Fifty miles east of Reno, Nevada, near the agricultural and military town of Fallon, John King stood by a noisy highway, gazing across at a ranch that was once the site of a historic confrontation rather than a celebrated event. Thirty-seven years ago, in October 1988, the contestants and organizers of that year’s Gay Rodeo Finals were denied access to the ranch, their path blocked by then-Churchill County Sheriff Bill Lawry. "It was the first time I’d seen raw, undeniable hate," King recounted, recalling the palpable animosity that met the LGBTQ+ rodeo participants. A judge’s injunction was posted on the ranch gate, and the sheriff, accompanied by deputies and his shotgun, stood as a formidable barrier between the hopeful rodeo athletes, their horses, and their intended venue. For several tense hours, as the crowd pressed towards the gates, they were met with aggressive threats of violence, a stark reminder of the deep-seated prejudice they faced. Ultimately, the participants were permitted to load their horses and depart, leaving behind a sense of profound injustice. King, reflecting on the experience, declared it "our Stonewall," drawing a parallel to the pivotal 1969 LGBTQ+ rights uprising in New York City.

The 1988 standoff in Fallon was the dramatic climax of a protracted struggle between the International Gay Rodeo Association (IGRA), its venue partners, and a coalition of anti-gay activists who had vehemently mobilized to prevent the year’s rodeo from taking place in Reno, the very city where gay rodeo had originated. In a defiant act, the rodeo organizers sought to relocate to private land in Fallon, only to be met with the same exclusionary tactics. Though gay rodeo was not extinguished by this adversity, the finals were subsequently dispersed across multiple cities. Nevertheless, the incident cast a long shadow over northern Nevada, leaving an indelible mark on the region’s history.

This past October, coinciding with the 50th anniversary of the first Gay Rodeo, the finals returned to Reno, marking a significant homecoming. A few days prior to the main event, attendees embarked on a poignant bus tour to Fallon, visiting the very site of the 1988 confrontation. Standing alongside the roadside, I spoke with Andy Siekkinen, the rodeo’s press representative and an active competitor, a tall figure distinguished by his broad-brimmed hat and impressive handlebar mustache. Brian Helander, the president of IGRA, approached and offered a handshake, his hand emerging from his jean pocket. "We’re not out here in anger," Helander stated, emphasizing the event’s purpose: "It’s about understanding… and closure." Siekkinen, with a gentle smile, added, "And triumph." Helander concurred, his voice resonating with resilience, "And triumph. We’re still here." Nearby, on the opposite side of the highway from the ranch gate, organizer Brian Rodgers held aloft a poster-sized printout of the injunction that had halted the rodeo 37 years prior. A crowd of approximately 50 individuals joined him in a solemn repetition: "We remember, we honor, we continue." Rodgers then carefully rolled up the symbol of bigotry and pain, sealing it with rainbow-patterned duct tape, a symbolic act of consigning that painful chapter to the past. As the group re-boarded the bus, beers were distributed from a large cooler, and Rodgers, from the aisle, offered thanks, exclaiming, "Drink your beers. Let’s rodeo!" The Georgia Satellites’ anthemic "Keep Your Hands to Yourself" played as the bus traveled back to Reno.

Two days later, the high metal ceiling of the Reno Livestock Events Center resonated with the buzz of anticipation as hundreds of attendees filtered in before midday, finding seats as the calf-roping on foot event commenced. The attendees showcased a spectrum of Western attire, from classic blue jeans and snap-button shirts to more flamboyant ensembles featuring fringe, bolo ties, and denim jackets adorned with intricate Western scenes. The air was a blend of fresh dirt and the distinct aroma of horses, punctuated by the savory scent emanating from the snack stand, a mix of deep fryer and lukewarm coffee. Contestants in the calf-roping event lined up near the calf chute, their lassos poised, awaiting the opening of the gate and the emergence of a calf, ideally into the waiting loop of their rope. Murmur Tuckness, a seasoned rodeo veteran who had witnessed the 1988 standoff and competed in bull riding as early as 1981, secured the fastest time in the women’s category, her lasso expertly capturing her calf in a near-instantaneous motion.

The Grand Entry, the rodeo’s ceremonial opening, featured riders on horseback carrying the Canadian, U.S., and Nevada state flags, which whipped past in a vibrant display, joined at a full gallop by the inclusive Pride flag. Rodeo royalty and contestants representing various regional gay rodeo associations paraded from the roping chutes to the bucking chutes, a procession symbolizing unity and celebration. The solo events were segregated by gender, with participants registering according to their self-identified gender. Notably, nonbinary and transgender athletes are welcomed to compete in their chosen gender category, making this one of the few sporting organizations that actively encourages transgender participation. Unlike traditional rodeo formats, women are permitted to compete in bronc, steer, and bull riding, and mixed-gender teams vie for victory in the roping events. Cisgender and straight individuals stood shoulder to shoulder with all other participants, fostering an environment of genuine inclusivity.

