Braving the Bulls

Nobody minds a man's risking his life and limb in the pursuit of sport. If only he would not rationalize. The fellow who climbs a Mountain "because it's there" might just as well say," because it's blocking the view." Then there is Bob Wegner, 30, a wiry cowpoke from Ponca City, Okla., who says that he rides 1.500-lb. Brahma bulls "for money."

Last year Wegner won $20,757--enough to make him the world cham pion of bull riding and the proud possessor of a nicely tooled leather and silver saddle (worth $800) awarded in Denver last week. His winnings so far this season total $2,556, more than $1,000 ahead of his closest competitor on the rodeo circuit. But Wegner's traveling expenses alone run to $12,000 a year, and he bets on himself to make ends meet. "I went up to Omak, Wash.," he says, "and this outfit had a bull they said had never been ridden. I bet 'em a thousand bucks that I could ride him. I put up half, and a friend put up the rest. I rode him. I had to. 1 gave 'em a bum check for that $500."

Shot from a Cannon. Compared with a bull rider, a matador is a preferred risk. At least he has a sword. All Wegner has is a rope--wrapped once around the bull's midsection and twice around his own left palm. Jolted into action by spurs or an electric cattle prod, goaded by a buck inducer (a rope tied around its tender parts), a maddened bull will rear, buck and spin--at the rate of two turns a second. To be a hero, all the cowboy has to do is to stay on the bull's back, gripping with his hand and knees, for eight seconds and then bail out. But that can be the longest eight seconds in sport--or the shortest.

Last week, at the National Western Stock Show and Rodeo in Denver, Wegner never even got to count one. The luck of the draw gave him Bull No. 89, a cream-colored crossbreed that had never been successfully ridden. Grasping the rails of the chute, Wegner gingerly eased himself onto the bull's back and began to wrap the rope around his hand. The angry animal chose that instant to leap 4 ft. straight up, 10 ft. forward, and dig its front hooves into the dirt. Wegner flew headfirst over the horns ("like he was shot from a cannon," said one awed spectator), and as he lay gasping in the dirt, the bull ran over his body. Miraculously, he escaped with nothing worse than bruises. Four days later he was back in action, and unlucky enough to draw another never-ridden bull--this time a mammoth Black Angus-Brahma cross. Wegner stuck it out the full 8 sec., but his wild, scrambling ride earned him only 60 out of a possible 100 points.

In Hock to Ride. "Luck is about 80% of bull riding," Wegner says, and he is luckier than most: he has only a smashed vertebra and a broken foot to show for 14 years of competition. Raised on a wheat farm, he got his start breaking horses for local ranchers, quit school after the eleventh grade to wander the rodeo trail. "Lots of times I had to hock my watch to ride." he says. "Once I set out for a rodeo in Sulphur, Okla.. with five gallons of gas from Dad's pump. I didn't have the entry fee, but a woman who owned a dress shop gave me $30 worth of pennies she had collected. I won fourth in bareback and second in bull riding, and paid that woman back with interest."

Wegner now travels in a truck-camper with his blonde wife and two-year-old daughter, plus a twelve-year-old quarterhorse that his wife rides in rodeo barrel races. He logs 80,000 miles a year, visiting a drab procession of small towns, picking up $100 here, $1,000 there, nothing some place else.

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