My goal is to raise $9,490 for breast cancer research - a dollar for every day my mother, Lorraine Raimondo, battled breast cancer. I'm driving across the country raising funds for every mile I drive.

Monday, June 26, 2006

Jackson Hole, WY

 
If you are looking for cowboys, Jackson Hole is the place for you. Like these fellers above. That’s George on the left, he manages a ranch. On the right, that’s Dwight. I couldn’t get him to answer any questions straight so all I can tell you is that he’s originally from Colorado. In the back there is Bill. Bill breaks horses. A horse whisperer as Elizabeth called him. We met these fine cowboys at the Silver Dollar Bar. We then headed to the Million Dollar Cowboy Bar next door. It’s a place where the bar stools are saddles and a band plays every night. We ran into our cowboy friends again and they are quite the dancers. George can really move on that dance floor and if there isn’t room, well heck, he just makes some!
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George and me on the dance floor

Bill is a quieter sort of guy who likes his whiskey straight. After awhile Bill and I got chatting. He’s signed up for the rodeo in Billings, MT next month. He does an event called Wild Horse Racing. Not sure exactly how it works, but it takes 3 guys to manage a wild horse in the competition. Bill at some point grabs the horse around the neck. But more interesting is that Bill was recently in Chicago signing a contract with an ad agency. Yes, Bill is gonna be the Marlboro Man!!! Now what’s the likely hood that I go out looking for some real cowboys and end up meeting the Marlboro Man! Bill is about 6’4” without the boots and hat and looks the part. I asked him if he wore that same outfit when he visited Chicago. “Of course. Except I wore a white hat because the Marlboro Man always wears a white hat.” He also mentioned that when he walked down the hall at Leo Burnett (the ad agency) women’s heads kept popping out of the offices and asking him, “Are you the Marlboro Man?” After we danced he said, “Now you can tell your friends you danced with a real cowboy.” “Heck!” I said, “I’m going to tell them I danced with the Marlboro Man!” “Aw, that’s nothing.” He replied.
So, if you fancy yourself a dance with a long legged cowboy, mosey on over to Jackson Hole, WY, plop your butt in the saddle at the Million Dollar Cowboy bar and you’ll be spinning on the dance floor before your boots hit the stirrups! YEE HA!
 

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