Bucket list Item, Ride to Sturgis during bike week...
complete.
Don't know why I wanted to do it. Everyone said I was nuts. Probably was, but it was a bucket list thing. Days are getting short, and I didn't want to be laying there in a bed some day thinking, Man, I wish Id done that just once. So I decided to do it. Didn't turn out quite like I envisioned it. Stuff usually never does.
For weeks I planed the ride to Sturgis. Asked five guys if they were interested in going, tried to make it sound like it would be an adventure, but couldn't get anyone to bite, proving I have no friends I guess. So I was going alone. That's ok, I'm a big boy, been around for some sixty-seven years. Bought a new helmet and Jacket, hoping to fit right in with all the bikers I'd find there, but that didn't work out so well either. Seems like the Harley crowd doesn't much wear hi viz jackets and helmets . They don't much wear helmets at all. Oh well, the bike was loaded and I had the route planed, so I headed out early Thursday morning, my wife not looking excited at all as I rode away. First long ride all by myself. Ride from Utah into northern Colorado through Steamboat Springs and over Rabbit Ears Pass was awesome, as was the ride from Walden into Laramie. First time I rode that was in 1981 on an XS1100. It was just as cool now. Steamboat was a lot bigger now.
Got lost in Laramie. Haven't been there since 1980 when I worked at the airport. It's changed...a lot. Can't say too much good about about the ride north of Laramie though. When you hear the phrase “lot's of nothing”, here's where they were talking about. Bike does ok though heeled over 15 degrees into the 50 kt wind that always seems to be blowing in Wyoming, but really didn't enjoy moving sideways from the left side of lane to the right in a blink of an eye too much. Was glad when I hit the motel late that evening at the south end of the Black Hills. Only reservation I had made. The rest I was planning on winging. Looked good on paper.
Started into the Black Hills from the south at Hot Springs. Wind had died down, but it was blistering hot. Beautiful country. Saw the resident buffalo near Custer. Waited for one to toss a tourist around, but it didn't happen. I rode all the roads I could find. One really great road RT 15 A. Had dozens of 270 degree hair pin turns back over awesome wooden trestle bridges and narrow one lane tunnels. Tons of motorcycles and an occasional car who was probably hating life and regretting the day they decided to visit the Black Hills first week of August. Lots of guys hiding in the brush taking pictures and wanting you to go to their web sites and buy pics they took of you. I wonder if anyone ever does.
Thought I'd be able to find a nice Mom and Pop restaurant for breakfast. Ain't happening. Eating at all during bike week anywhere in the Black Hills proved to be a challenge. Every place that advertised anything to eat or drink had three hundred Harleys stuffed into the parking lot. Finally found a sign that said Rapid City 22 miles and figured there had to be somewhere to eat there. Ahh, lunch at Burger King with "All by myself" playing in my head.
I had this great idea of taking tons of pictures, but everywhere that had a place to pull out had...you guessed it, 500 Harleys crammed in there like dominoes ready to fall, so I didn't stop much and took very few pictures, mostly because I was too busy not hitting other motorcycles that were as thick as flies. But I saw the sights, look there's Crazy Horse, as I blew by, and suddenly rounding a corner I see Mt Rushmore. Not as big as you think it is. Probably could have turned into the parking lot, and joined into one of the 4 lines crammed with bikes trying to get through the park gates, but decided to pass. Caught one last sight of George's head in profile as I rounded the back side and the moment was gone.
Decided it was finally time to hit Sturgis. It's not as easy when you are by yourself, have no idea what you are doing or where you are going. Not as brave either. It was hot. Had to be 127. Found a convenience store/gas station on the edge of Sturgis that only had 160 Harleys parked in front, so I made a bee line to it and a mere 40 minutes later, was downing two quarts of Gatorade. Wondering what to do next, I was sitting there on the curb, watching the parade roar by when a guy and his wife pulled up on a Honda Pacific Coast and park next to me. Probably the only bike there older than my 28 year old ST1100. So we sat and watched the bikes. Tried, but couldn't talk much as the only thing I've experienced that was louder was the flight line at Holloman AFB with forty taxiing F4 Phantoms. I think some of those Harleys were louder.
