Sturgis 2010
As the spring months turn into summer, my road trip itch begins to burn like a bad case of chiggers. For 10 months, I am ok riding back and forth to work, taking the occasional blast through the National Forest with my son, or screaming around the city with my club brothers; but once a year, I get the urge to put 4000 miles on my bike and sleep under the stars for at least a week. 5 years ago I took my first trip to the Mecca, and the time was approaching for another round. I relish in the challenge and the mental toughness it takes to endure the long rides, weather, breakdowns, and such are what I enjoy about the trips. Thankfully my family doesn’t give me too hard a time about it and luckily, I have a few brothers who feel the same. This year’s destination was going to be the 70th rendition of the greatest rally in the land, Sturgis!
Mike is my favorite riding partner to date and my go-to-guy when I need an accomplice in debauchery. He’s an East Texas 36-year-old with a 75-year-old soul. The sonovabitch works his ass off 6 to 7 days a week all over the world setting up process systems electronics and chillers. He leads by example and takes care of his family, makes his children read the Bible every day even when he’s out of town, and still refers to evening meals as “supper”. His favorite ride is a 1975 Shovel resting in a rigid frame, and he relishes the fact that he has to carry wrenches everywhere he goes. He’s a tinkering fool who’d give you the shirt off of his back if ya needed it, but I warn you, don’t ever cross him. His addiction to the road is legendary, as he once left for a loaf of bread and didn’t return for three days. When he did return, it took a week to sober him up from the Jim Beam showers he must’ve indulged in while chasing gypsies across the plains of Texas and Oklahoma. The guy’s a Wildman. His ride of choice this year would be an FXR framed Twin Cam with 16 inch Gimphanger handlebars and a set of slammed shocks in the rear. This bike was a fire breathing monster pushing 117 rwhp while reminding the world he was on the road by utilizing a custom racing exhaust.
Bryan, well he’s cut from a different cloth. He’s a physical therapist that listens to the hardest rock and roll made yet doesn’t like to get “dirty”. He has to be the cleanest man I’ve ever met in my life and frankly, he freaks me out a little. I met him through our martial arts school and he’s a helluva training partner, but he is as regimented as they come. I’ll bet he can tell you the amount of calories he eats in a day as well as the oz. of piss he relieves. He’s a funny cartoon character, but he’s still my brother and I always end up with a story when he comes along. He would once again be riding his Superglide, with a windshield, but now sporting forward controls and mini-apes. I was thankful to see his tents slept three in case we were ever stranded, but luckily never had to ruin his night.
We were talking of making the trip this year with Mike’s step dad, Woody. Woody’s been to Sturgis every year since 2000 and has racked up more miles on his bikes than any man I have personally known. A Goldwing convert in 2000, he is in love with the atmosphere of the “Harley rallies”, and has been known to ride to Maine from Texas to get a lobster dinner. A member of The U.S. Army’s Screaming Eagles during Vietnam, he always buys CVO Screaming Eagle bikes. He will tell you himself he’s the #1 asshole, but I think that’s why I like him. You never have to worry about getting things sugarcoated when Woody’s around. If your being a puss, he’ll gladly tell you to pull up your panties or ask if you squat when you pee.
Oh yeah, back to the trip. Mike and I have been to the Mecca in ’05, ’06, and ’08. Bryan went in ’08, and was so impressed with the whole trip, that he felt he wanted to do it again. Bryan hated the trip last time while we were on it, even leaving Mike and me sleeping on the side of the road in the panhandle. He isn’t much for group riding, but time has a way of making you forget what you want and remember details in your own way, so he felt he was ready for another trip. Truth is, he left us again, but I’ll get to that at a later point.
The days of phone calls are lost in my world, as everything has become texting, facebooking, or twitter. While it seems somewhat nerdy that we have lost human contact in a way, it sure is a convenient way to let your wife know you’ll be late for dinner without having to worry about her hearing everyone in the bar. I eventually texted Mike and Bryan asking if they are ready for the adventure again. Usually their responses can take up to 2 hours to get back to me, but these came back to back almost 2 minutes after my inquiry.
“When do we leave?” from Mike.
“92 days till Sturgis.” from Bryan.
