There should have been a NASA-like countdown. Three, two, one ... lift off! 

At that moment I was just seconds from flying and experiencing serious pain in my right thumb. 

A hitchhiking experience gone bad? 

Nope. It was my turn on a mechanical bull years ago in an establishment in State Line, Idaho. 

But before we get to that point, let me preface it with another bull-riding experience I had when I was a greenhorn tourist. 

As was the case so often with me and my “buddies” we were on a road trip, this one to Cody, Wyoming. It was a trip fueled by copious amounts of Coors Light. 

Nuff said? 

When we got to Cody, we quickly noticed a sign advertising “Jackpot Rodeo.”

Once at the rodeo grounds, we learned there was a “special chance” for the average guy to experience the thrill of riding a live bull. Of course, I was quickly “nominated” by those buddies to be the guy from our group who accepted the challenge. 

To make matters worse, I paid $10 as I recall, for the chance to be thrilled. 

With beer making my decisions for me, otherwise why would I want to do such a thing I thought later, I climbed aboard what I was assured by rodeo personnel was a relatively tame bull for tourists. 

Cool. This should be fun. 

Six seconds after they opened the gate and the “gentle” bull exploded out of the chute, I realized I was no longer part of Mother Earth. 

I was airborne. No parachute, just a brief moment of gravity-defying flight courtesy of the power of a 1,000-pound muscle otherwise known as a bull. 

Needless-to-say, Mother Earth quickly reminded me I could not actually fly and dirt — hard dirt —  soon smacked my entire body. 

The buddies whooped and hollered. I moaned and groaned while the rodeo clowns helped me up and away from the still angry bull. 

This was gentle stock? 

Luckily, there were no major injuries except to my badly bruised ego. 

Fast-forward to that night in Idaho. At the bar, the group I was with decided to enter, attracted mostly by the “Jello wrestling” matches, we were excited to witness quickly spied another feature event of the evening — a mechanical bull. 

And of course, they picked the “big guy”, aka me, to represent the group in the mechanical bull riding event. 

No problem, I remember telling myself. Heck, I’ve ridden a “real” bull. 

Six seconds later, I was airborne again. This time my thumb got hung up in the handle on the saddle and stayed there as I flew by. 

What started out as a mellow ride controlled by the guy with the box that controls spin and buck features, quickly turned into flight. 

And again, hoots and hollers from my “friends” for my performance. 

This time, however, after smacking the airbags surrounding the mechanical monster, I realized my thumb was on fire. It swelled quickly and by time I stumbled back to the barroom table, it was grotesque. 

I tore ligaments in my thumb that night, but the barmaids kept me supplied with shots of whiskey the rest of the evening to numb the pain. 

This mechanical bull riding stuff is not for me. I use the excuse that at almost 6-5, my center of gravity is too high to handle the bucking motion. 

And depending on the sadistic nature of the guy controlling the bucking box, it can be dangerous to one’s health. 

As someone who has been aboard a live and mechanical bull, I can testify the live ones, especially the ones the cowboys ride in real rodeos, are like trying to ride a stick of dynamite. 

But I can also say, at least for me, neither version of a bucking bull is a day at the park.  

I bring this up because on August 24 there will be a mechanical bull riding contest in Haugen, Montana. 

I may go watch.