There's something about the male genetic makeup — some indiscernible facet not able to be scientifically identified — that causes us to, on occasion, risk life and limb to be...well...manly. I'm not talking about avoiding the sharp corners of a tortilla chip while scooping salsa and watching the latest NBA game, I'm talking a little more uninhibited. This past weekend I made the trek down to northern Arizona for a little R&R at our family reunion and subsequent jaunt over to Snowflake for the coveted Pioneer Day celebration. True to form, the rodeo called my name and as a highly unqualified city boy, I entered myself into the rodeo with my two cousins to compete in the grocery race. Our number was called and...well, I won't give away the rest — just watch and note the Avatar-like union between man and beast.
