WOW! Sturgis 2008 is officially in the books and I have run the gamut of emotions throughout. The 2008 Bikernet Brouhaha was a fantastic success…. and I missed it. I know, I know, I am an idiot, but this years’ run to the hills was a different situation than I had experienced in years past. 2005 was a year to run with Bandit and have the adventure of a lifetime. I was a virgin exploring the Black Hills for the first time aboard my rattle can black 2003 Fatboy with 16 inch apes. I thought I was an outlaw.
The second year, 2006, I decided to do Sturgis on a whim of last minute decisions that culminated into an unforgettable adventure worthy of a novel. For that trip I traveled to the Mecca aboard my 2005 Springer Classic. A stock bike worthy of acclaim for its functionality and beauty, but unfortunately designed for someone closer to their 60s rather than my early 30s. I knew the second I returned home from that adventure, a major overhaul was in order.
2007 was an odd year for me. I was killing myself trying to get the bike built for my brother with the plan to deliver it at Sturgis. Unfortunately, he took the large green one up the whazoo, so his exit date was moved to October, so Biketoberfest was now set to replace the Black Hills Rally for a delivery of his new scoot. I was bummed, but there was shit to do. so I didn’t have time to sulk, reminding me of the poem my grandfather used to spout all the time:
“Here I sit all broken-hearted, tried to shit, but only farted.”
So, here it is 2008 and mid June was upon me. My family and I had gotten involved with Taekwondo last year, so all of my vacation seemed to stem around traveling to competitions. While I understand the kids are only young once and that we are building upon their delicate childhood memories, I still wanted to ride through the Badlands, envisioning cowboys and Indians fighting through the buffalo herds all over a cold beer at One Eyed Jack’s. Call me crazy, but it’s the simpler things in life, ya know?
I knew I needed a road trip. I called my buddy Mike who rode a 2005 Electra Glide the last few years before changing over to a 1975 rigid bobber. I told him I was thinking about Sturgis and he replied with quintessential Mike form, “When do we leave?”
So the event was set, we made our plans, and the wives were pissed, but what else is new? While at TKD practice, I mentioned to one of the guys that we would be making the run to Sturgis. He got a sparkle in his eye that only the experienced road wanderer would recognize and I knew he was on board. So over the next few weeks we planned our trip.
With the state of the economy, I have been reading about a new yuppie phenomena called staycation. I think Chris even mentioned how ridiculous this was in Cycle Source. Anyways, staycation is fucking ridiculous, so I am done with that, but I had an inspiration….I kept track of how much I spent going to Sturgis. Just to prove to all the fucksticks and pannywastes out there, I rode to and from Sturgis, 3150 miles, and spent $379.12 on gas AND food. It would have been $25 cheaper, but I had to pitch in for a hotel one night when our tag-a-long needed to wash his vagina. Needless to say, we quickly found out my TKD buddy squats when he pees.
So we left for Sturgis on Monday, August 4th, at 11 a.m. Houston, Texas was in the high 90s with 100% humidity, as usual. I am riding my modified 95” Springer Classic, Bryan is riding a stock Super Glide (with a windshield), and Mike is on his rigid. Here is our adventure, with all the mundane endless miles taken away. Enjoy our tale of travel as we traversed halfway across America aboard bikes with one thing in mind…to relax.
We left Houston on Monday, August 4th. The weather was insanely hot at 100 degrees and humid as hell, or as I like to say it was “hell hot.” My bike was packed down similar to a pack mule during the frontier days. Like I said before, I have a very romantic view of traveling along the country on a Harley.
Being family men, we decided to spend breakfast with our children and spend a few hours visiting with them before our trip. Because of the unknown breakdowns and adventures, we told everyone to expect us back in 10-12 days, cushioning the expected travel time so we wouldn’t have any nagging deadlines of expected return haunting us during the trip. Like any road trip, the day came faster than we expected, so all three of us were scrambling the last few hours. Hell, that’s part of the fun, right?
Unlike years past, I was not willing to arrive in the Black hills after 4 layers of skin peeled off of my face and body. I also wanted to escape the horrible fate of constant ringing in my ears, so this year I decided to take advantage of using a full leather jacket as well as a full face helmet for the trip. While I know it isn’t near as cool looking as riding with your hair blowing in the wind and nothing but a leather vest flapping off your back, I wanted to experiment and see if the heavy leather jacket and full faced helmet were more of a detrimental pain in the ass, or if they actually helped. Mike and Brian were both wearing tank tops and they each had ¾ helmets strapped to their bikes for the helmet-law states.
