Some Things You Have To See To Believe. Like A Goat Dressed As Pebbles Flintstone.

The next morning I was up early, eager to drive the 250 miles back to Garretson by noon in time to meet Penney and Denny. It was Goat Race Day!

I thought I would make good time, with maybe an hour to spare, but I forgot about the time zone change and ended up having to gun it all the way. Have you ever seen a Honda Civic do 100 mph? Well, you would have.

I made it to The Sports Cabin just in time, and when I walked in the door Kandee was sitting at the bar ready to give me hell. "You’re in trouble." she said curtly, although a smile was lurking around the sides of her mouth. "Get over here."
"What? What did I do?"
"What’s this you wrote on your website about South Dakota being boring?" Penney and Denny were finishing lunch at the end of the bar and I shot them a look like, "Do you know what she means?"
"What? No way, I never wrote that. Maybe I wrote that people are under the misconception that South Dakota is boring, but I’d never actually say that!"
That seemed to suffice. "Okay," she said. "You’re off the hook."

I told them all about Sturgis, the bikers, the prices, and how glad I was to be back in lovely Garretson. One thing I forgot to mention about Garretson - on two separate occasions while I was there, people told me I should move there. "Is there a law school nearby?" I asked.
"Yep, University of Sioux Falls!"
"Well, I’d be the only law student living in a state park..."
"Oh, no, we’d get you a house!"

We’d. We’d get you a house. You have to love that. How often do you hear that in New York City, or even Laurel?

"You ready?" Denny asked.
"Sure am!"
We climbed into their new Explorer, an SUV so nice I felt underdressed riding in it, the same way I feel in my friend David’s Beamer, and drove the handful of miles to Jasper, Minnesota. I told them about love on the road, or lack thereof, how my parents took out a huge life insurance policy on me before I left (much more than is needed to bury me.....hmmmmm...), and they told me about growing up in the Midwest. "How exactly do these goats race?" I asked.
"On flatbeds."
"What do they chase to get them to go?"
They laughed. "They don’t chase nothing, they just blow a horn behind them and hope they move! Sometime they gotta push them!"
I couldn’t wait!

When we got into Jasper, we passed the main street of town en route to the parking area, and sure enough, there were people already leading or pulling their goats down the square. The street had been blocked off by orange plastic fencing and admission was $1.00. Some goats were dressed in costumes and it was too adorable! There was a large one with yellow ribbons and bows on, a small black one in overalls, and two in little pink dresses. There was even a tiny one dressed as Zorro - complete with a little mask, cape, and hat! "I wonder if Wesson’s gonna dress his goat this year?" Penney wondered to Denny and another lady, Penney’s sister-in-law, I think. (Forgive me, I met so many people that day, most of them related to Penney in some way, but I’m having trouble remembering all the names.) "Remember last year, when he and the goat matched?"
As if on cue, a tall young man dressed as Fred Flintstone blew into the square, carrying a goat dressed as Pebbles. She had a little bone sticking through her brown wig. A little girl tagged along behind him, dressed as Wilma, with hair spray-painted neon orange. It was hilarious!

I spent about twenty minutes just looking around in awe, laughing hysterically. I bought a shirt (pink, what else?) with a picture of two goats running. I also got a bumper sticker that said, "Let’s Be Silly, Race Your Billy! GOAT RACE, Jasper, MN" I haven’t put in on Toby yet, but I may stick it in the back window when I can afford to buy some tape. Penney also bought me a Goat Race can-coolie. I was set!

We grabbed seats on the front row of the bleachers set up alongside the track. Just as Penney said, the track was elevated, made of flatbed trailers lined end-to-end, with metal fencing blocking the sides so no one fell off. Throughout the races, the Red Hat Society judged the goats on a number of different criteria - the prettiest, the stinkiest, best costume, who traveled the farthest. I think a racing team from North Dakota won those honors.

The races started soon after, following a "Parade Of Goats". The announcer said into the microphone, "Now, if you’re a bettin’ man, this is your chance to pick your goat!" Three little girls sang ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’ into the mic and as everyone looked at the flag, I looked around. The sounds of children singing the national anthem made it almost cliche, but it was such a wonderful moment. Each person had their hand over their heart. A goat bleated during the "Oh!" part. "Look at where life can lead you," I thought. "This is amazing. I never dreamed I’d be here."

When the first air-horn sounded, the first heat of goats were less than amenable to running down the track. They ran in pairs, and many times had to be pushed with a large aluminum paddle. I wish so badly that Blogger.com could host Quicktime video, because I got some great ones! Sometimes the races took minutes at a time, even though the track was only about 20 yards, if that - the goats kept trying to run the opposite way, so the handlers and air-horn-blower and giant-aluminum-paddle-pusher would have to form a human wall, and even then some slipped through people’s legs and ran back towards the starting line! It was HILARIOUS! Everyone had said, "Go to the Goat Races and just laugh and laugh," and it was true. I didn’t stop laughing until it was over.

The Pebbles goat didn’t want to run, and each time it was her turn to race, people said, "Oh, god, how long will this take?" Penney’s nieces and nephews races a goat named Skywalker that won every heat except for one. The tiny Zorro goat, whose name was Mr. Bojangles, was incredibly fast but still only took second place, losing to the yellow ribbon goat named Button. Later on, I almost bought Mr. Bojangles. More on this later.

Denny and I got hungry and went over to the food booth, where I popped my Walking Taco cherry. Let me just say this: I have seen the glory, and it is good. It comes in a bag of Doritos.

