Dude ranch hosts weekend wranglers

At Westgate River Ranch, greenhorns get down-home Florida thrills and plenty of frills.

By Lane DeGregory, Times Staff Writer
Published August 12, 2007

A group of children from Vero Beach take a break from a birthday celebration to watch a horse grazing at Westgate River Ranch "America's largest dude ranch."
	[JOHN PENDYGRAFT I Times]

ADVERTISEMENT [JOHN PENDYGRAFT I Times] Guests hang out at the old fashioned Saloon after the rodeo at Westgate River Ranch "America's largest dude ranch."

RIVER RANCH

It's dark when we get to the dude ranch. Country dark, the kind you can't find in the suburbs. No neon signs, no streetlights. Only stars pin-pricking the inky sky. And our minivan's headlights, snaking down the long, narrow lane. We've driven two hours east of Tampa this Friday, toward the center of the state, into the middle of nowhere. We booked a weekend at Westgate River Ranch for an adventure. A family of four city slickers, "roughing it" in Florida's cattle country. Staying in a suite at what proclaims itself to be "The World's Largest Dude Ranch." It doesn't matter if it's true. Our boys have never ridden a horse, never scrambled for a calf. The brochures promise a dusty trail ride, a crooning cowboy, and plenty of bovine action.

* * *

There was a town here once, at the turn of the century. Real cowboys herded thousands of cattle through the swampy lowlands. The town was Kicco: Kissimmee Cattle Co. Far from Florida's beaches and grand hotels, it thrived as a remote ranch for more than 50 years.

During the land boom of the 1960s, developers bought 100,000 acres in Kicco. They squared off large lots for home sites, built a lodge with a three-story fireplace. Fenced off the livestock.

"This place changed hands six times after that, before it went into bankruptcy," says Leroy Mason, who helps run the ranch. In 2001, another developer bought 1,700 acres and named it Westgate River Ranch. Investors spent $15-million renovating the property and building accommodations. "We've got a hotel here now," Mason says. "Timeshare cabins and an airport. We've even got our own ZIP code."

* * *

Though it's almost midnight, there's a line to check in. Rooms at the ranch are booked six months in advance.

Our boys, 9 and 10, climb onto tall stools made of saddles. Their feet dangle above the stirrups. "Gidyyap!" "Woo-hoo!" "Shhhhh!"

The trash cans look like rain barrels. Cow skulls grin at us from the walls.

Soon, a friendly girl calls us to get our room key. "You can book your fun right here," she says, handing us a list of activities: skeet shooting, archery, golf; air boat tours, swamp buggies, hayrides. We can hug a goat in the petting zoo, ride a mule on the live merry-go-round, rent a cane pole and snag a fish from the stocked pond.

The ranch is a microcosm of Florida - old and new - a Disney-esque version of what once was, coupled with amenities many tourists expect. Visitors can hike trails through the marsh or shop at the Western boutique; commune with cattle in the pastures or chill out in the hot tub. Shoot a skeet. Get a massage. Watch a rodeo. An authentic cowboy experience, cleaned up and cushioned.

* * *

Our "courtyard suite" is on the hotel's second story. A long screened porch overlooks the tennis courts. Saturday morning, we watch a family of sandhill cranes nibbling grass beside a doubles game.

The suite has a small, stocked kitchen with a stove, pots and pans, and full-sized refrigerator. You can bring groceries, or buy them at the little market behind the lodge. If you'd rather eat out, the ranch includes a deli, pizza delivery, ice cream shop and full-service restaurant.

Many guests at the ranch rent golf carts to get around. But the hike from restaurant to rodeo arena takes only 15 minutes. We walk past the fitness center and the timeshare sales office, past the tiny post office and Kids' corral, where birdhouses are built.

Grub at the Smokehouse Grill is simple, cheap and hearty: Grits and home fries, biscuits and gravy. The boys enjoy making their own waffles. My husband goes back for seconds at the omelet bar. I drink sweet tea from a Mason jar. "What's that?" one son wants to know. So I tell my kids about canning, how important that skill used to be. Yep, my grandmother knew how to make her own jellies and jams. Nope, I have no idea.

* * *

Most of the weekend dudes have never ridden a horse. We line up, a dozen townsfolk, outside the stables. "It's okay," the lead cowboy soothes. "These animals know the drill."

Over sand speed bumps, under live oak hammocks, we clop for more than an hour. The gait is slow enough to take in the scrubby landscape. Fast enough for me. Big bulls and long-horned bison stare at us from a far field. Shaggy cows and wobbly ponies look up from the shade.