We traveled through the wooded section of Magnolia through some beautiful Texas country filled with pine trees and fields until we reached Hwy 6. We traveled up 6 through big cities like College Station, Waco, and Abilene. While it’s interesting looking back later enumerating the cities we covered and noticing how many of the larger cities are starting to look the same, the real adventure and memories came from passing through smaller towns with names like Dublin, Shamrock, Cisco, and Stamford. The atmosphere here seemed to be very laid back and reminiscent of a time I have only read about. While the bigger cities have the “rat-race, gotta-get-there-as-fast-as-possible, no time to wait” mentality, the smaller towns seemed to be satisfied sitting back with a nice glass of iced tea. Maybe my perception was skewed because the speed limit would slow to 35 miles per hour, but everything seemed to slow down to a snail's pace. Not only do the people seem to move slower, but their attitudes are relaxed and very friendly. I cannot count how many times we were stopped by pedestrians asking us questions about where we were going, where we were from, and how long did we plan to ride? With each of these encounters we were always given unsolicited advice about the hazards of our current route whether it be wildlife concerns, limited gasoline availability, or even law enforcement, we were given sage advice.
We covered just less than 500 miles when we stopped for supper in Stamford, Texas. Because of our current set-ups, we were stopping every 60 miles for gas breaks as well as back and ass breaks. Mike’s bike is a rigid for God’s sake and my bike was set up more for drag racing than cross country riding. While I did have the bike slammed to the ground topped off with a set of mini-apes, I had recently changed the bars to 30” drag bars mounted directly to the stock risers. While the bars do hit the tank when turned to the neck's full capacity, the look gives the bike a slammed profile that can’t be beat. My bike is definitely more fun to ride than anything I have ever ridden, but the Heartland 180 seat I have on it has a traveling capacity of 50 miles or less. My riding posture is similar to a clamshell, but it can’t be beat when slamming through the city streets screaming past cages while splitting lanes. The ride is a rush to experience every day to and from work, unfortunately on a trip like this; it becomes a test of one’s mental capacity for pain in the buttocks and lower lumbar region. Basically I welcomed the breaks every 60 miles, even looked forward to them, almost praying for the next one.
Just before Stamford, we noticed Mike’s oil filter bracket had snapped in half. Luckily, he hard plumbed the oil lines using copper tubing, so the strength of the oil lines combined with his cargo netting was keeping the filter in place…for now. We knew we needed to get it fixed before Sturgis, although none of us would say it out loud. Luckily after leaving the restaurant, as was the usual occurrence during the trip, a crowd had gathered around our bikes. As fate would have it, we explained to one of the onlookers how we needed and oil filter bracket and asked if there was any place in town to buy some hardware after hours. We were surprised when one of the gentlemen invited us to his shop where he assured us he had anything and everything we could ever need for our repair. Without hesitation, we headed to his shop.
Once at the shop we were greeted with a biker euphoria. The shop honestly did have anything a man could need to build or repair a bike. The three gentlemen turned out to be three of the most influential men in the town. One was the towns’ State Farm agent, one owned the local newspaper as well as being the towns’ pastor, and the third was the City Manager. Mike and Leldon, the State Farm rep, as well as shop owner, began fabricating a new bracket while Bryan and I were entertained with stories from Dr. Wingrove and the City Manager. While the break was welcomed, I felt like the Michael J. Fox character in the movie “Doc Hollywood”. Remember the part where the town mayor is trying to convince “Doc Hollywood” to get off the interstate for wonderful Grady? The whole scene was almost surreal in it’s simplicity, yet it was a memory I will have forever.
Once we got on the road again, we stopped at a local Wal-Mart so Mike could buy an extra gas can to strap between his handlebars. As fate once again shined upon us, his bars seemed to be made for this exact gas can as it fit perfectly between the bars so we could increase our mileage between gas stops. Bryan was on edge as we bedded down the that night because of the heat as well as the unsecure feeling he had of sleeping outside at a truck stop. Mike and I just laughed as we crashed for the night. Overall, while driving through the torrential heat, I was not nearly as worn down as years past. Halfway through the day, Bryan and Mike decided to follow suit with the leather jackets and helmets as they noticed I wasn’t near as taxed as them at the stops. To be honest, after wearing the full face helmet the entire trip, I can honestly say I prefer it to even going lidless. The heat didn’t seem to affect me near as intensely as I had anticipated and the only drawback I had was having to turn my head completely to the right or left to truly see in the lane next to me. Plus I couldn't pick my nose. At the end of the first day, I seemed to be no worse than my riding partners.
