There are times in your life that you have to sit back and evaluate who you are and what you have done. Some may say it is vanity, others call it planning ahead, but I always try to make goals for my life and meet them head on. I haven't reached every goal I have set for myself up to this point in my life, but it was never for a lack of effort on my part. There are just some things, which will never come to fruition. This year I stepped up to the plate and swung for the fences in an effort to reach a goal I had dreamt of many years before while looking through my dad's collection of Easyriders magazines. The artwork and photography depicting renegades traveling across the countryside with nothing more than a bedroll on their bike, just to meet up at a location and have a party seemed legendary to me. How these guys could just leave their entire daily shit, (jobs, family, mortgages), behind to ride across America to Sturgis seemed unreal. I didn't understand how anyone could just up and leave all their responsibilities without having major repercussions affect their lives for years afterwards. Well, I found out. The repercussions, however, turned out to be rewards.
I have always wanted to ride to Sturgis. There was just something raw and exciting about it. I know people trailer their bikes there and ride once they get there, but it's not the same. Truthfully, I too could have dragged my bike there. Fortunately, I am not gay, so I decided to actually ride. I'm glad as hell that I did.
I had entertained the thoughts of Sturgis for a few weeks, but I never really considered it a possibility. I had no vacation left at my job for this year. I had no extra funds for the trip, unless my wife was hiding it. And honestly, I just didn't have the nuts to do it. I mean, it's sure a hell of a lot easier to say you want to ride to Sturgis than it is to actually do it.
A few weeks ago, mid July, I had emailed the big bastard Bandit asking for some helpful hints on what to do at the rally. I really wasn't planning on going, just digging for the scoop for a friend of mine who was taking off to make the pilgrimage in early August.Well, lo and behold, the big bastard responded back with a,
“Why don't you ride there with us?”
Now I wasn't really sure how to take this, being this guy has been everywhere and done everything in this lifestyle. I was sure I would be teaming up with a few nerdy fanatics, riding in the back of the pack of 40 or so bikes, without ever getting to actually meet the Man himself. Then we would get to our destinations at night, and he would go off and be entertained by strippers and celebrities, while all us “wannabees” sat back at the hotel jerkin our gherkin. No thank you! I'm not chasing anybody's scraps.
Fuck it! I decided to do it. I mean, you never know when your time on Earth is done, so why wait for tomorrow. Carpe Diem! Seize the motherfucking day, or some romantic shit like that.
I spent the next few weeks relaying plans through email to Bandit. I was to meet the Big Guy in Durango, Colorado, on the evening of August 3rd. To make the deadline, I would leave Houston, Texas early, 8 or 9 am, on the 2nd.
When you plan a trip, the weeks preceding it seem to fly by when you are unprepared. I had an entire list of things that needed to be arranged before I left, and the date of departure approached faster than I had anticipated. Truthfully, it seemed like a week had gone by in hours. The next thing I knew, I was packing the bike on the eve of departure. I sat up late that night riddled with anticipation and angst. I had only made two serious trips before; one to New Orleans, a 350 mile ride, and a trip to Kentucky, an 800 mile ride. This ride to Durango was over 1000 miles. Then I would ride to Sturgis, another 600 miles, and then back home to Houston, 1340 miles. Altogether, this trip could entail over 3000 miles in a week. Being the cheap bastard that I am, I have always done the maintenance on my bike. I was wondering now if it would hold up. I struggled to wash all thoughts from my head in an effort to relax so I could ride out in the morning fresh. Unfortunately, I was unable to control my emotions. I slept maybe 4 hours the entire night. This failure on my part would come back to haunt me hours later.
I left at precisely 8 am on the 2nd and headed North on I-45. The weather was a very clear yet heated day. As I was cruising the freeway, I noticed how cool the weather seemed for early August. Despite the suggestions from my wife to wear a long sleeved shirt and sun block, I rode out in my regular gear of t-shirt, leather vest, blue jeans, and my riding gloves and boots. I felt like a Viking starting off towards a field of battle. Nothing could wipe the grin from my face or the faster beating of my heart. I was on my way!
Three hours later, I was ready to turn back home. Don't get me wrong, I was enjoying the trip. It was when I stopped for gas that the heat hit me like opening the oven door after it has been heated up to 450 degrees. Not only that, my arms and shoulders were throbbing from the 16″ ape hanger handlebars. My ears were ringing and my eyes were itching from the wind. Now, I ride every day to and from work. I learned fairly quickly that this was much different from a long haul such as this. I decided to eat some lunch, drink some water, and move my handlebars forward to change my riding position. All good ideas I later discovered.
