of gay rodeos, organizers said, but all the injuries scared people away.
Not Sara Simunovich, a petite 28-year-old cowgirl from San Francisco whom competitors describe as "tough as hell."
Simunovich estimates she is one of perhaps seven or eight female bull riders in the country, gay or straight.
She's only been at it two years, having grown up in Arkansas, where rodeo was virtually unheard of.
"I wouldn't be caught dead in a cowboy hat back there," she said. "There were already enough reasons for me to get beat up."
Now she spends a good share of her summer at rodeos across the country.
Already this year, a bull has stomped on her knee at a rodeo in San Diego.
"I got up on one leg and realized the other one wasn't working," she said.
And she won first place at a rodeo in Palm Springs, donning the shiny golden belt buckle Saturday to prove it.
The trick to bull riding, she said, is, "You've got to get past the point where you think, 'I can die.' "
"It's like dancing," she continued. "The bull leads, and you follow."
Then the rodeo announcer called her name.
The bull bucked out of the chute. She hung on, and the crowd roared.
Call The Bee's Todd Milbourn, (916) 321-1063.
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