The next morning my gamble paid off as they both woke up with headaches, dehydrated, and sunburned while my biggest concern was finding the cat that must’ve shit in my mouth. Bryan was bitching and moaning about getting caught for three hours in “fucking Mayberry”, as he called it, and Mike and I once again laughed. We were both very surprised because Bryan woke before us and seemed to be determined to wash his vagina before we woke up, but we did get the pleasure of watching him spray his body down with feminine spray…or something like it. His only explanation was that he’s not a monster. Once again, he was the morning
While Mike and I probably felt as bad as he did after sleeping on the ground half the night, we love the simple fact of being on the road. We like living as simply as possible, and we like being on the road. Truthfully, we had done this before, so we weren’t surprised by anything we encountered. Frankly, we welcomed the adventure, Bryan’s cherry was popped on this trip and unfortunately for him, it wasn’t gentle. Hopefully he will be able to look back in a few months and remember the fun of it and learn to appreciate the joys of living on the road, but as for this trip, he just wasn’t happy on the trip there and even less happy on the trip home. Fortunately, he had a blast once we got to Sturgis.
The next morning, we started our journey on Hwy 83, which we would occupy through the rest of Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas, and most of Nebraska. The second day was mostly uneventful except for the people we met at various gas stops. One old rattlesnake who looked to be in his early 70s stopped and talked to us about riding. It was refreshing hearing an older gentleman talking of his riding adventures aboard his cruiser and his road racing aboard his Ninja. We laughed at the thought of his wrinkled ass perched upon a Ninja; just another gem along our journey. At the end of the day, we took 83 into North Platte Nebraska where we caught Interstate 80 to Ogallala. In Ogallala, Bryan had decided we need a hotel as he claimed to be exhausted and needing a good nights rest in a bed. Mike and I reluctantly agreed, but when we went to the room expecting him to be laid out in his bed, he was glued to the tv watching ESPN Sportscenter. It seems he was having withdrawals from his everyday life and was hoping for some more “him” time. Regardless, we talked him into heading to a local saloon for a couple of drinks.
Our third day, we all awoke fresh showers and clean clothes. Mike and I both commented how we felt weird knowing we would be arriving in Sturgis later that day in fresh clothes and with a shower that same morning. Usually we take the grunge satisfaction making that first Sturgis beer that much sweeter. Thankfully we didn’t leave a day earlier, because the night before reaching Sturgis we experienced crazy weather coupled with reports of thunderstorms and hail…not exactly my idea of relaxing or entertaining.
From Ogallala, we took Highway 26 to 385, which would bring us directly into South Dakota. Wee took 385 to 79, which bypassed Hot Springs and many of the scenic byways. We were on a mission, we craved a beer in Sturgis, so we took 90 out of Rapid City straight into our beloved Sturgis. Once there, we made our way to our campsite at Edmonds and Junction. As has been our tradition for several years, we stay in this family’s front yard and get away paying 15 dollars a night. We are lucky because we get to sleep in her yard and she provides us with a clean shower and toilet facility. Occasionally Bill, the owner, will grill up food for everyone camped there. At one point, I believe there were 21 bikes parked in front of their home. The setup is top notch and couldn’t be sweeter considering we could ride all day and then park the bikes at night so we could walk to the party on Main Street.
Attendance at the rally seemed to be ok as far as I was concerned. There was talk of the attendance being down and that the cops were making up for the lost revenue by being extra tight on the DWI’s. Because of the threat of going to jail, we usually rode all day and then parked the bikes at night so we could party free of the hassle. Our routine consisted of going to The Knuckle and watching the fights from 5-8 pm, then we would go to One Eyed Jacks’ and party until the lights would come on and some ugly bouncer is rushing us out the door.
Thankfully we remembered how to get home as we would slump down the streets and make it to our tents about the time the liquor would overtake our conscious minds. In other words, I would remember leaving the bar, but never remembered getting to my tent. Much to my wife’s approval, I always woke up alone, sweating, sporting a pounding headache, and always on a search for that damn cat who keeps shitting in my mouth while I sleep!
While at Sturgis, we did the same things we do every year. We visited the new Harley’s at Rapid City. We rode Needles and saw Crazy Horse. Bryan visited Deadwood and Mt. Rushmore while Mike and I picked up t- shirts on Main Street. We visited Thunderdome and then went across the street to Full Throttle. Overall, Sturgis is Sturgis, the only thing that changes is the players. The ride there and back is the thrill for me. Unfortunately, we noticed Mikes’ bike had a crack in the frame where the voltage regulator and motor mounted to the bike. From what we could see, the motor was holding his frame together. We decided to tredge on lightly, while saying silent prayers.
On the day of Bikernet’s Brouhaha, I actually signed up for a fight at The Knuckle Saloon. After the fight was over, all I wanted was beerand fun, but I ddin’t want to ride my bike to Thunderdome and risk the trouble, so we went to One Eyed Jack’s again. As for the fight, I won in the 190 lb. division with a guillotine choke in the third round. To be honest, the guy whooped my ass for two and a half rounds before he made the mistake of sticking his head out so I could grab it. While I am thankful to come away with the win, it definitely wasn’t anything that would make the UFC come calling.
