And My Cowboy Qualifications

I've never been on a cattle drive or nothin' like that.  I've never roped a cow.  I've never even touched a cow except for pettin' one at the Minnesota State Fair a long time ago.  

However, a recurrin' theme in nearly all of my Cycleblaze journals has been seein', photographin', and interactin' with cows.  You'll find pictures in those journals of dairy cows, meat cows, black cows, brown cows, spotted cows, bulls, heifers, calves, Guernseys, Herefords, Holsteins, Black Angus, Texas Longhorns, etc.  I like 'em all.  Heck, I even like bison, buffalo, and other cow-like animals.

I expect this particular tour will provide me with more cow-viewin' opportunities than any other trip in the past.  I'm thinking of it as my own personal crazy Kansas cattle drive.  I consider cows to be quite cool.  I imagine blissful biking among a bevy of bovines.  I'll be gettin' goofy with greedy grazers of the Great Plains.  Alliterative interactions with interesting animals will inevitably ensue.  (It's true!  I speak the MOOOOooooish language as fluently as any human.) 

I love wild animals.  I love domestic animals.  I love farm animals.  Animals make the world a better place.   Yet one of the most unexplainable inconsistencies in my love and appreciation of animals is that I eat meat, and that includes cow meat.  A decade ago, I tried to explain my hypocrisy on one of the pages of my Gulf of Mexico to Lake Superior Journal. (If you don't want to click on that link, I understand.  I'll just sum it up with one quote.) 

Philosophically and ethically, I sympathize with vegetarianism.  I even tried to be a vegetarian in my college years.  My attempt only lasted a couple of weeks.  I learned I am attracted to meat in the most embarrassing way.  Occasionally I will eat ONLY meat for a meal--huge, unhealthy quantities of meat.  Cow meat, pig meat, chicken meat, fish meat--it doesn't matter to me what kind of meat.  It's what my body craves, and I always listen to my body.  I seem to be no less of a carnivore than a tiger.

Perhaps I'd be less carnivorous if I had to chase down a cow, pounce on it, and tear into it with my fingernails and teeth.  But no, I buy meat in a grocery store, which makes me a cowardly scavenger on par with hyenas, raccoons, seagulls, and vultures.  In other words, I'm nowhere near as noble as a tiger.

The absolute least I can do for this tour is to swear to the following:

"I, Gregory S. Garceau, in recognition of my solidarity with cows, solemnly vow to eat no beef for the duration of my ride through Kansas Cattle Country--not even if I come across one of those restaurants that offer a free meal and a spot on its "wall of fame" to anyone who can eat a 72-ounce steak in an hour or less without vomiting."

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Here's a cowboy related song for your enjoyment.