Cowboys

I watched Pale Rider last night. Having had thoughts about John Wayne and his deputies in my last post, Clint Eastwood suddenly turned up and made me think even more about Cowboys.

Isn’t that just the image you want to create on  a Harley?

The lonesome Cowboy, just him and his horse and the endless horizon, never to be messed with when he enters the saloon.

Don’t we know it all? See it right in front of us?

No frontiers, American dream, no roots, no mercy.

Do all bikers crave the beauty of a life as wild as a cowboy’s?

Some do. I do.

But I am a woman.

“I wish I could grow a beard.” This thought flashed through my brain watching Clint Eastwood get on his horse, eyes like steel looking round.

The wish, spoken out loud, got a reply.  “The boys wouldn’t like it!”

The boys wouldn’t like it???

Why should I care what they like? On my Harley, I don’t. I refuse to be judged by their standards.

But what are my standards? How to be a female cowboy. With no beard! Well, theoretical beard.

Where are the strong mythical female figures? The tough chicks?

How can you be cool without a beard?

There is no myth to support us.

Pale rideresses???

No!

If we don’t want to be judged by male standards, we need to create our own.

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