A Houston Chronicle reporter and photographer are joining the Northeastern Trail Riders...
“Heyyyyyy, happy Texan Day! Grab your boots and get on in, we got room!” she shouts to a man smiling from the side of the road.Garrett has been a constant source of joy throughout the week, ribbing me about my love life as if she’s known me for years instead of days. But her work at the rodeo doesn’t end after the trail ride; a nurse by trade, Garrett is a volunteer with a rodeo committee that supervises disabled visitors and changes diapers when needed.
Anthony Bruno, trail boss for the Northeastern Trail Riders Association, is all smiles as he rides past a “Welcome to Downtown Houston” sign on Friday, Feb. 24, 2023.Students at Bruce Elementary looks at a horse and mule used by the Northeastern Trail Riders as the riders stop by the Houston school for a lunch break on Friday, Feb. 24, 2023.Northeastern Trail Riders stop for a lunch break in the shadow of downtown Houston at Bruce Elementary School on Friday, Feb. 24, 2023.
After setting up camp in Picnic Area 2, at the southern end of the park, we hurry onto the bus to make it to the award ceremony, where the Northeastern Trail Riders Association hopes to learn that they’ve been named back-to-back champions of the medium trail ride division. The word “family” gets tossed around this camp more often than in a Fast and Furious movie, but after a week riding with the Northeastern Trail Riders, I begin to understand why they look at it that way. At first, it seems like just a kind, if trivial, way to make me feel welcome – I’m told I’m family when I ask if I can sit by the campfire on my first night with the group in Cheek, almost a week ago today. It’s repeated every time someone offers me something to eat.
The other thing I've heard often on this trail is that I’m a “cowboy" now, and while I appreciate the sentiment, I can’t help but feel its misguided. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my week with the Northeastern Trail Riders Association, it’s that it takes a lot more than a hat and boots to make a cowboy, even if they’re fun to wear .
We had only just pulled into Bruno’s Triangle Seven Arena in northeast Houston on Thursday, 18 miles from this morning's campsite, when one of the Restoration Riders’ mules, Mack, collapsed on its side, panting, with wet, heavy breaths. Several men immediately rushed to its side and began removing its bridle, then worked to lift the massive animal back onto its feet.They delivered the mule a bottle of water and a shot of banamine , then slowly walked the mule to its pen.
Joe, 39, remained silent during the remarks. Contrary to bothering him, it gives Joe peace to camp at the site of his father’s death, he says, knowing the longtime trail rider died doing what he loved. Riders including John Pierre try to catch a quick nap with their horses during a lunch stop. / Michael Durant works on the wheel for Reva Williams’ wagon at Triangle Seven Arena on day five of the trail ride.
We stopped for lunch in a Shelby elementary school parking lot, I enjoy a drumstick of Bruno's fried chicken, then we rode back onto the trail to the cheers of a couple hundred adorable children whose teachers had brought them out to witness the spectacle. But though its conclusion was dramatic, the ride itself was uneventful enough that several riders tilted their hats over their faces for a quick nap during our short breaks on the trail.
Mack the mule collapsed about a minute later, bringing a touching moment to a jarring conclusion. But there’s no time to linger on unfortunate circumstances. The Big Ride is coming into the home stretch, and the exhausted riders are eager to trot into Memorial Park on Friday, in preparation for Saturday’s parade. Here’s to hoping everyone makes it in one piece.
Brian and Mercedes Richard sit in their van during the Northeastern Trail Riders on Sunday, Feb. 19, 2023 in Beaumont.Brian, 62, drives slowly while Mercedes sits on a folding chair at a table in the back, DJing from a laptop hooked up to an assortment of mixers and amps. I admit that I’ve chosen Wednesday to ride with the Richards on purpose. Today’s ride, from Dayton to Crosby, is the week’s longest, clocking in at about 22 unremarkable miles, through sweeping rural subdivisions.
Brian has become one of my closest friends since joining the ride, understanding that it could have been tough for me as an outsider here and regularly seeking me out to share a spot of whiskey or some friendly conversation. Mercedes is similarly warm, laughing at her own jokes with a hearty cackle that fills the open country air — staccato “hehehes” followed by a long, drawn out “haaaaaaaaaaa” if something is really funny.
“Shorty” Richard was similarly flexible with his setlists, heavy on the country and Zydeco but also mixed in some R&B for good measure, Brian said. He was a rodeo announcer in his day, so commanding the sound truck was a natural fit. In the meantime, though, Brian had developed a crack cocaine habit. It hadn’t ruined his life; he could still work and maintain a social life, but he’d been smoking for 25 years and it was killing him from the inside. He credits Mercedes with pulling him out of that darkness, and he’s been clean now for 11 years. He married Mercedes a year after quitting cold turkey.
After a fellow passenger had to leave our wagon to lend his assistance to other riders, it fell to me to jump out the back of Beverly Bennett's carriage every time it stopped and grab Junior, the horse leading the buggy behind us, by his halter. Junior was skittish, his owner Tracy Goines explained, and he needed someone to hold him lest he run off with the buggy in tow.
"I'm discombobulated now," Bennett said."That's my brother and I'm still worried, but I know the kind of person he is he'd want this to move anyway. He knows this needs to move." Bennett, though, worries sometimes about this heritage fading when she sees how young people do trail rides these days: maybe a few people are on horses, wearing tennis shoes and baseball caps instead of boots and cowboys hats, with the rest hanging out of car windows. She understands it, to an extent; she was once a young woman who might sip some Jack Daniels on the wagon now and again, but she always understood the reason for riding.
Goines isn't the only scout who is breaking barriers. Ashley Roberts, 37, is the only woman riding with the scouts on Tuesday, providing a line of defense between traffic and riders. Judy and John Phillips wave at the Northeastern Trail Riders as the group rides past their home in Dayton on Tuesday, Feb. 21, 2023.The Phillips bought their home in the early 1980s and have made it a point to watch the trail riders pass through each year.Anthony Bruno has found me a “babysitter,” and I couldn’t be more excited. Not a traditional babysitter, someone to watch over me while the trail riders hit the road, but a horse.
It’s not a responsibility the half-dozen or so scouts take likely, and one that they’re passing on to the next generation. R.J., a shy 9-year-old “junior scout,” was paired with a seasoned veteran on Sunday, showing mastery over his horse while bravely blocking intersections next to his supervisor. C.J., a stoic high school senior from Fort Bend County, has kept us safe both days and plans to continue doing so all week.
Bruno inherited his leadership style from his late father, Joseph S. Bruno, whom he describes as a “quiet guy who would observe.” Seeing Bruno direct his crew makes his father’s influence clear; in a camp where jokes and jabs fly around at high volume, at all times, Bruno is measured and reflective by comparison. A tall, burly man with a snowy white beard, Bruno rarely raises his voice, and speaks only when he has something to say.
Bruno takes his responsibilities to heart and speaks often of “preserving and protecting our heritage.” In an era where Black cowboys have begun to get more mainstream recognition, from national news features to Hollywood blockbusters, it can be easy for some to forget that these cowboys had to fight for that respect.
About 10 minutes later a crowd of a few dozen riders is gathered in a circle in front of the caravan’s lead wagon, standing. “We keep our heritage and protect our heritage because it is valuable. We’re losing our kids to the streets, but if we can bring them into this circle and let them see us being honest and open and having fun without being disrespectful, we can help the community and help ourselves,” Bruno said.
When I climbed out of my car, where I’d slept the night before, most everyone else was wearing shirts printed with the Texas flag, while I looked like a cheap Johnny Cash impersonator.
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