I guess they’re in. I tell Mike to let Woody know we wanna make a run and get back to me with the details. As is usually the case, days turn to weeks and all the things life throws at you before a road trip seem hell-bent to ruin the chance for anything, much less a road trip. Finally we receive word from Woody in mid July about a route, departure date, and his new riding partner. Three weeks before the trip, I find out he’s taking his son, Dave, who none of us had ever met before. So, our travel party of 3 had now grown to 5. As many of you know, the more people on a road trip, usually equals more problems due to attitudes, agendas, and personalities…especially when you are meeting for the first time on a road trip. I just shook my head and hoped for the best.
I was riding Ole Bessie, my 2008 Night Rod Special, and was a little concerned with two things: 1) How was I going to pack my stuff, and 2) How would I last riding 500 mile days on a V-Rod? The longest trip I had taken was 100 miles, and I was less than comfortable. Sturgis is 1450 miles one way, and we were planning a scenic route, so I was a little curious as to how my body would hold up.
The months turned to weeks, finally into days. My patience level at home was at an all-time low, and I needed a road trip! I was ready. Mike calls three days before the trip telling me Woody’s also bringing his daughter along. WTF?!! Are you kidding me? Now we have another passenger and personality in the mix AND she’s a woman. Holy shit this was turning into a headache. I threw my hands in the air and said, “F#^k it!” To add to the headache, Bryan was talking about having to be in Sturgis by Tuesday, because he had to leave Friday or Saturday. Mike wanted to ride out to Moab, Utah. Woody was planning a ride to the North rim of the Grand Canyon…the drama never ends. So now the destination wasn’t clear, the return date was up in the air, and I was just ready to ride.
My V-Rod is a terror on the streets and especially aggressive when I ride with my club, Vindicta M/C. There aren’t too many squadrons of bikes that make a bigger impression like 15 V-Rods flying down the freeway in tight formation. An impressive silhouette, ya know what I mean? But, it is a bar hopping beast that flies well on trips 100 miles or less. I have never been very comfortable for long periods of time, so I had to figure out how to make this bike more endurable. Also, I don’t have saddlebags, so I also had to figure out how I would pack everything. I tried to use my Army duffel bag strapped to the rear seat, but then I couldn’t get my seat up to access the gas tank, so that was out. I considered a backpack, but then had visions of corn sized pustules growing under my arms from the 4000 miles of rubbing and sweat…that was out. I finally remembered my Bikernet day roll packs I had for mine and my wife’s bikes. Looking at the three loop holes I had on the backs, I could attach them to the frame of my bike like saddlebags and they wouldn’t even be near the rear wheel. Could it work? I didn’t know, but only one way to find out. Using zip-ties and bungees, I attached the “saddlebags” and they worked perfect. I was able to attach 3 pairs of pants and one pair of shorts in one bag, and stuffed the other with t-shirts, socks, undies, and amphetamines…I mean vitamins.
Looking back, I wish I had room for a cooler so I coulda carried Jägermeister, Redbull, and beer. I attached the sleeping bag up front as a windbreaker and then tied my backpack to the back where I carried camera, Ziploc bags, and my toiletries. You can tell I have a newer Harley because I packed a set of tools in each of the day rolls, tool pouches, but never needed anything more than an Allen wrench. Like I said, the V-Rod is the future.
We all met on Friday night, August 6th, at a bar-b-que place in spring. We figured we’d head out after a good meal and gas as we planned on driving most of the night. Mike and I each took a handful of aminos, creatine, and mini-thins before downing a Monster. We wanted to be sure not to fall asleep as we knew we would push the pace and distance. While waiting for the rest of the gang to itemize their q-tips, tampons and birth control, Mike and I enjoyed few puffs off a sendoff cigar, although mine had been re-stuffed with the good material. While its not weed, it gives the same effects, it’s not illegal, and you don’t piss hot. Riding with these fools, I needed something to calm me down as I have a reputation as a spaz sometimes.
It had been two freaking years since our last road trip, we were ecstatic to be on the road again. Please don’t misunderstand, we love our families and have really good jobs, so we are not complaining about our lives, but we enjoy the road for the freedom of it, no pressure of “life”. Just you, the bike and the road. Ride till your ass is swollen like a baboon from National Geographic or until the money runs out, either way, it’s all good. At the end of the trip, we always feel better, rejuvenated to take on the world. We realize that before too long life will return to normal and as George the Painter said in a recent issue of THE HORSE, we’ll be dealing with a “handfuls of suck”.
