Sturgis

The Sturgis Motorcycle Rally is an American motorcycle rally held annually in Sturgis, South Dakota. It lasts ten days and is usually during the first full week of August.  In 1938, a group of Indian (the brand not Native Americans) Motorcycle riders originally started the rally to showcase stunts and races. Attendance averages 500,000 people, reaching a high of over 700,000 in 2015, and generating around $800 million in revenue.

Here are three reasons to go to the “City of Riders” for the rally:

1. Motorcycle riding in the Black Hills of South Dakota is magnificent.

2. The concerts are amazing. Ozzy Osbourne was this year’s headliner, with Lynryd Skynryd.

3. The people-watching is fabulous.

As USA Today states, “This storied weeklong biker rally is no longer the raucous spectacle it once was when motorcycle gangs fought in the streets with wrenches and set fire to foreign-made bikes. Today, you’re more likely to find doctors, lawyers, and accountants than Hell’s Angels, although you’ll still see them too, selling patches alongside corn dog vendors and scantily clad women hawking motorcycle insurance at an event that celebrates everything fast, loud and powerful. Just maybe not so rowdy these days. ‘There aren’t so many naked ladies anymore’, said one longtime attendee.”

My experience in the town of Sturgis (not during the rally) was one of relaxed observation. I love the names of the businesses. Asylum Tattoo, Beaver Bar, Kickstand Campground, Full Throttle Saloon, Broken Spoke Saloon, Sturgis Guns, One Sexy Biker Chick, Hot Leathers, Mr. Al’s Cycle Threads, Flo’s Chop Shop, The Knuckle Saloon, Sturgis Motorcycle Museum, and Badass Chinese Restaurant. (I made that last one up). And there was a banner across the street for Russ Brown Motorcycle Attorney.

I am surprised by the number of churches. There isn’t any data supporting my theory that because of the decadence of the rally, there are also more ways to atone. I did find some evidence that the churches capitalize on the rally by serving church breakfasts, though.

For the two hours that I was in Sturgis, interestingly, I saw only one person on a motorcycle.

From Sturgis, Abby and I drive to our next AirBnB in Billings, Montana. As usual, we arrive late, approximately 9 pm. The turnoff into the driveway is hard to find, as it resembles a forgotten forest path and doesn’t look wide enough to fit a car. I drive down the pitted and gullied dirt road, trying to maneuver potholes for the full 1/4 mile to the end. The last portion turns 90 degree into a parking spot on the side of the house. As I make the turn, seven sets of eyes glisten in the darkness. My blood flow speeds through my arteries, causing a panic to rise.

Cows. I stop the car and slide it into “park” to relax after the stress of the driveway and assess the abundance of cows. Growing up in the northeast US, I am unfamiliar with cow behavior. I assume that they’re friendly, like Elsie, the Borden milk cow. She was always smiling. But, as I have learned from traveling solo, if I am going to miscalculate, it should be cautiously. I lean forward to get a better look at my path to the front door.

The cows aren’t excited to meet us. Abby’s incessant barking spooks them. Meticulously, they turn in unison and saunter off to the adjoining field.

Leaving the car running for light and a quick escape, I get out and walk around to Abby’s door to unclip her leash. She feels my trepidation and mirrors it with her hair raised on her back and a bark ready behind her lips. I scan the darkness as we walk the 50 yards to the front door. Abby stops to pee and I hope there are no coyotes hiding in the bushes waiting to eat her. We arrive at the unlocked door safely. In the sudden silence of the home’s interior, I hear my heartbeat in my ears. This is Grizzly country after all.

Unpacking the car is a spectacle. I know that bears tend to avoid loud humans. But, they will break into a locked car for scented items as small as gum and chapstick. I reserve one hand for the clanging of car keys and under that arm, I tuck bear spray. As I carry bags and coolers and everything scented, I do it one-handed, singing “Happy Birthday”, while “ringing” my keys. Abby rolls her eyes.

Finally settled in the house with all doors locked, I tour the interior. This house has an open floor plan. The fireplace is made of fieldstone and stretches from the hearth to the apex of the cathedral ceiling. The floors are natural hardwood. The kitchen is modern with granite countertops and stainless appliances. Local logs that were debarked by hand create the open steps to the loft. The walk-in shower is crafted with more fieldstone, lining the floor, walls and ceiling.  

Within the hour, I am cozy in bed with a down comforter up to my nose and my own pillow under my head. Abby is curled in the crook of my knee, with my keys and bear spray on watch on the side table.