Idiots at the Auction

Amarillo, Texas – a very international city according to the construction worker drinking the soy latte at Starbucks. It is also home to the largest privately owned cattle auction. Over 300,000 head of cattle are sold each year. At one point it was the largest livestock auction in the world, with around 70 millions bucks running through the place yearly. Everything is Texas is big, this auction too – so naturally we wanted to experience real life big bidding. Our two days of camping prior to arriving in Amarillo were specifically timed so we would arrive in town on Tuesday – auction day! The auction has been happening at the same location since 1904. We couldn’t find it.

We drove up and down the north end of town, past old warehouses, unused grain bins, dilapidated stores and abandoned bits of land. No auction. No sign. Found the Mexican restaurant, the Indian restaurant, the barber shop and then – the fairgrounds. Maybe the auction was at the fairgrounds now. There were big trailers everywhere, so something was definitely afoot – we parked to check it out.

As we entered the arena, came up the last step and turned the corner we heard shooting and hollering. As we looked down to the arena floor we saw a man on a horse wielding a gun, screaming around poles at high speeds and shooting down balloons. Loud rock music blared from the speakers. The hooting and hollering was the 100 person crowd assembled to watch this bizarre event.

We had inadvertantly stumbled across the WORLD championship of the Cowboy Mounted Shooting Association. We learned that there were folks from Sweden, Canada, and all over the US competing all week long. There are 6 levels of competition and 62 possible layouts for the sticks and balloons. Some people were competing on mules. They must be some fast ass mules, considering all the quarter horses and appaloosas we saw bridled up. After fierce competition all week long, the World Champsionship of 2009 will be awarded $12,500. Not bad for running around shooting a gun. Everyone was in full cowboy gear – trophy wives included. Jeans, boots, sparkly belts, pink hats, and occasionally a pot-bellied competitor strutting around with his loaded guns dangling in front of his gut. And there WE were: shorts, t-shirts and running shoes – staring and giggling like idiots. Are you two from out of town? Aww, shucks, what gave us away?

Finally, between the two of us, 11 years of university education, and our shared brain we managed to read the sign that pointed towards the Livestock Auction. There it was! The auction hall right up the stairs from the Stockade Cafe, famous for its steaks (maybe they are super fresh, chopped up right outside). So we walk into the viewing area: about 10 rows of auditorium seating facing a small corral where one cow at a time is released and poked with a stick so it runs around and shows off its body. The auctioneer is hard at work, “Fiiiiive hundred munnamunnamunnamunnamunnamunna doihave fiiiiiiiiiiive hundred? munnamunnamunnamunnamunna Crawford for five. Doihave siiiiiiiix hundred? munnamunnamunnamunnamunna”. It was mesmerizing, hypnotic: the drone of his voice, the silence of the hatted heads around us, the contemplation of the cow below. Only the cows wide eyes gave any sense of urgency to the situation. We stood in the back and stared. Finally, after the bidding for a little white cow had ended at 55, I turned to Leah and said, “Did he just get that cow for 55 bucks?” To which Leah replied, “Umm, I think so…” I pondered this for a moment, and then said, just a little bit too loud: “Wow, this is a really good place to get a cow.” One of the hatted heads turned toward us, regarded us calmy and then said, “Do you know how this works?” Apparently we did not. There we were, idiots at the auction. Pretty soon we were getting more attention that the heifers in the pen.

Once we sheepishly left the auction grounds, we went over to the American Quarter Horse Hall of Fame and Museum. Other than the temporary art exhibition, there is an enormously long timeline of quarter horse events interpersed with arbitrary events of world history. The kids section amused my immature brain – there were buttons to press, and a stuffed horse that discussed its colon with a plastic veterinarian.

We had one more place to hit before we left Amarillo – the cadillac ranch on I 40. And here is our final idiocy in Amarillo – we missed it. Here’s what it looks like, both for your sakes, and for mine…. le sigh.