Finally made the plunge and joined in the parade. Down main street we flowed, well stumbled cause we had to stop at the end of every block at the four way stops. Which means every bike in front of you stops too, so you stop like thirty-nine times mid block behind all the other bikes stopping before it's your turn to stop for the stop sign. Then it's sort of a mad house gamble as to who goes first with bikes and people moving everywhere at the same time and of course there's always the kamikaze guy trying to pull a toy hauler trailer through the middle of that mess. Without warning, a big dog, ran out from somewhere into traffic. The guy on my left, ya almost have to ride tandem, hit his brakes to miss Rover. Guy behind him was gawking around, but looks up and realizes the bike in front of him has stopped and he locks them up. Man, I hate the sound of screeching tires when they brake, cause you never know who's going to get hit, and are just praying it's not you. He slow motion hits the rear of the bike who had stopped to miss the dog. Luckily no one went down. Don't know if they were buddy's or if someone was about to catch hell, so don't know how it turned out as my side of the road flowed on. Hope the dog survived.
There wasn't anyplace to park. Huge pavilions hawking bikes, parts, shirts and tattoos took up every parking lot. There were a couple of signs saying $3.00 parking, but the lots looked full. I guess you could turn up the side streets that were all marked "motorcycles only", and try to find a place to put your domino into, but I opted not to risk trying to run those mazes and just kept moving with my lane of traffic hoping there weren't anymore dogs. The town of Sturgis isn't really all that big. Then you suddenly shove some two or three hundred thousand people and bikes in there too it's simply nuts. How do they house that many people in that small town? How do they feed that many people in that small town? How do that many people find a place to...you know go? The lines for the bike washing bikini babes didn't help matters any.
There were tens of thousands of bikes. Probably more. But as far as I could tell there were only like three or four types of riders. Some skinny, some fat and all wearing a bandanna wrapped around their heads, tee shirt, black maybe leather vest. So many people trying to look different, but all looking the same, on bikes I can't tell apart. Call me racist I guess.
Finally made it to the end of main street. Except for the stop signs and the in-between stops, I never dared stop. Took the first road saw that said interstate, and headed north. Where was I ever going to find a place to camp, and more importantly want to camp? Saw a sign that said Spearfish KOA and wondered if that was where I was advised by the Pacific Coast rider to avoid as they sometimes make bon fires out of Japanese bikes? Then I saw a sign that said that said "Geographical Center of the the United States", that sounded interesting, so turned right instead of left to the KOA and ended up in Bell Fourche and the center of the U.S. That's also where I met a fellow from Canada on Kawasaki Vulcan who turned me on to a beautiful camp ground just three blocks away. $20 bucks a night for a tent site, what a deal. Place was big and there were only maybe a dozen other bikes camped there. Figured my bike was safe.
Got the tent set up, then road through town looking for dinner. Not much to choose from. Two bars, packed with bikes. Hardees only had the drive through running, not fun on a bike, then I spotted the Dairy Queen. There was even a parking spot open, right in the middle of about thirty Harleys, so that's where I parked.
Some were sort of milling around maybe waiting for me in the parking lot, clustered around my bike when I went out after eating. "What is that?" one guy asks. He's big. So I look up and tell him, "It's a Honda ST1100, V4." "New model?" he asks. "No, it's a 1994, 28 years old." He was taken back. "Doesn't look that old. And you road that from Utah?' He could read the plate. I nodded "How many days?" "One," I told him, "600 miles." Jaws were open all around, and they were doing a lot of head shaking and butt rubbing. Next thing I knew they were slapping some sort of patch on my back, calling me Prospect and wanting me to make a beer run.
Thankfully it started raining right about then. Everyone was grabbing a bike, course no one but me wanted my ST. When we hit the road, they were going south and I headed north. Slinked back to the camp ground and hid out on my tent all night and listened to it rain. I'd planned on spending two days in Sturgis, but was afraid I'd starve to death if I stayed any longer and didn't want to have to run to Rapid City every time I got hungry. I didn't know what I'd do if I went back to Sturgis, didn't rally need a tattoo, so I'd had enough of a good time and decided to had south in the morning if it wasn't raining.
In the morning it stopped raining long enough for me to get the tent packed and bike loaded, then I headed west. Had planned on riding around Devils Tower, but the black clouds and sheets of rain that were coming made me decide it was time to head south. Stopped long enough to put on the rain gear in Sundance, then the next stop was Casper, Wyoming at yet another Burger King to take off the rain gear and eat.
Wind was absolutely merciless. between Gillette and Rawlins. I-80 west from Rawlins was a nightmare with the buffeting wind and hundreds of trucks. Had thought for a moment about staying on I-80 to Rock Springs, but just couldn't take the truck turbulence, so I turned off just before Wamsutter and headed south to Baggs. Wind didn't die down till Craig. Hit two areas of road construction with signs that read, "Motorcycles Not Advised". Course they couldn't put up the signs till I was forty miles off the interstate. But I survived it and rolled into Vernal at 6:16 pm. Three days, two 600 mile days, 1371 miles.