Seriously, have you ever had a walking taco? It is The Most Ingenious Idea Of All Creation. You put taco meat, lettuce, cheese, sour cream and taco sauce in a little bag of Doritos, close it, shake it, pound it, and eat it out of the bag with a fork! HOW AWESOME IS THAT?!?! When I told my friend Scrappy about it, he said, "Man, that is straight ghetto!", but this is coming from a kid who has a pet soda bottle named Bob Dole, so he has no room to talk.
I think I blushed continuously off and on all day, because Penney and Denny really spoiled me. They wouldn’t let me pay for a thing. "Save your money for your trip," they said, over and over.
"Thanks," I would mumble into my shirt.
What I didn’t realize when we first got there was that the Goat Races involved much more than just the races themselves. There was also a Peddle-Pull (like a tractor pull for little kids, where they peddle little trikes), a parade, a big supper, and a concert in the middle of the street, with dancing. It was great!

When the races finished, the three of us went into Sanow’s Pub, the one bar in Jasper. It was packed. I imagine they do their most business during the Goat Races, even moreso than St. Patrick’s day. Penney, Denny, and I grabbed a table with one of Penney’s sister-in-laws, Lois, Penney’s brother Jeff, her sister-in-law Darcy, and another friend of theirs named.... Sheila. Or Sherry. Or Shelly. She was very pretty, whatever her name was. When she sat down I thought she was about 28 or so. Later on, she was telling a story about becoming a grandma. I laughed at first, because I thought she was kidding. She wasn’t. "I thought you were, like, 28, though!" I said.
Her face broke into a huge grin as she reached over and hugged me. "I love you!" she cried.
"No, I’m 37," she continued. "My daughter is 19 and I have a 3-month-old grandbaby."

I met Darcy’s son Dustin, who seemed cursed with that terrible ennui that strikes teenagers in small towns, poor guy. Speaking of teenagers, it made me a little sad that some of the younger people in town weren’t very nice. For instance, I was walking down the street with Penney and some girl said, "You fekkin’ Bearbie!" as I passed. There’s no need for that, really. I wanted to take a page out of Jezebel’s book and say, "Honey, you don’t even want your man, so why would I?", but I held my tongue. Later on, during the dance, when I was good and tipsy, the same girls kind of razzed me in the crowd. It was sad. I don’t understand why people need to act that way.

That is not to say that most of the people in Jasper weren’t wonderful and kind, because they were. I had so much fun just sitting in the bar talking to all of Penney and Denny’s friends, trying to piece together the family trees and little histories of the town. It was definitely one of the best days I’ve ever had, both on this trip and overall.

We didn’t go to the Peddle-Pull or the supper, choosing instead to visit in the pub, and by the time we went to the parade at 6, I was well on my way, if you know what I mean. We watched it from in front of Darcy’s house, with Penney’s family. When the color guard walked by, we told her nephew, little Clayton, "Salute the flag, hon!" Police cruisers were following the color guard, lights flashing.
"Do those police arrest you if you don’t?" he asked. We all had a good laugh.

After the parade, we went back to the square for the dance. The band was pretty good, they were called Eclipse. They played some Top 40, some country, some oldies, and people danced in the street. Penney and Denny both sat on the sidelines, freezing, while I jumped around like an idiot in my Goat Race tank top, sweating like a gross pig. "You’re a dancin’ fool!" Denny said. I was. I was so far gone I didn’t care.

While the band took a break I got started talking to a young guy about my age. I recognized him as Mr. Bojangles’ handler. "I love your goat!" I told him.
"Thanks!"
"Are you gonna race him next year?"
"Maybe. If he makes it through the winter."
My mental capacities were slow. "Um, is he sick?"
"No, I might eat him."
I gasped. "NO!" I shouted. "Why?"
"Because. That’s what you do."

I ran back to Penney and Denny, all upset. "ThatguysayshemighteatMr.BojanglesandIdon’twanthimtosowhatshouldIdoohgodthatlittlegoatissocutelet’sgooverthereandtellhimnotto!"
"Or you could just buy it," someone joked.
"THAT’S A GREAT IDEA!" I shouted, running back to the guy.

"How much for Mr. Bojangles?" I asked, putting on my "ready to do business" face.
"80 bucks. Are you gonna give him a good home?"
"Well, for starters, I’m not gonna eat him. But I live in a car."
"You what?! Oh, he’ll eat up your upholstery!"
"I know, but I just don’t want you to eat him."
He got surly. "Listen. 80 bucks or get the f*ck out of my face."
"What?" I got surly right back. I only get surly when I’m drunk or dirty and, unfortunately, this was one of those times.
"I said give me 80 bucks or get the f*ck out of my face!"
I was about to give him what-for when I noticed a tiny little blonde girl watching our exchange, wide-eyed. I watched my mouth and leaned into his face, until we were almost nose-to-nose.
"You’re. Not. Very. Nice," I said emphatically, then walked away before he could zing me with a comeback.

Walking back over to Penney, Denny, and the gang, a very buzzed me made sure to let everyone know, repeatedly, what a piece of shit Mr. Bojangles’ handler was. Penney said, "We’re very glad you didn’t buy that goat, because you would not have been bringing that thing in the trailer." She was referring to Darcy’s camper, parked in her driveway, which the three of us stayed in that night, not wanting to drive after all that partying. Walking back to Darcy’s, Denny said, "I couldn’t really see you dancing, I could just see your hair swingin’ all over the place! Wild!" Yeah... that’s me. I was sore and sweaty but happy. It was a wonderful ending to a wonderful day.