Home, home on the saw palmetto range

The announcer mounted a horse named Gus, said "go," and dozens of young boys and girls ran across the rodeo arena in pursuit of a calf and the red ribbon on his tail. The first child to get a piece of the ribbon would win a prize. A giggling wedge of children turned and came running back, the now ribbon-less calf loping behind them.

Then the bull riders took over, each cowboy trying to stay on the back of an angry, bucking bull for eight seconds. Most fell off in a second or two and rolled clear of the beast as rodeo clowns waved the bull through a gate.

The rodeo was the signature event of the weekend for hundreds of people staying at Westgate River Ranch, a Western-themed resort an hour or so south of Orlando, where cattle have grazed since Ponce de León brought Andalusian cattle to Florida on his second trip, nearly 500 years ago.

The event, like most everything at the resort, was family-oriented — less hard-core rodeo-skills contest than entertainment with corny jokes, trick riding, a tribute to the military and a recording of John Wayne talking about why he loved America.

But the bull riding was real, performed by professionals in a sanctioned rodeo. There were a few long moments when riderless bulls refused to be corralled, and people held their breath until the clowns, alternately coaxing and teasing the bull, drove him away from the fallen cowboy and back through the gate.

For me, a weekend at the resort was a chance to play at being a cowgirl, a childhood dream. In the intervening years, I had ridden horses, been to rodeos and learned the Cotton Eyed Joe. But the cowgirl thing never quite took, and I had neither a cowboy hat nor boots to pack for this trip.

The resort, which its operators call a dude ranch, sits along an old route where herds once were driven to market. Mark Waltrip, chief operating officer of Westgate Resorts, likes to point out that, thanks to Ponce de León, Florida was the first state to have cowboys.

The resort isn't a dude ranch in the usual sense. Although cattle and buffalo graze on the property, there are no livestock-related chores for guests to observe or help with. Horseback riding is a short, slow-paced trek through flat pasture and thickets of live oak.

And unlike most dude ranches, Westgate is not an all-inclusive resort. Meals, horseback riding, swamp buggy and airboat rides, use of a bicycle, skeet shooting, archery practice, the zip line, rodeo, hayrides and golf all cost extra.

The resort is a fun, outdoor-themed, family-oriented getaway, and the costs are spelled out on the website.

My cowgirl adventure started on a weekend when a friend and I planned to go to the rodeo, take a hayride and ride horses. As we drove onto the property, we spotted a nine-hole golf course, "glamping" tents, buffalo grazing behind a fence and a small zip line.

We passed a horse-drawn carriage decked in garlands of flowers, a bride and a man we assumed to be her father riding in it. At check-in, the clerk told us that, yes, a wedding was going on; there's a chapel on the premises.

That's when we learned that there was only one hayride a week, and it was happening right then. One bit of cowgirl fun bit the dust. We immediately made reservations for a Sunday horseback ride.

Then I went out to explore the grounds before the rodeo.

On the big lawn in front of the lodge, several dads and young sons were playing catch. The adventure park was next door, and the air was filled with shrieks and laughter from kids on the zip line or the bungee trampoline.

For $5 a ride, kids and adults alike tried to stay on a mechanical bull, operating over giant air mattresses.

At the rodeo we bought beer and pulled-pork sandwiches from the snack bar and found seats on the metal bleachers. The arena, which holds 1,200 people and is open to the public (not just resort guests), was almost full. When we stood for the national anthem, the cowboys on the far side of the arena stood on fence rails and chutes, their hats over their hearts.

Afterward, people lingered outdoors for the fun. Inside the saloon and on an outdoor dance floor, youngsters and their parents kicked, stomped, wriggled and spun to a mix of country music, rock and hip-hop. It seemed that everyone knew the Macarena, crossing their arms, flipping their palms and rolling their hips to the beat.

Around 10 p.m., a live band took the stage inside the saloon, and everyone under 18 was asked to leave, temporarily bolstering the ranks of the line dancers outside. Eventually they retired to tents pitched in the meadow, campers and RVs, Westgate's new glamping tents with heat and air-conditioning, cabins with wraparound porches or rooms in the lodge.

In the morning, we heard church bells from the chapel nearby and went out to ride horses. A sign warned that there would be no trotting, galloping or any other fast movement. Instead, we took a sedate stroll amid grazing cattle, while guides at the head and tail of the line talked about the property, which has a mix of oak hammock, scrub and pine-palmetto flatwoods.

We saw a small alligator sunning next to a pond, heard the tale of a bull we passed: He was named Lucky for the time he fell out of a trailer on the road and was found unharmed about two weeks later, grazing in someone else's pasture. And I learned that I was riding Gus, the rodeo announcer's mount.

Later we rented bicycles and saw the rest of the resort. Although it was Sunday afternoon and many people were clearing out, some were taking advantage of the three-day weekend and were shooting skeet, taking archery practice or going for swamp buggy rides.

One of the buffalo came to the fence to get a closer look at me, too. He glared through the barbed wire with a look that threatened harm. I got back on my bicycle and pedaled away. I never would have made it as a cowgirl.