Woody and Dave are ex-ricer riders who have converted. Most ricers I have noticed take up a whole lane when they ride and really could give a fat rat ankle about staggered formation. Mike, Bryan, and myself have always ridden in a staggered tier which helps in visibility to drivers around you as well as mobility during emergencies. Also I believe it is courteous to the other riders around you when you ride AS A UNIT. Have you ever seen a pack of 1%er flying down the road? They are riding fast and tight in a military style formation that evokes power, style, and plus it’s straight up bad ass! We let Dave and Woody take the lead while we rode in the back in our 3 man formation. Mike turned to me and asked,”Hey, you gonna wear a lid?’
“Nah, it’s over 80 degrees and we’re still in Texas. I wanna feel tha air on my dome this year.” I strapped my beanie helmet to the rear and off we went. 1 hour into the ride the sky opened up and we were driving 80 miles an hour into a real terdfloater. No bandana, no windshield, no helmet, and my face and head were being plastered by giant drops of Texas rain. After a few minutes I was sure I was bleeding and my riding partners weren’t even slowing down. Two overpasses later we finally slow to realize Bryan had dropped back. Later he realized he lost his phone in the whole shuffle, so we had a constant hunt for Verizon stores on the rest of the trip. That, was strike one for him.
We waited the storm out at a gas station and started back on the road about twenty minutes later. Woody prophesied that the rain should be done as the skies looked clear to him, so we all took off without donning any gear. Needless to say, it rained off and on the rest of the night. Hey Woody, channel 13 is looking for a new weatherman, I think you may be qualified.
About 2:30 in the morning I could see Jen’s head bobbing with exhaustion, and knew we would be stopping soon. Sure enough, we pulled into a rest stop about 60 miles from Wichita Falls and took shelter on the ground. Woody, Dave, and Jen went to one side of a shelter while Bryan, Mike, and myslef went to another. Woody made it very clear that he didn’t want us animals sleeping anywhere close to his daughter. We set up camp and laid our heads down to sleep. Just as I was dozing off I hear “Psst, hey, you awake?” Mike was sitting on the hill shivering. He has to have icewater running in his veins because he is always so cold.
“No, not yet, what’s up?”
“Will you hold my feet?” I lifted my head and looked at his silly ass sitting there pushing his feet towards me. He looked like a giant silkworm trying to scoot closer to me. I’m not sure if he would have actually let me hold his ugly ass feet, but the thought made me start laughing instantly.
“HELL NO!” I couldn’t help but bust out laughing at his retarded ass. Just as we’re falling asleep and had a good laugh, Bryan chimes in half under his breath, “You guys are weird.” Just the end of another day on the road, buddy.
Saturday morning we wake up and plan to ride through New Mexico to Taos, maybe make it to Monument Valley and hopefully into Utah. Halfway through the day we realize we weren’t going to make it that far due to the rain and more dangerously, the wind. When we first started out we were in the desert and I saw the largest diamond back rattler of my life sunning on the side of the highway. Holy crap! I realized at that point that we weren’t near my hometown anymore. If you get bit out here or crash, I don’t think 911 will help you. Like Jesse James said in Motorcycle Mania 3, “You just lay there and die.”
In Santa Rosa we had to pull over due to an incredible rain and windstorm. We did almost 750 miles in the first 24 hours, so we decided to get a hotel and call it a night. 7:30 pm, Woody, Dave, and Jenny were in the hot tub while Mike, Bryan, and myself were all looking for a local bar. The town had 1. It was a pizza joint with a bar in the back…a total dive but I loved it. After knocking back a few and discussing the next day’s trip, we called it a night.
The next day was filled with drag racing through the desert to Las Vegas, NM. We were splitting lanes and taking names trying to decide who would get there first. Mostly the races were between Mike and myself as Bryan rides a stock 88. Dave and Woody weren’t into racing partly because Dave’s riding a CVO 2003 Road King, and Woody’s on a 2010 CVO Ultra with the nasty big 110 incher. While he never raced, he did open her up once getting her just past 110 mph, and it sounded like an explosion when he accellerated. Strong bikes.
We passed through Santa Fe National Forest and Carson National Forest into Colorado. What a beautiful ride and wonderful towns. The scenery was amazing and the climate was indescribable…atleast for me. I would love to move there. Utterly amazing. Unfortuantely, the rain was causing us to ride at a really measured pace. We eventually made it to Durango. The towns between New Mexico to Pagosa Springs, Colorado, and finally into Durango are nothing short of spectacular. We eventually checked into a hotel and dragged our sorry, tired, wet to the bone bodies to a restaraunt before crashing for the night. Once again, we may have staid in a hotel, but we still had 350 miles to ride the next day through the mountains to get to Denver. We were determined to ride “the million dollar highway” 550 through the forests and mountains.
