Mission Impossible: Skating With the Bulls

Risking Life and Limb

Here's one way to get into trouble with the police while
endearing yourself to the crowd: skate the bull run in
Pamplona, Spain! For only 825 meters and a mere
two-and-a-half minutes, your life will flash before your
eyes on cobbled streets lubricated by centuries of spilled
beer, red wine, and blood.

Busted
I survived the Festival of San Fermin and the running of the
bulls, but barely just! Spotted with skates on July 7, 2000,
I was apprehended and tossed off the course minutes before
the start. I wass being led by the arm by a police officer
when cannon the first cannon blast sounded, indicating the
the first bull had exploded out of the corral.

Sneak Skate
More stealthy on day two, I managed to dash out of a doorway
and skate for my life on July 8, 2000. A raging pack of
one-ton beasts drove a wedge through a white and red sea of
runners. Nostrils flared. Terror reigned. Right before my
eyes people were flung like rag dolls and bulls came
crashing around my feet. Somehow I made it through the
carnage.

Eduardo the Bull
For some, I was the bull. Party crazed Pamplonans urged me
on from behind with sticks and rolled-up newspapers. Good
thing for helmets! Around the Plaza Consistorial's
dangerously slick dogled and up the Calle Estafetta I
steamed while bulls and humans alike spun out like so many
cartoon characters. Overtaken by one of the bulls on the
final straightaway, I lunged for his tail,hoping to grab a
ride into the ring. Boo-hoo. All I got was a handful of el
toro poo-poo.

Break on Through
Under my own steam, I finally did penetrate the arena before
the last bull rushed in and the gate slammed shut. 50,000
spectators screamed expectantly as thousands of of runners
were now penned in with two very angry bulls.

Payback Time
Retribution came swiftly. The bulls charged pell-mell into
the crowd, razing weekend matadors left and right. Some
managed to scramble back to their feet or jump over the
boards to safety. Others weren't so lucky. Their blood
percolated through the sandy floor of the bullring.

Sick pleasure
The spectators went wild every time a man got augered into
the ground or plastered into the boards, whereas they
whistled and booed every time the taunting public seemed to
get the upper hand. A field day for disaster voyeurs.

Skate Pamplona
Outside the ring, the scene was equally boisterous but far
less dangerous. Weaving through festival goers on skates
turned out to be the ticket to enjoyment. Pamplona was a
city that never stopped partying. In every neighborhood
another musical group could be heard belting out Basque
anthems or Spanish tunes from multi-media stages.

Festival Worshippers
Marching bands snaked their way through the streets and
squares while a procession of dancers bounced in their wake.
Revelers in traditional white attire and red scarves always
had a curious eye for the most sober guy still standing --
me on skates! Often they would lay themselves prostrate in
mock adoration or they would break out into a sporting cheer
of "Indurain, Indurain, Indurain!"

Skate For Your Life
Although my mom would thank the police for their effforts at
trying to prevent me from skating with the bulls, what I did
in the end was no more or no less dangerous than walking
through New York City's Central Park at night.

Danger is a relative thing, and skating with the bulls put
life in perspective once again. It reminded me that fear is
there to be conquered -- even if it calls for defying
authority and having a willingness to suffer consequences.

Gracias
San Fermin taught me that it's good simply to be alive.
Thanks to the bulls and all of Pamplona for allowing me to
take a long-running tradition and give it a quick skating
twist.