Have always thought about doing it, so I did it. Now I can say BTDT got the T-shirt. But would I do it again. NO.
complete.Don't know why I wanted to do it. Everyone said I was nuts. Probably was, but it was a bucket list thing. Days are getting short, and I didn't want to be laying there in a bed some day thinking, Man, I wish Id done that just once. So I decided to do it. Didn't turn out quite like I envisioned it. Stuff usually never does.
For weeks I planed the ride to Sturgis. Asked five guys if they were interested in going, tried to make it sound like it would be an adventure, but couldn't get anyone to bite, proving I have no friends I guess. So I was going alone. That's ok, I'm a big boy, been around for some sixty-seven years. Bought a new helmet and Jacket, hoping to fit right in with all the bikers I'd find there, but that didn't work out so well either. Seems like the Harley crowd doesn't much wear hi viz jackets and helmets . They don't much wear helmets at all. Oh well, the bike was loaded and I had the route planed, so I headed out early Thursday morning, my wife not looking excited at all as I rode away. First long ride all by myself. Ride from Utah into northern Colorado through Steamboat Springs and over Rabbit Ears Pass was awesome, as was the ride from Walden into Laramie. First time I rode that was in 1981 on an XS1100. It was just as cool now. Steamboat was a lot bigger now.
Got lost in Laramie. Haven't been there since 1980 when I worked at the airport. It's changed...a lot. Can't say too much good about about the ride north of Laramie though. When you hear the phrase “lot's of nothing”, here's where they were talking about. Bike does ok though heeled over 15 degrees into the 50 kt wind that always seems to be blowing in Wyoming, but really didn't enjoy moving sideways from the left side of lane to the right in a blink of an eye too much. Was glad when I hit the motel late that evening at the south end of the Black Hills. Only reservation I had made. The rest I was planning on winging. Looked good on paper.
Started into the Black Hills from the south at Hot Springs. Wind had died down, but it was blistering hot. Beautiful country. Saw the resident buffalo near Custer. Waited for one to toss a tourist around, but it didn't happen. I rode all the roads I could find. One really great road RT 15 A. Had dozens of 270 degree hair pin turns back over awesome wooden trestle bridges and narrow one lane tunnels. Tons of motorcycles and an occasional car who was probably hating life and regretting the day they decided to visit the Black Hills first week of August. Lots of guys hiding in the brush taking pictures and wanting you to go to their web sites and buy pics they took of you. I wonder if anyone ever does.
Thought I'd be able to find a nice Mom and Pop restaurant for breakfast. Ain't happening. Eating at all during bike week anywhere in the Black Hills proved to be a challenge. Every place that advertised anything to eat or drink had three hundred Harleys stuffed into the parking lot. Finally found a sign that said Rapid City 22 miles and figured there had to be somewhere to eat there. Ahh, lunch at Burger King with "All by myself" playing in my head.
I had this great idea of taking tons of pictures, but everywhere that had a place to pull out had...you guessed it, 500 Harleys crammed in there like dominoes ready to fall, so I didn't stop much and took very few pictures, mostly because I was too busy not hitting other motorcycles that were as thick as flies. But I saw the sights, look there's Crazy Horse, as I blew by, and suddenly rounding a corner I see Mt Rushmore. Not as big as you think it is. Probably could have turned into the parking lot, and joined into one of the 4 lines crammed with bikes trying to get through the park gates, but decided to pass. Caught one last sight of George's head in profile as I rounded the back side and the moment was gone.
Decided it was finally time to hit Sturgis. It's not as easy when you are by yourself, have no idea what you are doing or where you are going. Not as brave either. It was hot. Had to be 127. Found a convenience store/gas station on the edge of Sturgis that only had 160 Harleys parked in front, so I made a bee line to it and a mere 40 minutes later, was downing two quarts of Gatorade. Wondering what to do next, I was sitting there on the curb, watching the parade roar by when a guy and his wife pulled up on a Honda Pacific Coast and park next to me. Probably the only bike there older than my 28 year old ST1100. So we sat and watched the bikes. Tried, but couldn't talk much as the only thing I've experienced that was louder was the flight line at Holloman AFB with forty taxiing F4 Phantoms. I think some of those Harleys were louder.
Finally made the plunge and joined in the parade. Down main street we flowed, well stumbled cause we had to stop at the end of every block at the four way stops. Which means every bike in front of you stops too, so you stop like thirty-nine times mid block behind all the other bikes stopping before it's your turn to stop for the stop sign. Then it's sort of a mad house gamble as to who goes first with bikes and people moving everywhere at the same time and of course there's always the kamikaze guy trying to pull a toy hauler trailer through the middle of that mess. Without warning, a big dog, ran out from somewhere into traffic. The guy on my left, ya almost have to ride tandem, hit his brakes to miss Rover. Guy behind him was gawking around, but looks up and realizes the bike in front of him has stopped and he locks them up. Man, I hate the sound of screeching tires when they brake, cause you never know who's going to get hit, and are just praying it's not you. He slow motion hits the rear of the bike who had stopped to miss the dog. Luckily no one went down. Don't know if they were buddy's or if someone was about to catch hell, so don't know how it turned out as my side of the road flowed on. Hope the dog survived.
