The Sturgis Rally

After a long ride, we’re finally at Sturgis. At the northern edge of the Black Hills is Rapid City. It is just another 35 miles away from Sturgis, which is just 30 miles from the eastern border of Wyoming. Sturgis is a small town, with a population of about 5,000 people. This week, the population is counted in motorcycles, and there are 750,000 of them within a 100-mile radius of this small town.

Why Sturgis? Well, in 1937 a local motorcycle riding club invited some of the of other motorcyclists to a hill climb. It’s a contest where the objective is to ride your motorcycle the furthest up a steep hill. These are fun events, and watching someone else drop their bike, tumbling down the hill, is actually fun (don’t they say the best parts of NASCAR are the beer and the wrecks?). There were 27 people at this event, and it became an annual tradition (other than a few years off for WWII).

With the close proximity to the Black Hills, the hill climb became secondary to the beautiful mountain roads. In the 1970’s, word got out about the Sturgis rally. In 1990, at the 50th anniversary of the event, there over 500,000 people showed up. Every type of facility was in short supply: camping, ice, beer, and food. Many supplies were shipped in from neighboring areas. No one was ready for the massive number of bikers that showed up for the party.

The next nine years were consistently huge, but did not quite match the size of the 50th. Now, it is 2000, the year of the 60th anniversary. This time, the residents know what is coming. They know that this year will certainly be huge. They hope that they are ready.

As we get to the freeway exit, the ramp is completely full of bikes. It takes us five minutes just to reach the intersection. The traffic through town is barely moving. There are thousands of motorcycles, dozens of cars, and many campers, and several semi-trucks trying to move through the town. Our campground is three miles past Sturgis, but we have to endure the traffic in town before we get past it. Usually, just past the traffic signals in town, the speeds increase and there is some breathing room. Not this year. It is a constant traffic jam all the way to the campground. It is really incredible to be part of an event this huge. This is the largest event of this type in the world, and there are people from around the world in attendance. Many bikes are parked at the side of the road, overheated.

We park the bikes, and register at the campground office. When we return, Bubba’s bike has a dead battery. While Harley’s are air-cooled, Bubba’s has a radiator and fan to help cool the engine. In the slow traffic, the battery isn’t getting charged, but the fan still runs, so the battery is drained of power. We don’t have jumper cables, but maybe someone at our campsite does. While I take Steve to the site, Bubba finds someone at the office that can jumpstart his bike. I take him for a ride about 10-miles up the road (away from town and the crowds), in order to charge the battery and get some riding to cool his bike down. This works.

Steve, Bubba, and I, made it to Sturgis! YAY! We relax and meet the others in our group who have arrived from around the country. We spend the next few days riding around the Black Hills with old and new friends.

Because of the traffic problems getting through downtown Sturgis (our only way to the highway and to the Black Hills), we were scouting out other alternative routes. A dozen of us tried this one gravel road. It was a washboard, with inch-high mounds just a couple of inches apart. Very annoying in any vehicle, but especially on a bike. This seemed to be able ten miles long, and slow. Steve had managed his first gravel road.

Our favorite shortcut turned out to be a seven mile gravel road, that dropped us right into the middle of downtown Sturgis, conveniently next to the grocery store, liquor store, and gas. Everything that was essential. We still had to make it another mile to the highway, but it was satisfying to know that we saved an hour of sitting in traffic.

I am looking at a map, trying to plot a route to Yellowstone, 500 miles away. I ask my friends Mike and Paul, from Texas, for a good route. Paul says, “Don’t worry about it.” OK, I guess. Apparently, he doesn’t want to talk about it now.

The next night, I repeat the request. Again, Paul says, “Don’t worry about it.”

Not to be put-off, “But I’m leaving in the morning. I really need to know.”

Paul says, “Don’t worry about it. We heard you were doing this cross-country trip. We’re going with you. So, don’t worry about it.”

WOW! This trip is really going to be an adventure now! These guys have ridden all around the country. To have tour guides is more than I ever expected.

The plan gets better. Deb (Delbert) from Seattle, is going to join us, and be my host for a few days at his house. Tom, who has a house in southern California, is also going to join us. Mark, the organizer of our Sturgis group, is going to meet up with us at a biker party in California over Labor Day weekend. Mike and Paul are riding to the west coast, and plan to leave their bikes with friends in northern California, fly home to take care of some business, then return in time for the same biker party. This is going to be one hell of a trip!

So, Paul tells me to look forward to riding through a lot of “nothing”. I ask, “Nothing, as in farms?” “Nope. Nothing.” That sounded interesting, after 1400 miles of farms and grassland to the east.

Bubba, Steve, and some other guys, head back towards Ohio. It turns out that one of the guys had some major bike issues, and they had to leave him at a dealership in Sioux Falls. Steve feels confident about getting home by himself, so he parts ways with Tennessee-bound Bubba in Illinois. That trip really changed Steve. He found that he could overcome the challenges of riding at night, in the rain, and on gravel. Not to mention riding at night with one eye.

My journey into the unknown West was just beginning. I was gonna see ‘nothing’ for the first time.

Next: A Day of Nothing