DALE

Today I talked to Dale. On our way to Death Valley, my boyfriend and I stopped in Beatty, Nevada, to fill up the car with gas and drink some coffee.

It’s 11.30am. The saloon smells like warm cake. The owner of the place, KC, serves us coffee and his wife Carol says across the kitchen: “I just made cookies, there’re fresh from the oven”. Through a glass door I see a bar and notice a man with a cowboy hat who drinks alone. The man comes up to us. His name is Dale. He wears a black and red checked shirt, a silver buckle at his belt, and worn out cowboy boots. His grey mustache gives him a severe look but his eyes are kind. I can't believe it. I am meeting a cowboy. Being a European city girl, I haven't seen so many of them. He hands me his business card and explains he is part of a group that does cowboys shows and events. “We do it for fun. It’s a non-profit. We take tips if people wanna give some. But we don’t expect a tip if we don’t put up a good show”, he says.

Dale was born and raised in Massachusetts, lived in Las Vegas, and settled in Beatty twelve years ago. He is a quiet man who speaks in few words : “I’m a cowboy, that’s what I do. If you live on a ranch in Texas or on a farm in Massachusetts, you do the same thing”, he utters in a sing-song voice.

I tell him I wish I could ride a horse. Dale jumps in. “Well, it's not difficult. You sit on the saddle and the horse takes you wherever you wanna go”, he pauses, seems to picture himself riding. “Until he doesn’t want anymore and that’s when it hurts!” he breaks out in laughter.

“Do you know why there’s about 30 miles between every city?”, asks Dale in a witty tone. “Has it something to do with the horses?”, I say. Dale looks amused and surprised. “Yeah, you’re close! That’s the time you can ride a horse for a whole day. In the old days, people were stopping to feed their horses and have a drink. And the communities grew around. That’s what happened”, says Dale.

KC and Carole join us at the bar. We talk about their saloon and how it transformed over the years from a bank, to a hardware store, and a mechanic shop. Then I shyly ask Dale if I can take a picture of him. “Too bad I don’t carry my guns today”, he says and notices my amazed look. “The cops here know we carry our guns, but they can’t do anything cause it’s legal”, he adds with a sparkling smile. “And I don’t have my outfit neither”. I tell him he will look perfect. He couldn’t look more like a cowboy to me.

Dale leans on the bar, asks KC for another Jack & Coke, and lights a cigarette. “Are you married?”, I ask. He watches me straight in the eyes. There is a long silence. I think to myself that Dale is not the type to wear his heart on his sleeve. The cowboy extends his solid bare hands. No ring. “Nope. But I’ve got a girlfriend”, he answers.

Today it rains on Death Valley and it is time to hit the road. I thank Dale and reach out my hand to shake his. He bows, gently takes my hand and barely kisses it. “It was my pleasure”, he says. No doubts. I just met a real gentleman-cowboy.





The Beatty Cowboys:
http://www.beattycowboys.com/index.html