Welcome to Sturgis, South Dakota, where motorcycle rallies have been a tradition for more than a century.
You might be a biker if … your best shoes have steel toes!
Prejudice is an ugly thing. And we all have them. We often
judge a group from what we hear from others. One of the groups I didn’t know
but didn’t like was bikers.
Now the first person I knew who had a motorcycle was my best
friend, Bill. In fact, back in the ‘60s, we spent a week camping at a state
park in central Pennsylvania. Starting in northern New Jersey,
He drove his 250cc Honda while I chugged along in my ’61 Ford Falcon.
Bill still has a bike and I think he’s a great person. My
only other acquaintance that owns one is Bobby Mac, a man who was once a
hard-core drug user who has become a minister of the Gospel. Another wonderful
person.
But as a newspaper reporter, I covered a few incidents
involving outlaw bikers and my worst experience came upon discovering that we
had purchased a house whose back yard was across the street from a biker bar.
The gang didn’t come by too often, but were there on summer holiday weekends. I
remember one day around July 4th when I had my son in our backyard
pool and started hearing shots. I quietly removed him from the pool and brought
him inside and insisted everyone stay in the front side of the house. The bar,
then known as the Silver Dollar Saloon, underwent many name changes until it
burned to the ground. I remember watching the fire with my neighbors and the
fire department concerned itself mainly with ensuring the fire didn’t spread,
rather than salvaging the building. There was great happiness on the block,
though we had to wait nearly five years before the building was demolished.
There was constant traffic (and noise) from the hundreds of thousands of motorcycles invading Sturgis every day.
And so I had a definite prejudice against bikers. Last July,
I spent a month throughout South Dakota and learned that there is an annual
biker rally in a town called Sturgis, west of Rapid City in the Black Hills.
About half a million bikers attend the ten-day event. I made damn sure I got
the hell out of the state several days before the rally started.
You might be a biker if…your two best friends are named
after animals!
This year was quite different. I had my prejudice blow up in
my face. As many know, I work in a tourist trap along I-90. It’s about 90 miles
east of Sturgis and thousands of bikers stop by every day during the rally.
While they dress tough, they are kind, gentle people -- every single one of the
thousands I’ve met has been so, without exception.
There were lots of portable toilets scattered throughout the town
The black leather they wear inevitably features a home
“club,” usually a city or small region. A lot of them are Christians who spread
the Gospel through their contacts. Some even belong to my group – RVers and
keep their motorcycles in what we call “toy” trailers that feature a storage
area for motorcycles in the back of the trailer and have a fold-down door to
ride out of.
Despite some incredible tattooing, biker babes are “hot.” I
can’t quite figure out how these women in their middle age through seniors, who
are athletic and toned with often rock-hard bodies, are doing with fat, aging
men who look (and often smell) horrendous. Of course, I’m jealous. Besides a bike, what do have that
these guys don’t. I suppose it’s money.
I’m told a lot of these men are doctors, lawyers and other
professional people. In other words they’re well to do, if not rich. Whatever!
I asked a lot of them and almost all said they were just plain lucky. One guy
had an answer that made sense. They had to be that way to fit on the back seat
of a bike!
And so I just had to visit Sturgis on my day off. At this
point, I only have a single day off during this time because of all the bikers
stopping off at my workplace. So my impressions are based on a single day
there. And the visit was daytime one, so I didn’t observe the legendary wild
partying. But I suspect what happens in Sturgis, stays in Sturgis.
The day started a lot later than I planned. On the previous
night, actually early this morning, we were hit by a tremendous thunderstorm
that dumped about five inches of water on us. With the lightning, I couldn’t
get to sleep and didn’t do so until the thunder stopped and I finally passed
out around 3 a.m. with a constant drumming on my trailer roof.
Even at 11 a.m, the party had already been well underway.
I also didn’t know how to dress. I’m not supertanned and
windburned like the bikers are and I don’t own leathers. But somehow jeans and
a tee didn’t work either. So I decided to go cowboy with boots, hat, jeans, a
plaid shirt and a bolo tie. I looked like a tourist one way or another.