Anyone who had ridden with me knows I like to blast from time to time, even before I had a fast bike. It’s even worse now that my bike does 140 mph and is as stable as most bikes are at 60 mph. Somewhere in Colorado, I nodded at Mike and hammered down like a maniac. Crossing double yellow lines and taking the edge of curves driving into the blind side of turns, you might say I was driving recklessly. Well, I was, so eat shit, I was having fun. After a twenty car pass, I ended up just gripping and ripping, hearing the pegs scrape in turns, and pushing the bike like I never had. This bike is made for the road! Before I knew it, there was no one within eyesight. I even pulled over and took some pics. Twenty minutes later and after I snuck off into the forest to see a man about a horse, here they come chug-a-lugging past. Woody just waved and Mike was smiling as they rode by. I gotta give Woody credit, 62 years old, riding that big nasty bagger with a passenger, I’ll bet he was whipped. He never complained once, the guy’s ass must be made outta wood.
We eventually rested West of Denver for a gas stop and decided to stay just North of the city for the night. Driving through downtown Denver, we even scorched a trail past Mile High stadium. That’s one of the most amazing things about a road trip for me. I get a kick outta seeing sights that I’ve only seen pictures or television footage of. Now when I see that stadium on tv, I will think of this trip and won’t be able to help but have a smile on my face. Like a good song, memories of a road trip are triggered at the most unexpected times and can instantly transport you back to that place of joy. I hope to be able to have moments like that for the rest of my life, however long that may be. Truthfully, the way I ride, it could all be over next week.
The final day into Sturgis started with a breakfast meal, some coffee, and lots of laughter. I love taking road trips with a group of people because you start to bond with them creating a relationship unlike any other you experience in your life. Dave is a genuine hero who makes his living defending our freedoms, but on the road, he’s just another guy on a Harley, he’s one of us. Jennifer is a mother of 4 who recently graduated college and is trying to make her mark on the world and give her children the most she can, but on the road she’s just like one of the guys. Truthfully, as high maintenance as she would appear, she was probably the most easygoing and relaxed one out of all of us. Well, she definitely had prettier feet than Mike! She was the most pleasant surprise of the whole trip, and she definitely ordered some of the best food! If I had been calling the shots, these two wouldn’t have been making the trip with us, but after we were on the road a few days, I wouldn’t have had it any other way. I am so thankful they made the trip and really hope we can all do it again. Relatioships like these aren’t built at the workplace, at kids’ little league, or even in Sunday school. Relationships like this are only molded in the fire of a road trip, the harshness of the trip causes each person to accept his or her role in the group and before too long you no longer think about yourself, you are thinking of the group.
As we were heading North out of Denver, I found my mind being massaged by the memories of years past making this same trip. 05’ was my cherry popping first, riding with El Bandito and his Motley Crue of madmen followed by the harem in the chase truck. 06’ was the marathon trip to Sturgis (26 hrs door to door) that included 5 days of hedonism and utter debauchery. 08’ we took Bryan for the first time and had to stop every 60 miles because of Mike’s peanut gas tank and consistent breakdowns. This year had been different, almost too fun to describe in its simplicity and total lack of extraordinary. This year it was just an endless stretch of black ribbon leading us to the land of milk and honey. That’s when I heard it. Sounding like thunder raoring next to me, Mike had a look of evil on his face and I knew it was now time to race, so we hammered down.
Riding at over 100 mph usually beats the shit outta me when I do it for any length of time, but that was before I got Ole Bessie, my black bitch of death! This bike cuts through the air like a samurai sword. I look down and we are hitting 90-100 mph and splitting lanes like a couple of convicts making a getaway. Mike looks like he’s in heaven as he is gripping his highbars and hanging on keeping up. This is what riding should be like; a constant shot of adrenaline that makes your heart pound in your chest and your soul shout with excitement. Then I shift to 5th! Like a goddamn rocketship the V-Rod enters another level of bad ass! I look down at one point and see my speedo climbing past 120, 125, 130….holy shit. I was getting nervous becaue this bike has had a history of headshake when pushing past 120, but I recently did a fallaway adjustment, and she seemed stable. The H-D manual calls for 4-6 inches fallaway, I set it at 2.5 on each side. It was set a little off center from the factory, 1” on the left, and 5” on the right. I think that’s why it would wobble. I looked down one fmore time and saw 142 on the speedo, then I hit the rev limiter! So I can honestly say, my bike has a top speed of 142 mph, AND it’s still stock. Well, except for the Dand D Fat Cat, it’s stock. I slowed down some and waited for Mike, who it seemed must have backed off his throttle. I’m sure his 117 hp monster couldn’t have been spanked that bad, right?