There wasn't anyplace to park. Huge pavilions hawking bikes, parts, shirts and tattoos took up every parking lot. There were a couple of signs saying $3.00 parking, but the lots looked full. I guess you could turn up the side streets that were all marked "motorcycles only", and try to find a place to put your domino into, but I opted not to risk trying to run those mazes and just kept moving with my lane of traffic hoping there weren't anymore dogs. The town of Sturgis isn't really all that big. Then you suddenly shove some two or three hundred thousand people and bikes in there too it's simply nuts. How do they house that many people in that small town? How do they feed that many people in that small town? How do that many people find a place to...you know go? The lines for the bike washing bikini babes didn't help matters any.
There were tens of thousands of bikes. Probably more. But as far as I could tell there were only like three or four types of riders. Some skinny, some fat and all wearing a bandanna wrapped around their heads, tee shirt, black maybe leather vest. So many people trying to look different, but all looking the same, on bikes I can't tell apart. Call me racist I guess.
Finally made it to the end of main street. Except for the stop signs and the in-between stops, I never dared stop. Took the first road saw that said interstate, and headed north. Where was I ever going to find a place to camp, and more importantly want to camp? Saw a sign that said Spearfish KOA and wondered if that was where I was advised by the Pacific Coast rider to avoid as they sometimes make bon fires out of Japanese bikes? Then I saw a sign that said that said "Geographical Center of the the United States", that sounded interesting, so turned right instead of left to the KOA and ended up in Bell Fourche and the center of the U.S. That's also where I met a fellow from Canada on Kawasaki Vulcan who turned me on to a beautiful camp ground just three blocks away. $20 bucks a night for a tent site, what a deal. Place was big and there were only maybe a dozen other bikes camped there. Figured my bike was safe.
Got the tent set up, then road through town looking for dinner. Not much to choose from. Two bars, packed with bikes. Hardees only had the drive through running, not fun on a bike, then I spotted the Dairy Queen. There was even a parking spot open, right in the middle of about thirty Harleys, so that's where I parked.
Some were sort of milling around maybe waiting for me in the parking lot, clustered around my bike when I went out after eating. "What is that?" one guy asks. He's big. So I look up and tell him, "It's a Honda ST1100, V4." "New model?" he asks. "No, it's a 1994, 28 years old." He was taken back. "Doesn't look that old. And you road that from Utah?' He could read the plate. I nodded "How many days?" "One," I told him, "600 miles." Jaws were open all around, and they were doing a lot of head shaking and butt rubbing. Next thing I knew they were slapping some sort of patch on my back, calling me Prospect and wanting me to make a beer run.
Thankfully it started raining right about then. Everyone was grabbing a bike, course no one but me wanted my ST. When we hit the road, they were going south and I headed north. Slinked back to the camp ground and hid out on my tent all night and listened to it rain. I'd planned on spending two days in Sturgis, but was afraid I'd starve to death if I stayed any longer and didn't want to have to run to Rapid City every time I got hungry. I didn't know what I'd do if I went back to Sturgis, didn't rally need a tattoo, so I'd had enough of a good time and decided to had south in the morning if it wasn't raining.
In the morning it stopped raining long enough for me to get the tent packed and bike loaded, then I headed west. Had planned on riding around Devils Tower, but the black clouds and sheets of rain that were coming made me decide it was time to head south. Stopped long enough to put on the rain gear in Sundance, then the next stop was Casper, Wyoming at yet another Burger King to take off the rain gear and eat.
Wind was absolutely merciless. between Gillette and Rawlins. I-80 west from Rawlins was a nightmare with the buffeting wind and hundreds of trucks. Had thought for a moment about staying on I-80 to Rock Springs, but just couldn't take the truck turbulence, so I turned off just before Wamsutter and headed south to Baggs. Wind didn't die down till Craig. Hit two areas of road construction with signs that read, "Motorcycles Not Advised". Course they couldn't put up the signs till I was forty miles off the interstate. But I survived it and rolled into Vernal at 6:16 pm. Three days, two 600 mile days, 1371 miles.
Have always thought about doing it, so I did it. Now I can say BTDT got the T-shirt. But would I do it again. NO.