As I rode that day, I have never felt more at one with my bike. Like I explained earlier, I ride every day. There's a huge difference between riding to and from work for 25 miles each day and riding for 6 hours straight. You actually feel as if your ass molds to the seat and your hands become a part of the bars. You no longer have to think about pushing the bars right to turn left or hitting the apex just right, you just do it. I felt as if my brain and body were all functioning without effort. Everything was working as a machine. Then I saw the lights.
There are always certain events which darken a day. Getting pulled over by a cop usually qualifies as such. Getting a ticket certainly puts it over the edge. Lucky for me, the cop was a fan of motorcycles, as he wrote me up for 85 on a 70, rather than the 100 I was really going. The conversation is always the same.
“Are you in a hurry, Boy?”
“No Sir, just feeling one with the road.”
“Don't your arms get tired way up there?”
“No sir.”
“Where are you going in such a hurry?”
“Nowhere, just riding, Sir.”
As he walks back to his car, you can hear him mumbling crap like, “Goddamn biker trash. Always got to be in a hurry.”
I just waited for him to drive away and slowly pulled from the curb. I was glad I only got a ticket from him, but did he have to sit his fat ass on my bike and try the handlebars? Dickhead wants to be your friend as he rips 200 bucks from your pocket. Thanks but no thanks. Write the ticket and let me on my way.
After that little incident, the day went pretty smooth. I was able to eat dinner at one of my favorite road trip restaurants, The Waffle House, and go over my trip on my little road atlas. Shit! It seems to look so easy on the map, but it takes much longer to actually ride past the hash marks. I ended up riding into the night and actually made it to Tucumcari, New Mexico. The climate from Texas to New Mexico changes almost as rapidly as the landscape. I was truly considering a move to New Mexico when I decided to bed down for the night. The night looked to be clear, so I laid my Bandit's bedroll and sleeping bag out next to my bike in a rest stop. Holy shit it gets cold at night! The temperature dropped down into the 60's, but it felt much colder due to the wind. I woke up at around 6 am surrounded by a small pack of small dogs. They looked like small German Shepherds, but were very skittish and scattered as soon as I started to get up. It was later I discovered I had almost been raped by a pack of coyotes.
I kept on my route traveling West on I 40 to Albuquerque. I stopped in a town called Moriarty to eat some lunch and take a break and hit a convenience store to buy some sun block and an energy drink for the road. When I left the store, my phone began buzzing.
“Hello,” I said knowing it was Bandit and hoping for good news.
“Hey, we are only going to make it to Flagstaff today.”
“Flagstaff? Great, how far is Flagstaff?”
“I don't know, look at your map, Goddamnit!”
“Ok, so what do I do?”
“Meet us there. It's a much easier ride for you and about the same mileage to Durango from where you are at.”
“Ok, I'll call you once I get there.”
“Ok kid, take notes and enjoy the Grand Canyon Goddamnit!”
Slightly disappointed by the news, I decided to take off for Durango and throw caution to the wind. Yes, it was further than I wanted to go. Yes, it was going to probably slow me down and delay my arrival in Sturgis. But how often do we get the chance to ride with a modern legend? Like it or not, this was a once in a lifetime opportunity that I was not going to pass up. Besides, I was so far from anywhere, I didn't have a choice.
With that, I started for Flagstaff. As usual, when one thing goes wrong, usually something else follows. As I headed West in I 40 through New Mexico, I could see a dark cloud on the horizon. As I headed for the cloud, I knew my day was about to get really wet. Unknown to me was the dramatic temperature change that precedes rain in New Mexico and Arizona.
First, you can smell the rain. Then, you feel the temperature drop a clean 20 degrees. Then you feel the rain. Even though I wore rain gear, for the first time in my life, I still felt cold and wet. I couldn't believe the amount of misery that followed. Mile after mile of rain pelting the body while you shiver and shake trying to forge on into the unknown. Every time I wanted to stop, I thought how much of a puss I would look like calling and saying I would be late. I'm not a puss; I'm a motherfucking Bad Ass riding my bike to Sturgis! No fucking rain is going to stop me! Rain is just water! I am flesh and bone that will not be hurt by, ouch! What the fuck is that?!!! Ouch, that's fucking hail! Oh bullshit, I ain't riding in any damn hail! This is BULLSHIT!!!
