Ivan McClellan

So we kept talking and he said, well, you got to see it for yourself, man.

Come with me to a black rodeo in Oklahoma this summer.

I said, absolutely.

It was exactly the opportunity that I had been looking for.

I had never felt more separated from black culture.

And going to a rodeo seemed like the furthest thing from working at a computer that I could think of.

And so I went home, and I bought my plane ticket, and I just sat there for the next few months anticipating what this could possibly be like.

In my head, it was like Soul Train, but everybody was on a horse.

So August came around, and I caught my flight to Oklahoma City.

I drove an hour and a half to Okmulgee, parked my car, got out, and got just suffocated by 105 degree heat.

It was 105 degrees.

It was 100% humidity.

As I was walking through the grass, chiggers were biting my ankles, and there were grasshoppers jumping up on my clothes.

There was just a haze of barbecue smoke over the entire lawn.

I couldn't breathe.

And everywhere I looked, there was a white horse trailer glistening in the sun.

And there was R&B music and gospel music and hip hop coming out of the trailers.

And everywhere around me, there were black cowboys, thousands of them.

I saw young men riding their horses with no shirt, a gold chain, basketball shorts, and Jordans.

And they were walking up, hitting on women and talking trash to the other riders.