So long, Chris. Enjoy those Western Skies.

Ever tip an Original Coors back after a hard day in the field? Drop $10 you didn't have into the church's offering plate 'cause it was the right thing to do? Walk a Kansas field looking for birds, pull on a pair of Tony Lamas, open the door for a woman or throw a punch for a friend? If you have, you know Chris LeDoux.

And you'll be crushed to learn he passed away late Wednesday in Casper, Wyoming.

A true singer/songwriter who once described his music as a combination of "Western soul, sagebrush blues, cowboy folk and rodeo rock 'n roll", LeDoux was a former world champion bareback rider who passed his talent for hanging on tight to millions of fans who'll never let go.

He sang about cowboys and cadillacs. Copenhagen angels and junkies. Brahma bulls and Billy the Kid. He knew God Must Be A Cowboy, a Workin' Man's Dollar only buys the things a working man really needs (like beer) and that you'll have to fight us all if you touch This Cowboy's Hat.

He was with us at the lake: Afton, Cheney, El Dorado and Lone Star. He was with us in the fields: Hardtner, Rush Center, Kinsley and Grainfield. We bumped into him at the Kansas State Fair back in '92. At the Cotillion in '93 and '95. In Springfield around '99. And most recently, we got a little rowdy with him at Billy Boby's in Fort Worth two years ago.

An honorary BDS member who never knew it, his simple demeanor was held in stark contrast to his electrifying shows. Just ask any non-country fan who found himself unwillingly dragged to a LeDoux concert only to drunkenly stumble out into the parking lot afterwards mumbling "Damn! Now that was a concert, and I don't even like country! And why the hell am I screaming!"

Sadly, LeDoux's influence on today's music scene isn't what it should be. Some guy named Garth Brooks once played a worn out tape of Chris LeDoux and claimed his own live performances were heavily influenced by the energy LeDoux channelled onstage, but most of the "new country" forced onto an unwitting public is easily confused with that pop crap found further up the dial. Few country artists have the desire, courage or knowledge to write songs about the world west of Nashville and east of LA. Afer hearing the news late Wednesday, we know that small number dropped by one.

Chris once sang "When I die, you can bury me beneath these Western Skies".

Knowing you lived the life you sang about, Chris, you may be buried beneath them but you're probably looking down on them, too.