Luckily, the hail lasted only a minute or so. After the hail, the rain seemed to be less of a pain and more of a nuisance. Before I knew it, I was riding into clear skies and crossing the border to Arizona. A little tired, a little wet, a little more pissed off. Buzz, Buzz, Buzz. My phone was vibrating.
I pulled into a gas station and checked my phone. Unfortunately, my service was cutting in and out, so I couldn't check my messages. Fuck, I hope King Shit wasn't calling to say his rattrap broke again! I am going to be a pissed off Motherfucking Psycho if I ride into Flagstaff to find myself alone again.
I kept on with the route to Flagstaff on pace to reach the city limits by 4:30 or 5 pm. As I rounded a mountain feeling the butterflies eating my guts, I saw another horizon of black hell ahead of me. Not just rain this time, but lightning shooting horizontally across the sky like God was playing with a light bright in the sky. Greaaat!!!
Two hours later, and a lot of sliding across the interstate because of the crosswinds between big rigs, I arrived in Flagstaff. My first glimpse of the city was filled with amazement. The whole state of Arizona is beautiful, but I had never envisioned Flagstaff to be so pretty. This definitely wasn't the desert town I had anticipated. As I sat in a parking lot surveying the land around me, I realized that pictures really are no substitute for the real thing. Not only do lush green forest and mountains surround the city, but also the roads seemed to roll together accentuating the landscape. The town seemed to remind me more of a resort than an actual town where people lived. I would find this pattern to repeat itself almost everywhere we passed through over the next few days. Finally, Bandit calls me.
“Hey Texas.”
“Yeah, where y'all at?”
“We are at the Fairfield Inn.”
“I'll be right there.”
As I mounted the bike and turned her over, the nerves hit me like a brick. I suddenly realized I was about to actually meet the man I had read about for twenty years. Truthfully, I can remember seeing his name in magazines when I was a kid. All the aches and pains of the ride were suddenly gone, as I was getting ready to meet Bandit. I know it sounds funny to get excited at the opportunity to meet an old drunk hack, but I couldn't help it. The guy has been around since most of the old bikers you see at rallies had hair and their own teeth!
I pulled into the Fairfield and parked my bike near the others out front. I reached in my vest and grabbed the cell phone to give them a ring.
“Hey Bandit, I am downstairs.”
“Ok, good. I am coming right down. Do you have a room?”
Do I have a room? Are you fucking kidding me? I didn't know where you fuckers were staying. How the fuck was I supposed to get a room. You fucking invited me, cocksucker. If I don't have a room, I'm sleeping on your fucking floor.
Of course, I didn't actually answer that way. I think I replied with a simple, “Uh, no.”
“Oh, well I have to come down anyways. You need a key to use the elevator.”
Fuck! He's actually coming down to see me. I just realized, I don't even know these people. I just rode 1300 miles to ride with a bunch of people I don't know, yet they all know each other. God, I hope I don't wake up tomorrow regretting this shit. With my luck, I'd wake up with a used rubber in my ass and a funky taste in my mouth. Fucking weirdo's. You never know where they'll pop up. I swear to Christ, I'd kill a motherfucker over that and then sell my bike and move to fucking Utah.
I noticed the other bikes outside at this point. First, of course, was the Sturgis shovel El Bandito built for himself. Holy crap, what a fucking antique looking bike. Bare bones and old school all rolled into one. Great looking lines, but the seat is ugly as sin.
Next I noticed the blacked out Road King I had seen on Bikernet. What a beauty! Bars to the starts and black as death. She looked magnificent. Parked next to that was a mean looking Geezer Glide with some wicked ass pinstriping. This bike was of course set up for the long haul with style. On the other side of the handicapped ramp was a nice looking FXR with a sidecar. At first a very interesting ride with which I would learn more about later. I did notice the bike looked to be freshly painted and everything was shining. The owner of this rig obviously took special care to give her constant attention.
That was when I saw him. Walking out the door of the hotel was a man who looked much bigger in person than he did anywhere else. First thing I noticed, besides the fact he looked nearly 7' tall, was the enormous head perched on his shoulders. I thought, Holy shit! I wonder what size hat he wears on the fucking cranium? I'll tell you. I sure was glad to be meeting this big sum bitch on friendly terms. Even though he is a little older now, I'll bet he could still stomp a mud hole in someone's ass.