Once he caught up, we decided to ride into Sturgis together and we’d meet up with the rest of the pack in Sturgis. As is usually the case with young guns, we rode really fast, missed a few turns, pushed the envelope as much as we could, and still arrived at camp AFTER the turtles. Oh well, atleast we had fun while getting there.
The 70th rendition of Sturgis was more crowded than in years past. We had to wait everywhere we went and I also noticed the money seemd to leave my pocket faster. I know that 5 shots and 5 beers cost me a cool 54 dollars this year, 60 with the tip (yeah she was cute). I also spent $240 getting a front tire put on, not really a purchase I had planned on making. My tires seemed perfect when I left Houston, but I guess once they start to show wear, it goes fast.
Our days were filled with sitting around camp while the nights were a conglomeration of laughter, alcohol, and total disregard for consequences. The crew at One Eyed Jacks is starting to become familiar to me and we have even settled on two very familiar bartenders. One of whom is nice to look at, the other, well she’s just too much fun not to hang with. After one episode where she handcuffed me, molested me with a blow-up doll and whip cream, and introduced me to the bottom of the beer trough, we were at the hottest bar in the joint. It seems people love to watch some poor soul get abused, luck would have it, this time it was me. Thanks Jennifer, paybacks are a bitch, remember that.
While we did spend some time riding around the towns, most of our time in Sturgis was spent relaxing, visiting, and just being. Every time I wanted to pull out my camera to take a shot I would think, “I already have that, 3 times.” Or I’d see something and just laugh and enjoy it rather than trying to capture the moment. This was the greatest getaway of my life because I had no expectations or obligations to fill. Mike and I had been here before, so we went with whatever everyone else wanted. Bryan did his own thing and even left a day earlier than us because he wanted to head back. Dave and Jen, well they were Woody’s problem, so we didn’t worry about showing them a good time. This year was spectacular in its simplicity and leck of expectations. It was just what we needed.
After three nights of alcoholic bliss, Woody, Dave, and Jennifer had to hit the road. It seems Woody needed to get Jen home to Wisconsin to her family. After visiting his grandkids for a day or two, then he and Dave would head to Massachusettes to Daves family. After several days there, Woody would make the trip back to Houston, 16 days and approximately 6000 miles…what a beast!
After they packed up and Jen stopped laughing from watching the video of my bar rape, we said our goodbyes and watched them take off. It’s funny, I had a serious knot in my stomach as they left and I truly wanted nothing more than to pack up and go with them. I felt as if I had just lost a friend, like my dog just ran away or my goldfish just died. It was kinda funny how as they took off, I was truly sad. I looked over at Mike and could tell by the look on his face he was feeling the same way. Almost simultaneously, we looked at eachother and said, “Let’s go home.” And with that, we started packing our bags and cleaning up camp.
Friday, August 13th, at 3 pm, we left Sturgis. I felt sad that the party had ended but was looking forward to the ride home and the time to just become hynotized by the rythym of the blacktop being eaten by my front tire. With a plan to take more interstate than years past, we were expecting to make it home by Sunday, but as we got rolling we began to feed off eachother and pushed ourselves to make the trip even faster than in years past.
The memories of events I didn’t list here are still smile inducing (two words, nail file). While we didn’t beat our best record of 26 hours, we did make it in 31. 1450 miles, 31 hours, and a lifetime worth of memories to sustain us for the year. We arrived home Saturday at 9:55 pm. I walked into the front door and announced to the world, “Daddy’s home!”
Nothing, just my dog begging for my attention. It seems my wife and children had went to a friends for the night and I had rushed home for nothing. So I sat on my couch, drank a beer, and celebrated my 36th birthday alone. As I fell asleep, I could feel myself smiling thinking back on this years trip and the new friends I made. Drifting off I subconciously began counting, but instead of counting sheep, I was counting weeks….51 and counting till next year…Sturgis 2011.