Saturday morning we woke up at the crack of noon and decided to hit the road. The rally was winding down and with the shooting at the bar next to us the previous night, we knew the police would be everywhere. I don’t have a problem with the cops, I just don’t put myself into situations where I possibly have to deal with a hassle from them. Call it chicken, call it dumb, I don’t care, I stay out of situations I may regret later.
Bryan wanted to see a few more sights so Mike and I agreed to meet him at Wall that afternoon. We would walk the streets of Wall and check the famous Drugstore before making our way through the Badlands. Up to this point, we had no mechanical breakdowns except for the oil filter bracket, so we planned on taking three days to get home.
Let me say, if you have never ridden the Badlands, take the time to do so. This is country that goes perfectly with the rest of the Sturgis experience and should not be missed. I think the riding is the whole adventure with a few mini dramas along the way at the bars in town. Luckily I was able to attend Sturgis as a vacation and not in a working sense like many journalists and writers do. To them the rally turns into a weeklong grind of never-ending events that must be attended and reported on. To me, it was an experience that I followed the route that my interest dictated. If I wanted to see something, I went with no expectations or responsibilities.
This was truly an escape from my very busy everyday life. Much like Peter Fonda’s character in Easy Rider, I didn’t even have a watch. Time was not an issue for me and I was as laid back as I have ever been, but I wish I could have made it to the Brouhaha. Mike’s only mechanical mishap of the day was a broken seat mounting bracket. He just wrapped a T-shirt up and set his seat on top of that shirt which rested on the frame.
We drove until late Saturday night and stopped at a truck stop/ casino on the border of Nebraska and South Dakota. Mike and I positioned our bikes so we could sleep protected from the parking lot, Bryan tried to get a room. Ten minutes later he returned cursing us and growling obscenities to us about his wishes for our deaths by painful means. It seemed he was falling apart at the seams and just wanted to get home. Mike and I were still having the time of our lives.
The next day, somewhere in Nebraska, Mike’s bike gave us a scare. I was still sporting the full face helmet and noticed I had a couple of drops of oil on my faceshield. Mike had been riding up front and since it had been raining, I wrote it off to residual oil from his motor and the rain. I decided to pass him up and open up my motor a little since we were in the middle of nowhere.
Before I realized it, when I finally looked behind me, Bryan and Mike were nowhere to be found. I turned around and started heading back at a leisurely 75 mph but as I went further and there was still no sign of them I gradually ended up flying full bore with my speedo pegged at 120 mph plus! After 20 minutes, I came across them at a gas station with no attendant. It seems Mike’s oil filter had plugged and he ended up blowing his oil supply out of his crankcase. Luckily he and Bryan each had a quart of oil, so he was able to replenish most of what he had lost. Mike replaced the oil filter with the spare he had brought and then gave Bryan a heart attack as he washed his bike with the pump gasoline. He literally doused his bike with gasoline from the pump. I thought Bryan was gonna bolt and leave us right there. He stuck it out for the rest of the day, but that night in the Texas panhandle, he left us. It seemed the 45 minute stops were too much for him and he wanted to get home. Oh well, he will never forget his trip.
Monday morning Mike and I took the final leg of the trip with the most carefree attitude we had the entire trip. It seemed having a third party with us actually made us inadvertently put his happiness at the forefront of the trip and wanting him to have a great time, we put a great deal of pressure on ourselves to deliver. I t seemed to more we tried to show him what we enjoyed, the more he withdrew. I guess the trip isn’t for everyone, but the best part of the ordeal was the final day. We were completely and totally relaxed as we snaked through Texas, this time utilizing Interstate.
Mike’s bike had one more little mishap as his shift rod broke from the shifter arm. Mike, being a crafty bastard, bent the rod into a hook using vice grips and then zip-tied the hook to the shifter arm. We were 150 miles from home and that set-up lasted the rest of the trip. Amazing!
We finished the trip in New Waverly and Mike and I stopped for a visit just reminiscing about the entire trip. We had an absolute blast and were both sorry it was over. Next year instead of Sturgis, we think we are going to make a run to the West Coast to ride the PCH with a stop at the Grand Canyon on the way. We may ride up the coast of California and come back through Yellowstone making our way down through Nevada, New Mexico, and then back home again. An, but that’s next year. SO until next time, enjoy my little tale and try not to study the pictures too hard. Remember to never let anything stand in your way of a road adventure, especially not one aboard a beloved H-D. These are memories I will have the rest of my life and I only hope you all do the same.