He reached out his gigantic hand towards mine and gave me a toothy grin. I reached my hand out a looked him dead in the eye as he crushed every last bone in my right hand. Of course, being a biker and all, I didn't make a sound as my bones snapped. Oh well, all I had to use it for was to throttle and brake, I'd be ok.
“Glad to finally meet you, Sir.”
“Same here,” he started,” Let's get you checked in so we can get a few drinks and maybe some food.”
“Ok,” I began tentatively,” The ride up wasn't so bad. I wish this rain would stop.”
“What rain? You're not one of those fancy pants fair weather riders, are you?”
“Shit NO! I ride every day. Rain ain't shit, it's just I like to scrape in the corners, Just don't do it so much in the rain. Damn tires don't want to stick.” Of course I was lying about the corners. My asshole puckers tight when I scrape the boards. Shit, I have 36000 miles on this bike alone, and I still hate the sound of something dragging.
“O.k., get a room and we'll meet you down here in 30 minutes.”
He walked me to the front desk to make sure they had a room for me. Once my lodging was assured, he headed upstairs and I went to my room.
After I checked out the room, I came back downstairs and unloaded my bike. It didn't feel like much, but I had to make two trips. Once in the room, I quickly showered and headed downstairs after I was dressed. I took an extra hand towel with me to check out the bike and wipe away any road grime from the engine so I could check for leaks. I was sure to remind the front desk to get me more towels for the next morning. There is something about the way the shower makes you feel first thing in the morning.
As I was checking my bike over, the first of our posse came through the doors. I was surprised to see a middle aged man come zooming out in a wheelchair looking as chipper as a kid after his first piece of ass. He immediately came over to me and started a conversation. Very friendly and affable. This was my introduction to Billy “Wheels” Marvin. We exchanged pleasantries, and he seemed delighted to have another Sturgis virgin along for the trip. Unlike me, Billy waited his whole life for this trip. Unfortunately, when he was my age, he had just come down with the virus that left him paralyzed from the waist down. He was really incredible to talk to, and a real inspiration. I am glad to have met him, and I hope we are able to stay in touch.
Next out the door was a couple I had seen before, but couldn't place. The woman, Joerline, I had seen on Bikernet in the Choppers only pictures. She is a beautiful island girl with a great smile. The guy looked familiar, but I couldn't place him. I later found out he is Bob T.'s, Bandit's longtime friend, younger brother Chris. He has the scary biker “I'm going to kill you look” sometimes, but I found out he is relatively harmless. Just don't let him drink too much, or he'll go on forever about all the little stupid things you do. Or maybe that was just me. He was a great guy to meet from the get go. Somewhat disturbing was the U-haul worth of clothing his wife brought for the trip. Great couple and very nice people who I was once again honored to meet.
Next came a really happy couple who I had seen on the web. Glenn Priddle, a.k.a. Doc Holliday, arrived with his wife Kerry. He is also known as the Australian correspondent for Bikernet. You would recognize his work as he is a really talented writer who has a knack for the details. Me, I make so much shit up, I sometimes forget what the truth is.
Last to come out the doors were Bandit surrounded by his girls, Nyla, Layla, Sin Wu, and Karley. This big bastard walks around with his harem acting like he is king of the world. Hey, he walked out with four women. He is king of something.
Well, we all went to dinner and had a few drinks. Roger Bourget showed up after a while, and him and Bandit talked shop for a while. I had to leave, sadly, because my OTR trucker dad was passing through Flagstaff, and I wanted to say hi. After I stayed a few hours with my Pops, I went home and passed out on the bed. The clock said 8:45 pm, but it was 10:45 in Houston and I was exhausted. The next thing I heard was my alarm beeping insanely.
I woke up in a stir that reminds me of my days in the service. Shit, shower, and a shave all within 10 minutes of my eyes opening. It was nice being able to take a shower without hearing my wife complain about me running the water so early.
I hurriedly went down stairs and loaded up my bike. I started back into the building to catch some food from the lobby, when I noticed a puddle under my bike. I looked at the slightly blue puddle and immediately knew it was battery acid. I must have over filled it before I left. No big deal, just a hassle. So I get to ride the rest of my trip visualizing the acid eating through my belt while I am in the middle of nowhere, Great!
