White Knuckles

The other evening we put our blood pressures to the test.

         Without really knowing what we’d signed up for, we’d bought tickets to something called Cirque Ma’Ceo. We’d seen a couple of Cirque de Soleil shows and enjoyed them, so figured it was a good bet we’d like this, too.

          It wasn't part of that franchise, but it still transported me into the days when the circus would travel through small towns, exhibiting wonders never seen before.

          We walked through a field into a (small) Big Top strung with lights, with a center ring filled with sawdust. We had bought seats next to the ring – only about four feet from the action. The show began with two musicians on guitars who strolled around in the sawdust as the audience settled. Then they left and the horses arrived. 

          And what horses. Suddenly, only feet away, draft horses the size that Prince Valiant would have ridden into battle thundered around the ring, faster and faster.

Throughout the evening as they galloped, acrobats leaped on and off them, juggled on them, rode backwards, under their bellies, and balanced singly and in pyramids on them. I spent the entire evening wide-eyed, convinced that someone was sure to fall off and get trampled.

          Then came the fire baton guy. With the build of a sumo wrestler and a face right off of Easter Island, he tossed his flaming batons with more and more abandon, touching the ends to his tongue and the soles of his feet. I noted the nearest exit. When he lay in the sawdust, I figured we were done for until I realized it must have been treated with a flame retardant. Phew.

          And don’t get me started on the lady in black bondage leather with her crossbow.

          Whattta show!!