En route, I stopped at a rest stop about 10 miles before
Sturgis. I spoke to some bikers after I admired a three-wheel custom machine.
It was more than I paid for a brand-new pickup last year. Oh well. Back when I
was in high school, there was a thing going around that Army surplus cycles
were available for $13. It wasn’t true, but I had my $13 ready to send away.
So I got into town. The outskirts were packed with bikes and
all sorts of places offering service. Churches and Service organizations were
giving away free breakfasts and there were many free bike washes along with oil
change lifts where you could change your own oil.
You might be a biker if … you have motorcycle parts in your
dishwasher!
The place is mobbed. More than half a million people, mostly
bikers, attend this rally. And area motels, RV parks and restaurants increase
their prices as much as 10 times. One biker told me he was paying $800 a night
for a chain motel! Even where I
am, 80 miles away, motel prices have been doubled.
And so it took me nearly an hour to drive through all the
traffic and find a place to park. A biker sent me to a church at the top of a
hill, where teenage girls, showing very low cleavage, charged me $8 to park on
the church lawn. At least it was going to a good cause. I saw private
homeowners whose lawns were filled with tents. Other houses were rented out to
biker groups.
Parking was difficult for bikers, nearly impossible for cars and trucks.
You might be a biker if …your idea of jewelry is chains and
barbed wire!
And so after a brief lunch, Pup and I started our tour. As I
opened my truck’s door, I was overwhelmed with the noise from bikes. It was
loud and constant. We walked into the main street where thousands of bikes were
parked. It was around 11 a.m. and the party was well underway. Bars were packed
and people were filling up. Yet there were no problems I could detect. Everyone
seemed well behaved and easy going.
The booze industry was very supportive of the event. Huge signs and
inflatable bottles were everywhere.
Of course, there was plenty of money to be made and vendors
had pitched tents all over, selling tee shirts, leather goods, helmets and much
more. One of the most popular areas were places selling patches that the bikers
put on their leather vests. There were people to sew them on right there and
the cash registers were rocking!
Top: one of the many biker clothing suppliers. Bottom: Patches for biker vests were quite popular, with people sewing them on right on the spot.
You might be a biker if … you can tell what type of bugs
they are by taste!
Along the packed sidewalks, people were very nice about
letting me through. Many stopped to pet Pup and tell me what a wonderful dog he
was. Now Pup loves being the center of attention, but after perhaps 50 people
stopped to pet him, he started freaking out. He seemed OK, but he started
dumping. Now I had three empty bags to take care of his remains. And they were
all used quickly. I had to stop at a place selling patches to ask for a few
more bags. I knew Pup had just about had it. Besides pooping all over the
place, his tongue was starting to drag. He rarely pants, and drool was coming
out at a constant rate.
It wasn't "normal" to be topless and tattooed, but this woman was pretty much ignored.
We headed back to the pick-up. En route, I noticed a topless
woman who had tattooed her breasts being interviewed by some sort of television
crew. On another block, I spotted the Hell’s Angels hangout. I was surprised to
see that most of these guys were clean-shaven, compared to the rest of the
crowd. They were quiet and orderly and caused no trouble at all, quite a
contrast from their “outlaw” image.
You might be a biker if…You’re only sunburned on the back
side of your hands and your neck.
I had hoped to stay through the evening and observe some of
the louder party activities. Major rock and country musicians were scheduled
for the evening and I was thinking about leaving Pup in the truck for a couple
of hours after darkness when it was cooler. But Pup was beat and exhausted. He
was also confused. I opened the door and poured him a bowl of water and placed
it on the ground for him. He didn’t know if he should jump in the truck or
drink the water. He kept looking at both. Finally I said “up” and into the
truck he went and I placed the bowl on his seat.
He lapped up way more than usual and quickly went to sleep
as I started driving the truck homeward. He stayed that way for the two hours
it took to get back to my RV site. If I’m in the area again sometime, I’ll be sure to re-visit,
and leave Pup in the air-conditioned trailer.
Hells Angels from California were quiet and well behaved.
