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I was talking to Lourdes, but from outside the barricade. We weren’t talking more than a minute when a scream went up from the crowd behind me. I didn’t pay attention-- that was always happening. But Lourdes said "Look out!" I turned to see a bull standing 10 yards away. He had somehow escaped the corral. He turned, our eyes met, he charged.

There was no time to get out of his way. There was nowhere to go. He lowered his head and the flat of his skull between snout and horns caught my left thigh and he heaved me up in the air as if I were a rag doll. I landed on the other side of the fence with a ripped shirt and pants, but otherwise unscathed. I was lucky. Others have ended up in the hospital.

For the rest of our stay in Tlacotalpan my nickname was "El Torero" -- the bull fighter.