Let me explain a little detail about me that may make this story easier to connect with. I am a very impatient person. I like to wake up, jam at 80 miles an hour for 125 miles, and then get some gas and a red bull. I can do this for hours on end without a break. I like to ride at least 40 miles before breakfast and at least a full tank after dinner. It's just the way I roll. May be my age, may be my insanity. Who knows? This trip was very much different. First of all, once everybody showed up downstairs to get ready for the trip, I had already been up and ready for several hours. No big deal, but it made my days exceedingly longer and my anticipation grow exceedingly stronger. Then we finally get on the road and pull over into a gas station across from the hotel, so we could fill up. I see Bandit sitting in a pool of gas and fiddling with his carburetor. Great, the shit starts already.Lucky for us, the problem was easily fixed by cleaning the bowl. I guess being a new tank and lines caused some roughage to get stuck in her float, causing the bowl to fill up and overflow. Bandit's cool as a cucumber as he calmly fixes it and quietly generates the orders for the days' riding plan. He informs us we will be doing a cool 250 miles today into Durango, Colorado. We will be taking the scenic route of the 89 smack into the 160 and sail into Durango. I wish it were that easy.
We get on the road, finally, and start down the 89. The one thing I immediately noticed about these guys is the formation in which they ride. Bandit always took the lead on the left and we all fell into staggered formation behind him. It started out with Chris T. and Joerline to Bandit's right. Billy “Wheels” Marvin rode third. I rode fourth and Glenn “Doc Holliday” Priddle rode in the rear. This was a nice start as we all were trying to get used to each others styles. We began at 65 miles an hour, but I was sure we would pick up speed. I was assuming we were starting at this leisure pace till they got their highway legs, and then we could roll! I was wrong.
After the first hour, I took the number 2 spot behind Bandit. I couldn't believe it! Here I was, riding directly to the left of the owner and creator of Bikernet. He is an industry icon who has always reached out to the biker industry with the intention of improving the atmosphere. From being the first employee with Easyriders, to heading up California ABATE, to directing the Primedia foray, he has improved upon every endeavor he has partaken. Now here I am riding with him to the Mecca Of Rallies, Sturgis. What a fucking rush!
We ended up stopping at an Indian trading post for a few shots and a little shopping. The girls went wild and we had a little trouble pulling Joerline away from there. Shit, even Chris T. almost fell for the lure of the “manly” bracelet, but eventually decided against it. Good for him too, “cuz I would have razzed his ass the entire way. Manly bracelet, ok! Back away from the bracelets.
The store had many neat and interesting things, but the prices were CRAZY! I mean, $42,500.00 for an Indian blanket is a bit much. Shit, I saw a wicker basket for $20,000.00. I am all for quality craftsmanship, but I couldn't believe that crazy shit. We eventually, an hour and forty minutes later, got back on the road. I was ready to rock!
While waiting at the store, I got to know Billy and Glenn a little better. Both these guys were cool as hell, and didn't seem to have a problem with a young punk like me tagging along. That's one great thing about Harley riders; you don't have a lot of the political hazing crap out on the road. These guys seemed to treat me as an equal from the get go, and I wanted to say how much I appreciated it. Two great guys who I am honored to have met.
We eventually made it through the rest of the trip unhindered, but I was dying at the snails' pace. I guess I still have too much piss and vinegar in my blood. I would get all the excitement and drama I would need later that evening.
As we exited Arizona and entered Colorado, I once again saw the landscape change immediately. I also was once again teased by the pangs of wanting to find a new home. What a beautiful state this was. The trees combined with the twisting roads and beautiful horizon reminded me of mountain men and Grizzly Adams. I am talking about images straight out of Swiss Family Robinson. This was a definite change from the desert and heat I was accustomed to. Then I realized it was in the 60's and we were driving in the first week of August. This place must get COLD in the winter. Fuck that! I hate the cold.
As we closed in on Durango, we had to endure another storm. This one, however, wouldn't pass over us as quickly as the past. We were getting pelted with ice-cold rain for over two hours. Billy and I were the only two to put on full rain gear. Joerline bailed and rode in the truck, which we would see more often than not on this trip. Glenn, Kerry, Chris, and Bandit were all wearing extra clothing, but still getting soaked. After two hours, they were wrinkled, shivering, and shells of the people they started out as in the morning.
We searched high and low for our hotel, The Iron Horse Inn. Bandit had stopped at a gas station and was getting directions as we huddled behind him.
“So you know where it is?”
“Oh, sure I do. I can tell you right where to go.”
I should have known when the kid said that, we were in for a ride. So following Bandit's navigator's advice, we ride across town to the Main street intersection. We are so cold, our bones are shivering. The rain hasn't let up in hours, and we are very road weary. Well, we see hotels, but not ours.
