Analysis of The Ride

He could smell that old familiar smell as soon as he stepped out of
his old truck. It was a smell like no other. It was the smell of the
rodeo.
The smell brought back memories of his first ride and then his last.
The sweet smell of victory and the sour stank of defeat.
People would often ask him why he continued to ride through all the
bumps and bruises and the pain. But he himself did not know the true
answer to that question. He only knew it was something he had to do.
Just as much if not more so than he wanted to do. For it not
only occupied his thoughts during the day but also his dreams during
the night.
He took one last deep breath of the cool November air and headed
for the shoot.
And he did not know if he would get the high score. Or if he would
be carried back through those old hospital doors. But he was drawn
back here again like the moon pulls the tide. And when that shoot
gate opened he would do what he had to do. He would sit up and ride.