Having covered numerous rodeos previously, from large corporate spectacles to intimate ranch-hand competitions in small Nevada towns, the atmosphere behind the chutes at this event felt distinct. The steely, competitive gazes often seen among the young and the apprehensive were replaced by infectious, goofy smiles, encouraging pep talks, and flashes of flamboyance and camaraderie. "It’s a level playing field," shared Mark Allen Smith, an athlete and contestant for rodeo royalty in the nonbinary category, dressed in a light denim shirt and sporting a trim gray goatee. "I can walk out there with my rodeo partner Jen and compete on the same events." On that day, Smith experienced a powerful impact from a spirited steer during the steer-decorating event. Afterward, he headed to the Silver Legacy, a downtown casino, for the second segment of the Gay Rodeo: a Western dance competition and a royalty contest, where the titles of Ms., Miss, Mr., Mx., and MsTer International Gay Rodeo Association would be bestowed. The carpeted casino basement buzzed with energy, packed with burly men in cowboy hats, tough cowgirls, drag queens, and individuals from all walks of life, with the audience erupting in cheers for their friends on stage. Smith made a striking appearance, adorned in full makeup, a brunette wig, a flowing long skirt, his trimmed goatee visible beneath, and a black sash. As the clocks in the casino sportsbook struck midnight, Smith was crowned Mx. International Gay Rodeo Association, a title he will proudly hold for the upcoming year. Following the awarding of sashes, the celebration continued with teams of line dancers, cloggers, and spinning two-steppers filling the dance floor, their energetic performances lasting late into the night.

The inaugural gay rodeo was organized in 1976 in Reno by Phil Ragsdale, a prominent figure in the local chapter of the Imperial Court System, a grassroots network of LGBTQ+ organizations. Ragsdale aimed to raise funds for the Senior Citizens Thanksgiving Feed, and drawing inspiration from his Nevada surroundings, he conceived of a rodeo event. In its first year, 125 people attended; by 1980, that number had surged to an impressive 10,000. By 1988, the International Gay Rodeo Association had established chapters across the nation, and the Gay Rodeo Finals were slated to be held at the Lawlor Events Center at the University of Nevada, Reno. This period coincided with the devastating AIDS crisis, which was profoundly impacting the LGBTQ+ community. Simultaneously, conservative Christian activists were intensifying their nationwide efforts, propagating harmful and bigoted stereotypes about the disease. In Reno, local activists exerted pressure on politicians, advocating for the cancellation of the event. Rather than outright cancellation, the university cited contractual issues and withdrew from the agreement. While the ACLU mounted a challenge, the IGRA ultimately opted for an alternative venue – the rodeo arena on private land in Fallon. However, a subsequent wave of legal challenges arose, culminating in District Court Judge Archie E. Blake issuing an injunction that prohibited the rodeo. The judge’s reasoning cited the private venue’s lack of permit for rodeo operations, despite, according to Rodgers, its history of hosting similar events without incident. This episode effectively ended Reno’s claim as the home of the Gay Rodeo.

Growing up in Reno, I had little knowledge of this significant chapter in the city’s history, let alone the fact that we shared the same birthplace; it had been effectively erased from the local narrative. In 1988, Reno missed an opportunity to embrace something unique and valuable, a chance to support a vibrant community of creative individuals who had pioneered something novel. Instead, they were effectively driven out of town. Reno is a city I deeply cherish, yet I recognize its propensity for self-sabotage, often succumbing to the allure of grand pronouncements from billionaires promising jobs, influence, or riches. The city frequently gambles its resources, opting for high-risk ventures that ultimately prove to be losing hands. In its pursuit of distant, shimmering mirages, it can overlook or even undermine its own organic, homegrown strengths.

On Sunday, the final day of the rodeo, the air was crisp and the sunlight sharp, a quintessential Nevada day, the kind that evokes fond memories of countless hot summers. Gay rodeo shares many commonalities with its traditional counterpart, but with the added excitement of "camp events" such as goat dressing, a particular crowd favorite where contestants race across the arena to place underwear on a goat. Another popular event is steer decorating, where teams of two work to gently subdue a steer long enough to tie a ribbon onto its tail. Perhaps the most chaotically entertaining camp event is the Wild Drag Race. Each three-person team comprises one man, one woman, and one drag queen, or simply "drag." The drag performer stands on a chalk line positioned 70 feet from the chutes. One contestant is given a rope attached to a steer. When the chutes open, the other two team members endeavor to guide the steer past the chalk line and bring it to a halt. Once stopped, the drag performer mounts the steer’s back and must ride it back across the line to secure victory. This event is a source of immense amusement and, at times, considerable peril, frequently resulting in the drag performer being bucked off and one of the other teammates being dragged across the dirt, desperately clinging to the rope.

Between events, I explored the concourse, where vendors offered a variety of goods, including Western wear, cowboy boots, tie-dyed shirts, and novelty items. One exhibit meticulously showcased the history of Gay Rodeo through an array of posters, plaques, medals, ropes, and photo albums, narrating the sport’s evolution and its journey to its current standing. Taking it all in, I could envision an alternative timeline where the annual Reno Gay Rodeo had become an integral part of the city’s identity, a spirited event that the town proudly anticipated, serving as a bulwark against the condescending pronouncements of outsiders. Reno is also a city that values second chances, and perhaps, it is not yet too late for this reconciliation. The rodeo concluded with a final bull ride, accompanied by the electrifying beats of Lil Jon’s "Turn Down For What." The rider successfully remained mounted for the full six seconds. As the last event concluded, the announcers expressed their gratitude, and the classic strains of Roy Rogers and Dale Evans’ "Happy Trails" filled the air. The arena gradually emptied into the twilight. Somewhere behind them, back inside, an organizer carefully placed the rolled-up injunction into a box, destined to be filed away with the rest of the rodeo’s historical archives, an artifact of a bygone era.