I never caught the animal’s name – and I’m not sure it would have mattered – but if we had been properly introduced, had a couple of drinks together, maybe chewed on some hay, then perhaps things would have turned out better for both of us.
But let me back up. I cover all sorts of topics for Reno Dads. From time to time, I get invited to participate in unique events, family activities, and silly experiences for the purpose of community promotion. In my 47 years living in the Truckee Meadows, I have never attended the International Camel and Ostrich Races at Virginia City (shameful, I know), so when I was offered the opportunity to race a camel, I leapt at it.
I cannot be certain that the camel was quite as enthusiastic. Also partaking in the fun was my friend and fellow Reno Dad, David Bradfield. As media members, David and I tagged along with the rest of the crew and raced in the “celebrity” portion of the event. Our experience began with a safety briefing with the other real, actual jockeys, where we were introduced to the International Order of Camel Jockeys, which has its roots in Carson City since 1972. Who knew?
From there, we got to observe the National Anthem and opening ceremonies, followed by the parade of animals; ostriches first, then camels, and then zebras. They were all led by more experienced handlers for one lap around the arena for the fans to observe. And then the races began.
Neither David nor I had ever ridden these beasts, so fortunately for us, we drew the third heat
and got to watch the first camel race as well as an ostrich race. We had hoped to learn some
tricks, tips, or techniques to apply in our own heat. To no one’s surprise, we gleaned nothing
valuable, and as it turns out, these things have minds of their own anyway.
After the crowd was sufficiently lathered up by the rodeo clown and his inflatable pink unicorn costume while he danced to pony-themed songs, it was time to mount our racing quadripeds. Climbing on was fairly easy, I grabbed the harness and thought, “Hey, this might not be so bad. Maybe I’ll even win!”
And then the gates opened… The camel, whose name I never got, and with whom I was never acquainted, shot out like water from a super-soaker at an excited child’s birthday party, nearly leaving me (on my) behind. Relying on the robust and fully comprehensive training I had obtained in our 18-minute safety briefing, plus the 60 seconds of observation in the first race, I kept my heels back and held on for dear life, only to have him come to a grinding halt nearly as fast as he had exploded from the stall.
This sudden braking nearly launched me the other direction, that being forward, over the animal’s head. Thankfully, I used to be an athlete once upon a time and managed to stay on. Like any good washed-up athlete, I allowed my spine to take the brunt of the impact because who needs that anyway? He (I guess my camel is a he; why not?) then began trotting – not an action that wins races – and I encouraged him desperately to re-engage the competition by saying, “Come on boy, let’s go get em!” But he must have misheard me because he somehow interpreted that as “Try to throw me off your back as violently as you can!”
This went on for probably 10-12 seconds, which seemed like two to three hours, as my nether
region repeatedly crashed into my appendix courtesy of the camel’s conveniently placed hump,
just as God intended. This temporarily lodged my man-parts into what my mind presumed was
my small intestine, resulting in me seeing real, actual stars and little imaginary camels floating
around my head like they show in the cartoons.
At some point, this autonomous animal decided to remind me just how much he does indeed think for himself and headed back to the chutes. Mind you, this is still just 60 feet out of the gate. Fortunately, he was rerouted by a volunteer waving his arms frantically above his head as if to say, “No! You must finish the event!”
I would like to think it was me sweetly requesting, pleading, begging the single-humped steed to get back in the race, but I doubt that was his motivation. I suspect he was probably just hungry and knew that food was waiting at the end. Eventually, I found myself heading in the proper direction, but even that was not without nearly breaking my whole face on the handlebar as the bucking continued. After clearing the one and only turn on the u-shaped track, my camel trotted to the finish line and immediately upon crossing it, took off like a rocket. Apparently, he just needed to get his bearings and if this had been a full quarter-mile track, I’m sure we would have taken home first place. Or at least that’s what I’m telling myself.
When I got done, I even struggled to dismount and I got my foot stuck in the saddle’s side bar, which was a real treat as well, let me tell you. My friend David won our heat and, apparently, without much pressure from behind. I never saw it, of course, because I was too busy watching my life flash before my eyes. I congratulated him, but also mentioned that I got the better deal because I got to ride mine for approximately 40% more time. This is akin to telling your buddy that even though you shot a 112 on your round of golf and he shot a 79, you had more fun because you got to swing more. Totally not the point of the sport, but this type of intellectual dishonesty helps me sleep better while repressing my internal shame.
In the end, this was a 10/10 “do recommend” experience. For me, it was a twice-in-a-lifetime
adventure; first and last. A low likelihood exists for me to do it again, but I sure have a high
degree of confidence that if you try it, you will enjoy it.