Frustrated, I hop off my bike and walk, dripping wet, into a Ralph Lauren store. I must have been a sight to see dripping all over their polished wooden floor asking for directions.
The sales girl told me we were on the wrong side of town and the Inn was actually located up the mountain a little out of town. You have got to be fucking kidding me!
I walked out side to let the gang know, when I was met by Glenn who told me we were on the wrong side of town. Glenn and Kerry were shivering while clenching their fists hard as if it gave them some heat. Bandit, riding a bike with a bobbed rear fender and no front fender, was wet front to back, top to bottom. He looked like he was in pain. Chris T. was looking to be ready to sit down and camp right here on someone's patio while Joerline was laughing in the truck with the other girls.As we headed out, you could feel the wills of grown men ready to break. We needed heat, food, and some alcohol. Worn is the only way I could describe our resolve. Worn and exhausted.
As we started out towards our misery, Bandit let me take lead. I didn't know it at the time, but we had been following a fucking blind man for over an hour. Between the rain and the deluge off his front tire, he couldn't see shit. I was following fucking Steve Wonder.
As I started to the edge of town, I headed up the mountain around a right hand curve. As the curve got stronger, and the pitch got steeper, the wind and rain came down harder. I had to keep going! The guys were all following me and I couldn't let them down. There it is. I could see the bright sign saying Iron Horse Inn. I pulled into the entrance, which is an obstacle in the rain, and looked behind me ready to see the guys' looks of relief that we had finally made it. We made it and I led us there! Unfortunately, when I looked behind me all I saw as nothing. The guys weren't there. Shit! Well, I could go get checked in and start drying out while I waited for them. Nah, that wouldn't be following The Code. That's more along the lines of someone who would wear a bracelet, hmmm. So as I started to turn around on the inclined entrance, the fucking wind caught me and blew the bike right and me over! Holy fuck! Now I am lying in the entrance and so is my bike. I have to get up before the guys see me! I struggle to get out from under her, as the wind and rain are fighting me all the way. I finally get up and look down at my bike lying on her side. She looks pathetic, but I know I don't have the strength to lift her by myself. I am stuck waiting for the guys to show up. Once again my patience is checked.
I could see the light coming up the hill. Slowly they approached as I sat looking at my fallen steed. As they pulled in, I tried to pick up my bike with one last desperate superhuman effort. As she began to rise, I noticed Bandit was helping me. They all asked if I was ok, but I was too ashamed to really remember much. I just wanted to get in the hotel and get cleaned up.
As I began unpacking my bike, I noticed every article of clothing was soaking wet. I laid each piece out on the stairs and lay in the tub. My bones ached and my skin was water logged. Just then I tried to call my wife only to discover my phone didn't work. Just great, now I'd have to hear her shit as well. I heard the phone ringing and tried to grab it while trying to hide my pain.
“Yeah.”
“Is this Mr. Priddle?”
“No.”
“OH, is this Mr. White?”
“Yes.”
“Man they are screwed up at the front desk. Hey, it's Bandit. You want to go to dinner?”
Fuck no I don't want to go to dinner. I don't want to go anywhere with you and the Motley Crew of bad luck. I want to go to sleep and set my bike on fire in the morning. I want to…
“Yeah, I'll be ready in an hour.”
“Ok great, my buddy Joe will be here to pick us up then.”
So I hung up the phone and tried to lay my head back to relax for a minute. Just as I felt myself drifting away, the phone started ringing again.
“Hello.”
“Johnny, hey it's Nyla. We are waiting for you.”
“Uh, ok, I'm on my way.”
Now, I didn't know who “we “were. But I sure as hell was hoping it wasn't a band of freaks ready to beat me down. I just wanted to get some sleep. Luckily, the night turned out to be pretty calm as we went to a local restaurant that seemed a little peeved we were strolling in at 9:30 pm. Bandit's friend Joe smoothly calmed the waitress and we were seated and enjoying pristine beverages like Bud Light and Jack Daniels. I remember hitting the bed a few hours later and not even moving till my alarm went off the next morning.
When I woke in the morning, I was struck by the cold. I couldn't believe it gets in the high 40's in August. We all got a pretty early start and began heading north up 550 to 50. It seemed as if we were traveling for quite some time uphill, but we were in such traffic that the pace seemed extra slow. I remember seeing a sign for 10,000 feet, but later heard we crossed 12,000. Man my bike ran like shit. The oil breather was shooting oil onto my pipes and I felt as if I was running on one cylinder. I swear I thought the motor was blown. As we started down the crest, we stopped for gas. Both my bike and Chris's seemed to be running like shit. Bill's and Glenn's were ok, and Bandit's seemed to get stronger. We were amazed at how shitty our “100th anniversary” bikes were running. Almost like the carbs were celebrating their 100th anniversary.
