Oakdale Bull-Rider Is Determined

His friends in the rodeo circuit know him as “Cowboy Jon,” or simply “Cowboy.” His friends from childhood call him Jonathan Wilson, from Oakdale.

Wilson's fascination with bull riding began early. He would sit down with his family and watch"the old timers” ride bulls on TV. Famous riders such as Ty Murray and Don Ga, were his idols.

A couple years ago, he decided that he wanted to have his own shot at riding and went out to Sankey Rodeo School in Ohio for a three-day course.

There, riders started on “El Toro,” a type of mechanical bull that allows riders to control how it bucks and moves.

After he left the school, he bought his own mechanical bull, which he keeps at his parents' house in Oakdale.

“You gotta be a little bit crazy and insane,” Wilson says, talking about the sport. “It’s not something you’re supposed to do.”

Paying for his mistakes

On Sunday, Wilson, who’s in his late 20s, was relaxing in his living room in a Norwich complex. One of his tattooed arms was wrapped in ice pack. His long blond hair hung from beneath his cowboy hat.

His apartment is decorated with cowboy paraphernalia, a poster from his first rodeo, a set of antique beer cans hung on strings ("redneck wind chimes," a label explains.)

He is soft-spoken, even when talking about the blood-chilling dangers involved in a sport like bull riding.

“It’s not like football or baseball,” Wilson says. “You make a mistake, you’re going to pay for it big-time.”

A broken ankle is one piece of proof. His eye patch is another. After one ride, he says, he was gored in the face by a bull. He still has the eye, but not the sight.

A week and a half earlier, he'd gone to a hospital after flying off the bull and knocking heads with him. The impact had knocked him unconscious and the doctor told him not to ride for at least a month.

He didn't heed the doctor's advice.

Life insurance? No. But rodeos will pay for riders’ hospital expenses. With his laundry list of injuries, Wilson is grateful for this service.

Career demands

Eye or no eye, Wilson is still riding. And the day before, practice had been rough.

He had ridden six bulls at a friend’s stable in New Jersey. Today, he is stiff and bruised.

But he has to ride. He’s in training for the next big event: the Professional Bull Rider rodeo, this weekend in Bridgeport.

Five days a week, he visits his parents’ house in Oakdale, to ride the mechanical bull. He also lifts weights for three hours a day so that he’ll have the strength to hold on for the eight seconds that is the lifetime of a bull ride.

To earn a score, a rider must stay on the bull for eight seconds. There’s a rope around the bull’s midsection; the rider is allowed to hold on with one hand.

Judges asses the rider’s performance based on qualities such as how centered he is on the bull.

They add this score to a rating of how lively the bull was in order to calculate the final score out of 100 points. When the eight seconds are up, the riders have to jump off the bull; everyone hits the ground no matter what.

According to Wilson, the impact with the ground is on par with a 30-mile-an-hour car crash. At this point, getting away is crucial.

“I think it’s where we got the term ‘hit the ground running,’” Wilson says. 

Bull fighters — not clowns — try to get the bull out of the way so that the rider can escape. Run, limp or crawl, he has to get out of the bull’s way.

The gear

Wilson’s gear includes his boots, with blunted spurs that he uses to hit the sides of the bull to make it buck. Riders who hit the bull with sharpened spurs face a $10,000 fine.

There are also special riding gloves that he cinches tight with Velcro. To better grip the rope, he goes over it with a sticky spray. Tassels on his chaps allow the judges to see the movement of his legs better.

Ever since he has had the eye patch, he has worn a hockey helmet for protection on his rides. In the front it reads “Cowboy Jon,” and in the back “CBCS”—“Cowboy Can Survive.” The only other protection is a foam vest that cushions the impact with the ground or a flying hoof.

Other than the odd jobs he does in the area, bull fighting is his only profession. It’s a tough gig to start with, and is made harder by the fact that bull riders must pay to compete in their sport. The cash prizes only go to winners. Publicity has earned him some income, however. An autograph signing in a bass pro shop netted him a $250 gift card there. The Uncasville VFW will also hold a benefit dance and raffle in April, to help him out.

Talking to kids who might be interested in bull riding, Wilson will tell them, “If that’s your dream, go ahead and do it."

He has a daughter, Mackenzie, 4, from a previous marriage. Wilson lights up when he talks about how much she loves going to rodeos and watching them on TV. She has already ridden herself, on steers and miniature horses. One time, he brought her by a pen and let her choose the bull he would take.

On the day of a competition, Wilson has a couple of traditions, including always putting his right boot on first. He also tries to avoid watching the other riders, because he knows that if he sees someone else get hurt, he could lose his nerve.

Though he admits it sounds a bit gross, he wears the same pair of jeans for every ride without washing them.  Before he goes out the chute, he is always sure to say a prayer, “Because you never know; it could always be your last ride.”

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