I believe that I posted this a couple-o-years ago. But for you newbies...
--Back in my mountain man days,some biker buds of mine
put on a swap meet/obnoxious music
/beer bash, to raise funding for a motor-cycle rights
organization known as A.B.A.T.E., chapter here in
Valencia county. Mind you I was not one of those
re-enactors but probably as close to the real thing as
is possible in our techno-over regulated world ;
living in a one room cabin,with no running water,an
outhouse
for nature´s calls.
Every morning I would get up, saddle up my
mustang, Musty,(you know ,Musty Mustang) and together
with my faithful friend and dog,Big Guy set out to
chase cows up down and around the mountain all
day.Poor old Big Guy passed away last August and even
as I write this my heart is saddened thinking of him.I
loved that old dog..."He was a GREAT cow dog!"
Any way back to the story.
I would come into town once a month or so to stock up
on Jack and beer and sometimes I would get rowdy on
the old Bonneville with the other biker types ,so
when they planned this fund raiser they asked me if I
could do something like horsey rides for the kids.
My mustangs were too rowdy for kids but I did have
amongst the herd an old Quarter horse that was a
little sway-backed and gentle as the day was long in
mid
June whose name was Pete.I also had at the time his
son
Re-Pete but again that is yet another story.
So ,I said okey dokey I could do that ,Just keep me in
Jack! I was pretty twisted in those days.
So the day of the swap-meet comes and I pull onto the
county fair grounds in my beat up ´67 ford p.u.
,filthy blue jeans, moccosins, straw hat with homemade
rattlesnake band ,adorned with two cow teeth on the
front and a wild turkey feather stuck in the band (to
commerate my Wild Turkey 101
days
Filthy striped Mexican pancho; My .45 Bisley
strapped to my right hip and an old ww2 marine combat
knife on my left hip, another favorite knife in a
sheath
on my right moc...
Behind me ,in a beat to death piece of $hit
open top stock trailer is this old sway-backed horse
,with an equally beat to death
saddle on his back.
At the gate is this yuppie wanna-be Harley
type all dolled up in his Made in Pakistan official
Harley Motor Clothes leather and he has the gall to
say something along the lines of Who the F$#% are you
to me.
Now me and Jack had been Talking all morning
getting saddled and loaded up and on the 50 mile drive
into town so I was feeling like Chuck Norris anyway
and I slammed open the door of the truck hard into
said
yuppie wanna-be knocking him to the ground.As I was
getting out of the truck my bro,Lit´l Joe,or Hose B
,as the case may be came stomping over ( Jose B is
6ft7)
and inquires as to what the problem may be.Picking
himself up from the ground Mr.wanna be says again "who
the F#$% is this a$$h0le?" Jose B says, "You ever
heard of Crockadile Dundee? Well this is his cousin
Crockabull!"
And the name has stuck!
By the way. Old Crock and Pete made a $150 for the
cause that day.