Most of this day went by without major incident, but it did seem like we went down that mountain for 40 miles. Shit it seemed to last forever. The bikes smoothed out once we hit the bottom of the mountain. If a mechanic ever set up shop at the top of the mountain he would clean up on the dummies like me who thought something was wrong with their bike. Oh well, we had a great trip and we were starting to get used to each others riding styles.
Bandit was playing peek-a-boo from the right lane for the past two days as I stayed on his ass hoping he would speed up. Chris rode behind me, followed by Billy and last Glenn. I was glad when we stopped for the night, but I never knew we wouldn't leave Glenwood Springs for another 17 hours.
Billy's bike was making a weird noise, so we took it to the Harley shop. They looked and said we would need to bring her back in the morning, so Billy went to his hotel in Aspen to get some rest. Bandit, Glenn, Chris, and I went to True Value to pick up a few bolts for Bandit's bike. We decided to stop in a little bar on the way home, Doc Holliday's. It was a nice little cantina style bar with a few warm beers. We tried to relax, but we were starving. It was great sitting there talking with Bandit, Chris, and Glenn. The stories that were unfolded can never be repeated, and probably should be forgotten. We heard tales of guns and drama like nothing ever seen in Bandit's Cantina. Glenn talked of his days roping Kangaroo poachers and Crocodile soup makers. Chris amazed us with his ability as a “dream weaver”. And Bandit tried to convince us all he remembered little more than the pot residue at the bottom of his pipe mixed with the sound of his empty bottle hitting the floor every night as he drifted away into oblivion. It was a great night.
After a few drinks, we decided to get the ladies and eat some Mexican food. Although the food was great, I couldn’t think of little more than our trip. Bandit was the fearless leader, and we were his merry little minions. It was great listening to Glenn and Kerry talk with their Australian banter. I laughed at the “Lovee” and such. Chris and Joerline went back and forth over her need for change of clothing at every stop. He was also amused at how often she rode in the truck with Sinny Sin, Nyla, Layla, and Karley. Bandit and the girls spent most of the time mooning over each other as I sat there feeling very well, out of place. These guys obviously were having the time of their lives sitting back and enjoying every second. Me, I just wanted to get on the road to hit The Badlands. Call it youth, ignorance, or even madness, but I wanted to ride. I had a while to wait.
I awoke this day much like the rest, eager and ready to roll. I found out at we wouldn't be leaving till Billy was out of the Harley shop. Seems he had to go back to the shop when they opened so they could check into his primary cases. We would be there a while. Glenn, Kerry, Sin, Nyla, Layla, Karley, and Joerline rode the tram and took a tour of the mountain. They said they had a great time and wondered why I didn't go. Truth was, I was beside myself with anticipation. Bandit and Chris were working on the bikes as I watched episodes of The Surreal Life and Hogan Knows Best. The morning went by slower than any morning of my life. I felt like a dog chasing his tail. To make matters worse, I had plugged my hotel toilet with a monster shit and was dying to go again. There was no way I was going to be able to make it to Wyoming like this.
About 11 am, Glenn and the women showed back up to tell of their adventures. We were growing restless with angst as we all waited for Billy to give us the A ok. We went to a sandwich shop next to the hotel, (great flushing capabilities in their bathroom), and ordered some hoagies, subs, or sandwiches. We had gotten different description of what made each. Whatever they were, they sure tasted good.
At just past noon, Billy arrived looking especially down. Seems they couldn't find the problem and now he was forced to endure the trip not knowing what was making that noise in his primary. It sure can get exhausting when you are unsure of the reliability of your bike. As we headed for Wyoming, I was just glad to be on the road. Keith had told me to take notes, so here is a small excerpt:
This Fucking Sucks,
I am stuck in Colorado, the everlasting state!
Saturday, August 6th, 2005.
I was beginning to get road weary and ready for a party. I think everyone was getting that way. We began the boring sight of leaving Colorado and entering Wyoming. The road seemed to go on forever with long stretches of nothing. After driving in beautiful Arizona and Colorado, this was ugly.
