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A Biography of Johnny Ringo (My Father). A Carefree Cowboy’s Journey to Heaven.
"A Biography of Johnny Ringo (My Father). A Carefree Cowboy's Journey to Heaven."
The road stretched long and empty, the desert heat shimmering like a mirage in the distance. A man rode in—not on horseback, not in a covered wagon, but in a 1988 Cadillac sedan. He was running from despair, from a past he could no longer change, and yet, he was unaware of exactly what lay ahead. All he knew was that he was ready to start anew.
A man with few belongings but a world of experience, Johnny carried with him a stained art of his past in one hand and a dream of the future in the other. He drove into town, carefree and unburdened, only to be met by the most senior man of all—an elder whose presence was as timeless as the desert itself.
“Hello, sir. Welcome to Carefree. You look lost. Where should you be?”
Johnny raised an eyebrow. “Did you say Carefree? Then what better place could I ask for? It is exactly where I should be.”
The Elder, with his long white hair and piercing green eyes, dug his cane into the sand and declared, “Then here, on this land, you will find your way, my friend. But tell me, what is it you hope to be?”
Johnny took a small step forward, pushed his black sunglasses into his curly brown hair—short in the front, long in the back—spread his arms wide, and gazed into the horizon.
“I want to be a cowboy.”
The Elder chuckled. “Well then, the first thing you need is a hat. A cowboy hat.”
The simple suggestion dissolved into the sweltering desert air as Johnny walked back to his champagne-colored Cadillac. He drove down the Carefree Highway, passing warnings of a wash ahead. Ignoring the hazard sign, he steered into the wash, brushing against desert bushes, swerving around sequoias, until he slammed on the brakes—skidding straight into a prickly pear.
He stepped out, wearing only a black T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. The desert stretched around him like an endless sea of sand. He shouted into the heat, “What now?”
Frustrated, he got back into his car, popped in a cassette of The Who, and waited. Minutes turned into hours, the tape clicked to an end, and silence settled over the wash.
Then—hoofbeats. A group of five riders galloped past, kicking up dust and sending pebbles tapping against the car. The leader was dressed in magnificent western wear, his cowboy hat sitting high, silver spurs glinting in the sunlight. Johnny watched, captivated until they disappeared over the horizon.
“That’s it,” Johnny murmured. “I need to get a cowboy hat—a black one with silver trim.”
Determined, he drove to the nearest ranch, traded his car for a Jeep, swapped his city clothes for cowboy gear, and pointed toward Mount Humboldt. “That’s where I want to go.”
The ranch hand scoffed. “Sir, no one can do that.”
Johnny locked eyes with the man and replied, “Well then, not only will I do it, but I’ll bring hordes of people up into those clouds with me.”
Word of his ambition spread fast, and at the local Indian village, a strong Native man overheard Johnny’s tale.
“A man with a mission like yours deserves a special name—one with meaning and history. What is your name?”
“John Briganti.”
The man laughed, shaking his head. “No, sir. Your name is Johnny Ringo now.”
With the blessing of his new name and the fire of determination in his heart, Johnny Ringo spent decades turning his vision into reality. He created Carefree Jeep Adventures, a tour that drew people from across the nation. He rallied the town into Wild West Day, uniting the community, bringing together merchants, the Indian Village, Harold’s Pub, and spiritual guidance from Church at the Chip.
For years, he lived his dream—until disaster struck. A wildfire tore through his fleet, his studios, and his garages, reducing his life’s work to ashes. And if that wasn’t enough, months later, he received the devastating news: cancer.
This time, he didn’t ride in his sedan. This time, Johnny rode horseback, retracing his steps to the very wash where his journey had begun. He stood beneath a sky painted with streaks of red and gold, shouting into the cooling desert air, “What now? I brought people up the mountain when they said it couldn’t be done. Now I’m stricken with cancer. What advice do you have for your son?”
As the sun dipped behind the horizon, turning the sky from red to blue to purple, Johnny felt the answer settle over him like a whisper from the wind. “I need a new cowboy hat. A black one with purple trim.”
Fueled by the desire to live and the unwavering support of his community, Johnny Ringo rode again, rebuilding from the ground up, detailing new Jeeps, restoring hope, and battling a disease fiercer than any wildfire. When doctors gave him the odds, he simply smiled and said, “Not only will I beat this, but I’ll bring hordes of people with me.”
And he did. Against all odds, Johnny Ringo emerged cancer-free. Two years later, the townspeople from near and far banded together to rebuild his tour grounds, restoring what had been lost. Just in time for Johnny to see it all come to life again.
On his last ride, beneath a sky filled with endless stars, Johnny Ringo, wearing a black cowboy hat with white trim, led one final tour—higher than Mount Humboldt itself.
Today, his memory lives on in Carefree, where the legend of Johnny Ringo is etched into the desert, the town, and the hearts of those who knew him. Beneath the open sky, where the wind still whispers his name, his loyal horse, Blackjack, stands watch over his grave. Beside him rest two weathered cowboy hats—one adorned with silver, the other with purple trim—a silent tribute to a legend.
For Johnny Ringo loved the desert. And the desert, in return, never forgot him.
While honoring the memory of a deceased loved one was my family value, add a comment what might have been your family value? Describe it with your family and place it on your Family Values worksheet, downloadable as a free PDF on my site for free when you subscribe to All Dads On Deck.
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