Monty also had an uneventful trip to San Francisco. He had wakened early, as always, dressed and packed for the trip, and hitched up the trailer. As he was connecting the trailer's plug for the electric brakes to the truck, he noticed the rifle used in last night's pig hunt still in the gun rack in the rear window of the truck. He didn't want to take that gun, either in sight or hidden, into San Francisco. He didn't want to take the time to carry it back up to the house, so he quickly removed it and stowed it in the barn where his saddle and other horse equipment were stored.
It was a simple, spur-of-the-moment decision, but one which would have far-reaching consequences.
The big V8 engine rumbled along, easily keeping pace with the other traffic rushing north on 101. The Chevy's side view mirrors were adjusted so that each showed a glimpse of the sides of the 18-foot stock trailer behind, a constant reminder to the driver that he needed to allow extra room when changing lanes. With the fifth-wheel hitch located just above the pickup's rear axle, the trailer followed straight and true with none of the sway common to a bumper hitch, and the excessive power of the modified engine meant that the driver could easily forget that he had a trailer at all. Even the return trip with the 4 or 5 one-ton bulls he planned to buy would provide little challenge to this rig.
In his wildest dreams, Monty could not have imagined just how different that return trip from the Cow Palace would be.
*** Ranny's Wednesday at work was no better than any other day during the Grand National. In the morning, he worked the horse barns again, sweeping up, loading and hauling 16 wheelbarrow loads of horse manure. He avoided the area around the Windemere Farms stalls, but noticed that Cynthia was having a heated discussion with the cleanup crew foreman. He was reassigned by the foreman in the afternoon, with no reason given, and loaded and hauled 17 wheelbarrow loads of cow manure in the lower barns area.
Sure, he knew that he had to work somewhere doing something, but each shovel of shit he lifted deepened his hatred of the Cow Palace.