We finally arrived at our hotel, The Hitching Post, around 5pm in Cheyenne, Wyoming. We all checked in, I was able to room with Billy for the night as he had two beds and they were out of rooms. After we got settled, Glenn came and got everyone together for a drink at the bar. Did we go to the bar in the hotel? Oh no, we walked 53 blocks to the bar at the other side of the town. I easily could have seen myself driving there. Thank you Glenn.
The bar was a nice little place with a comfortable atmosphere to it. I was sad because I knew we would all be parting ways soon. As we sat and talked about the trip I realized how lucky I was to be on this adventure. I was in the midst of real road warriors with serious mileage behind us. No matter how tough a guy acts, you cannot fake riding to Sturgis. Here we were on the brink of doing just that and we looked worse for wear. I was amazed at how Bandit never once complained about riding a rigid framed springer 1500 miles. Chris T. was sitting pretty on an Electra Glide, but he had a way about him that gave you the impression he could have made the trip on a Sportster. Glenn Priddle could hardly wipe the smile from his face as he had ridden Bandit's Road King from LA. He said the bars were as comfortable as he had ever used. Billy, like me, was just soaking it all in. This was his first trip to Sturgis and he loved every minute of it. I sat there looking around the table feeling like The Band of Brothers. We were all different ages and from different backgrounds, but we came together on this quest for the Badlands. Tomorrow we shove off.
I was ready to roll.
The shove off was supposed to be 7 am. That got pushed to 8, and we left at 8:30. I didn't care; we were making the final push to The Badlands.
We left Cheyenne and decided we could make the trip to the next town without filling up. Well, for further reference, get gas in Cheyenne. There are no gas stops for the 119 mile to Lusk. I made it with my odometer at 179 miles and still hadn't hit reserve. Keith, because he built a bike using a tank the same size as my left nut, had to take a few shots off the gas can twice! Billy needed a fresh shot too, but his bike pulls a lot of weight, so we gave him some slack.
We pushed hard through the misery of the day. The ride was hot and our bikes were screaming for a rest. There would be no rest. We were on a mission, and we intended to make things happen.
As we got closer to Lead, Bandit and I took off from the pack. We began passing cars and hitting corners hard. I could read signs for Deadwood, but I was concentrating on what Bandit was doing. This was by far the best riding of the trip. We were scraping floorboards and burning the edges of the tires as we pushed for the final drive. We pulled into Deadwood, and I could tell it was over.
We pulled along the side of the road, and everyone said their goodbyes and went their own way. I ended up riding into Sturgis followed by Billy “Wheels” Marvin and Glenn and Kerry Priddle. We were ready to rock!
As I look back on the trip, I wish I would have taken more time to relax and enjoy the time with everyone. I pushed so hard to get to them, then I wanted to push hard to get to Sturgis, I almost missed the joy of the whole trip. I rode almost 2500 miles to reach Sturgis and I pushed hard the whole way. Later in the week, I truly understood about the ride being the best part. While Sturgis is a great place to see, nothing compares to riding along the side of a mountain while looking at the Rocky Mountain horizon and smelling the mountain fresh air. The crisp chill of the morning air mixed with burning valves running on too lean a fuel mixture wakes you up. You feel alive! All the problems from the year seem to fade away as you are intent and focused on one thing. You got to get to Sturgis.
I want to thank Bandit and Nyla for letting me tag along with them on this trip. I want to say thank You to Chris T. and Joerlyn for making me laugh, and I will see you in Hawaii. Big Glenn and Kerry, you guys were great. Thank you for teaching me about the ways of the land down under. Maybe I can visit there someday. Billy “Wheels” Marvin. Thank you, my friend. Your presence left the most remarkable impact on me. Just to see how you face each and every day with a smile gives me hope when I am having a bad day. You proved to be a true friend and I will never forget it. Thanks again to each of my merry little road crew. I will never forget this trip and I hope to see you all again soon. I may never get a chance to take this trip again. I may never see Sturgis again. I hope so, but life has a funny way of screwing you up. Hey, if not, I can always say I've been once. I rode all the way, made the trip 4000 miles round trip. God, what a feeling. I wonder when the trip will start next year.
Take care Bikernet. Enjoy my little road tale. The Sturgis report will follow soon, but it is way shorter than the ride was. This was the best part. Later that week, Keith “Bandit” Ball was inducted into the Sturgis Motorcycle Hall of Fame. I was sorry I had to miss it. I will never forget the trip, and will cherish the memories always. God Bless, ride hard. Till next time.