When the stables come back into view, my boys' faces fall. They're saddle sore, but want to go again. "My cowboy boots even got dusty," says one. He'd never worn them anywhere but the mall.

* * *

The cowboy sings karaoke. On the hayride, he sits atop the front bale, behind the John Deere, between two tall speakers. Instead of a guitar, he has a band in a box.

He calls himself "Tex." He looks like Wilford Brimley in a plaid shirt. Though he's old enough to be a granddad, he has a MySpace page: myspace.com/lskrick. Lonestar Karaoke Rick.

His real name is Rick Massey. His other job is ranch plumber.

While people climb onto the tandem trailers, carrying children and cans of Corona, the cowboy calls into his microphone. "Welcome to River Ranch hayride! Whadda ya say? Yee-haw. Let me hear you say Yeeeee Haaaaaw!"

A few people whoop. A few roll their eyes. A boy dumps an armful of hay on his mom's head.

"Well I'm here tonight to do some entertaining for you," Tex says. "So you guys just sit back and enjoy the ride."

He turns a knob on the box by his knee and an invisible country band strikes a beat. Then Tex starts in on that old cowboy standard, "Well I stopped off at the Quick Mart for beer and cigarettes . . ."

We roll past a parched swamp, where yellow weeds line spidery cracks in the mud. We drive by head-high patches of purple thistles, live oaks laced with Spanish moss. On one side of the dirt road, dozens of round plastic feeders are surrounded by cows. Cattle egrets dance along their backs. Two wild turkeys trot alongside our trailer. A buzzard swoops down and settles on a fence.

"If it walks, crawls, slithers or flies, you can find it out here," the cowboy says. "We've seen deer on this ride - hogs, panthers, bobcats and rattlesnakes."

* * *

We scarf hot dogs and baked beans at the cookout, sitting at long picnic tables alongside 100 other dudes and dudettes. Then it's time for the rodeo. So we hike across the ranch, turn behind the saloon.

The saloon has a take-out window. While you sit on metal bleachers, watching guys being bucked off bulls, you can sip a pink margarita from a clear plastic cowboy boot. Boy howdy!

A horseman rides into the ring, wearing leather chaps colored like Confederate flags. "This isn't the opera. You're not in church," he bellows. "You can let your hair down here, folks. And if there's any red in your neck, you can show it off tonight!"

When the rodeo clown prances in, the crowd starts stomping. Bull riding. This is what they came for. "Here kitty, kitty," the clown taunts as he swings open the gate. "Your mom's a cow!"

It's frightening at first, watching a guy get slung off a bull. But after a few cowboys walk away with only bruised egos, you get into it.

The rodeo is professional. Contestants pay to compete in bull riding, barrel racing and steer roping. Other acts are orchestrated: Two women on horses hang upside down beneath their saddles; a man straddles two horses and surfs them around the ring, threading through slalom poles, jumping over a torch.

* * *

There's supposed to be a bonfire. But the ranch canceled it because of a wildfire threat. Workers set up a couple of Hibachis and spread out fixings for s'mores. I roast marshmallows while the boys jump in the blow-up moon bounce with a dozen other kids. A country band blares from the saloon. Later, there's a hula-hoop contest and line dancing.

And another take-out margarita in a plastic cowboy boot. Gotta have a pair.

While I'm sipping my drink, watching my boys laugh, listening to some band play that electric slide song, I think about our other vacations - especially ones we've taken in timeshares. We usually have to make compromises: Someone wants to fish; someone else wants to shop. My husband wants to be outdoors. I want to be with my family; being near a bar and a band never hurts.

Here in this comfy cowboy haven, in the middle of nowhere, two hours from home, we all had it all. And I got to hug a goat.

Yee-haw!

Lane DeGregory can be reached at 727 893-8825 or degregory@sptimes.com

If you go to the dude ranch

Westgate River Ranch is off U.S. 60, about 25 miles east of Lake Wales, a two-hour drive from Tampa. It's a timeshare resort which includes a hotel and guest cabins. Tent camping also is available. Hotel rooms range from $79 to $99 per night. The more expensive units include a full kitchen. The resort has one restaurant and a deli in the general store.

Most activities require an additional fee:

- Horseback ride: $30 an hour

- Hayride and barbecue: $16 adults, $11 children

- Rodeo admission: $12 adults, $6 children

- Skeet shooting, includes gun and shells: $25

For more information, call toll-free 1-866-396-2293 or go to www.westgateriverranch.com.

[Last modified August 10, 2007, 20:02:46]