Page 166 of Broken Trust
The image freezes.
“See how your shoulder drops?”
He squints. “A little.”
“A little is all it takes.”
I grab the laser pointer from the table. “You don’t lose this ride because of the shoulder. You lose it because the shoulder starts a chain reaction. See how your hips follow the drop, causing your weight to shift. Now you’re chasing the spin instead of controlling it.”
Taron nods slowly.
I remember being sixteen and sitting in a folding chair beside some old cowboy who was trying to explain why I kept hitting dirt.
Back then, I thought I knew everything and they were full of shit. Relics of a sport that chewed them up and spit them out.
Now I know they were right.
Bull riding is a game of inches and milliseconds. You have to think fast and recover faster. The smallest mistake becomes a wreck in a hurry.
We watch the ride again and again. Each replay revealing something new.
Finally, I shut the video off.
“What do you think overall?” he asks.
I grin. “Overall, kid, you’re gonna make some people nervous.”
His eyes brighten. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I stand and clap a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve got something. Own it. But don’t get cocky about it.”
His smile widens.
Too late. This hotshot is already full of piss and vinegar.
I laugh.
“Do you really think I could make a go of this? Ride professionally?”
“Absolutely.”
The answer comes easy.
I’ve worked with enough riders to know the difference between desire and talent.
It takes both to have any success. Some kids have one and not the other.
Taron has both.
But even then, the road to the top is a long and bumpy one.
“Keep working,” I tell him. “Keep listening. Keep learning. Don’t start believing your own press.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now get your butt over to Royce. He’s running drills in the arena.”
Taron stands. “Thanks, Axle.”
