2019 Krosstoberfest at Corriganville


In the annals of the new West few places elicit a level of angst, fear and loathing when their names are uttered as does the name Corriganville. Folks in the know take the long way 'round, rather than the straight road through, an' for good reason. "To Hell or Corriganville" is the oft heard lament o' teamsters, drovers and others whom, for business sake, have visits to the hell hole forced upon them. 

As it turned out all that bawdiness, that unsavory reputation that has be-deviled the little hamlet among the oaks was on full display; lordy, there was duels a takin' place every where - on the streets o' the town, out on the trails, in the shade o' the shelterin' oaks, and in the brightness o' the high noon sun. There ain't many places where outlaws can wear masks in the middle o' the day intent on their nefarious deeds without drawin' the attention o' the local sheriff. Corriganville, though, 'pears to be one o' those places. Wranglers was streaked with sweat 'n dust, and blood was flowin', down arms and legs. The sun warn't even high in the sky yet and the drink was already bein' freely downed. The worst, though, had to have been the cussin' incident; this one feller come a roarin' down the trail, headed toward town and all of a sudden there's a clunk sort a sound, like he'd run smack into a rock or a hard dip in the path. Well, I look up to see this feller over to the side o' the trail just a cussin' at his ride, using words the like o' which you ain't never heard this side o' perdition. Anyway he starts to finangle with it to no avail, cussin' all the time until I thought for sure he was a goin' to pull out his six-shooter an' plug it but good. Instead he reached a point of frustration and lifted it up over his head. Just as I was sure he was a goin' to smash it back down against the rocks he musta thought better of that course o' action, maybe mindful o' the expense and trouble of acquirin' a new ride, an' set it down easy like instead. Then he started a fiddlin' with the durn thing again, cussin' all the while, usin' words that surely would a burned the ears clean off a righteous god-fearin' woman (not that there was any o' them kind around the place, mind you). Well, after a while the devil musta heard all that cussin' an' takin' pity on the feller, fixed the problem for 'im, 'cause he mounted up and, ridin' high in the saddle, rode off aroun' the bend, cuss words litterin' the ground behind him. I followed 'em into town, the surest trail you could ever hope to see.

gangs a wearin' masks in broad daylight

Followin' that trail I, straight away, arrived in town. There was gangs o' desperados set up everywhere I looked - over on the edge, where they could make a quick get-away if'n they needed to, was the La Grange outfit. Closer in was the PAA boys, while on the opposite corner were some Ordinary fellers. Every corner o' the town seemed to be occupied by one outfit or another, rough-lookin' men and women claimin' it as their own territory, throwin' threatenin' looks through eyes like slits at any an' all passers-by. Jus' outside o' town, arrayed under a big spreadin' oak tree, right next to the ruins o' the ol' stone-walled jail (which I heard tell was brought ta that state o' bein' by them) may have been the wickedest gang o' all - the SWATs. There seemed to be all kind o' shoutin' and devilry a goin' on o'er there, all day long, an' I made sure to steer clear.

The unwary were rounded up by the big boss and made to do unnatural things, things they wouldn't 'ave imagined doing had they only avoided the place. They were a lined up in groups 'an forced to ride around through a maze, a gauntlet between all the gangs, who continually throwed abuse upon them in language most foul. At one point they had to dismount and jump over boards. They had to ride up the steep rutted sides o' gullies. Unable to carry on, many o' the folks give up right there, fallin', and a slidin' down the slope; heck some o' them fell at the bottom in hopes of receivin' some pity from the daemon's watchin' it all take place. But no, they're forced to run on up the gully slope and keep on goin'. 

I heard tell the gangs o' miscreants will be a ridin' out to Calimesa another day o' devilry, the 13th o' October. If'n you dare you can take a ride out there your own selves, just take care you don't get lassoed into the trail bosses mischief, it is easy to get caught up in it all.


taco time

not even the kinder were safe from the gangs

one o' them SWAT roughians

don't let 'em fool ya - the Big Orange outfit is just as bad as the rest

Diana Sjol wins the Women's A race

Finally, you'll find your album with its selection of photos from the day's races right here.


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