Eating trail dust in 14 states gives a cowboy a powerful thirst. True to form, Ray Piecuch cradles a cold one as he settles into an armchair in a friend's Woodside, Calif., home. Piecuch, 41, a divorced plumber, may have never roped a cow, but he has achieved a modern-day wrangler's dream. On April 5, astride his 9-year-old brown gelding, Bo, he viewed the Pacific in Baker Beach, Calif., ending a 3,800-mile trek that began a year ago in Hampton Beach, N.H. Now he must face the inevitable question: Why?
"It's a simple concept," he drawls. "Get a horse, go west." Piecuch had always longed to be a cowboy, but there was little call for one in Epping, N.H., where he grew up. So last April 15, with less than $200 and 20 pounds of grain, Piecuch saddled up and headed out of town. "A cowboy ain't a pair of boots," he says. "It's an attitude. It's a love of life, of people, of good times and solid work."
Using state highways and county roads, Piecuch followed the setting sun, working odd jobs—from house-painting to tuning up chain saws—to support himself and Bo. He also survived on the kindness of strangers. In New York a customer bought him a burger when he rode into a fast-food drive-through lane. More than 300 people, including a woman who was told by a fortune-teller to expect a man on a horse, put him up for the night. On the downside, he got plenty sore. And in Beryl Junction, Utah, and San Mateo, Calif., animal-control authorities briefly impounded Bo to be sure he wasn't being mistreated.
Piecuch is uncertain what comes next. "Your guess is as good as mine," he says. One thing's for sure, though: He wants to go home—but this time he (and Bo) would just as soon not have to hoof it.
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