The Bull

The narrator recounts a personal experience of encountering a massive bull while cycling through the Mojave Desert. Initially terrified and armed with a knife, the narrator realizes that provoking the bull would only worsen the situation. After praying and remaining still, the bull eventually decides to spare the narrator's life and leaves. This encounter serves as a reminder of the preciousness and fragility of life. The Bull. A True Story. It was the summer of 81. I was recovering from back surgery to remove a lumbar disc. The only exercise left to me was cycling. After months of training, I made a faithful decision to ride my bicycle from Fullerton in Southern California to a small town in Utah. My nephew was turning two. At least that was my excuse. The route would take me through the Mojave Desert and two mountain ranges for 650 miles and 14,000 feet of vertical climb. It was September. Temps were over 100 degrees. It was my fourth day of riding. The Mojave was brutal, 105 degrees that day. I was exhausted and bed down a distance off the highway in what I thought was bare desert. I was mistaken. I woke suddenly at the sound of a loud scuffle just feet away. I was not alone. I struggled to clear my head and then, looking up, I saw a bone-chilling sight. There, silhouetted in the moonlight, was one very massive, angry bull, almost cartoonishly head down and pawing at the dirt. That is, if it hadn't been so damn terrifying. I froze in abject fear. I reached for my marine caviar knife under my improvised pillow. I looked at the knife, then back at the bull. Shaking my head, I thought, right, you'll just piss him off with it. I put the knife away. He was defending his territory. I was in his backyard. I prayed hard. If he wanted to kill me, I was dead. I lay very still, praying. Suddenly, he lurched forward, stomping with both front hooves into the ground. Dirt flew into my face. I knew this would be the way it would end for me. Then, he violently shook his head from side to side, as if to say, not today. I'll let you live. This is a warning. Then he turned, kicked up more dirt with his hind hooves, and slowly faded into the night. Shaken, I carefully gathered up my things, reflecting upon what had just happened, and then I headed back to the highway. This bull taught me how very precious and fragile life is, and I have been forever grateful.