The Long Road Home

We bid our adieus to Murph who was heading for northern climes,  climbed aboard our bikes, and  I set the GPS for "Go Home."  The log said 2,486 km to go. We left the parking lot of the Hampton in Rapid City, SD on Wednesday morning just after 7 am.  I arrived back on my door step two days later at 1:15 am! (OK, technically I entered the third day- but no break from the ride makes it 'home in two' - an Iron Butt Ride to be sure.)  The weather was first class, low 20s with plenty of sunshine.  We ran all the way to Iowa City on Day One, about 1,250 km.  When I dismounted at the hotel, it was late (9:30) and we were both tired but happy to make it so far.  Organizing my riding gear, I discovered that my right saddlebag was jammed.  I assumed the lock was at fault, as there has been a rare recall on this very item on these bikes, but discovered later that it was my fault.

I made a late-night call to a Delphi Stratoliner forum pal, RW, a modest, particularly helpful and extremely knowledgeable and resourceful Yamaha owner  "What the hell was the solution to the locked bag issue, Rich?" "Knock out the hinge pins," he replied.   Evil had figured out by looking at the unlocked bag that there is a pin in each end of the hinge. But we simply didn't have the tools for the job. With 16% battery left in my iPad (the charger being, naturally, locked in the starboard-side saddlebag) I located Yamaha dealer Iowa City Motorsports and we headed straight there next morning. The very helpful tech Oliver knocked out the pins with the proper tools, popped off the lock and we could see that a plastic bag (containing all my electronics and camera gear) had fouled the exposed locking mechanism. The lock was destroyed and as none were in stock, I secured the bag cover with a bungee cord.  The dealer was the embodiment of iconic mid-western hospitality: close to an hour of the tech's time, and no charge. Gracias!

Evil and I lost each other in Chicago, but I connected with him after we got home and we figured out what went wrong.  Chicago is the Bermuda Triangle of the route to the American northwest. We arrived in Chicago at about 2 p.m., and it was high-speeds, close quarters, and lots of construction.  At one point there was a concrete barrier and at about 110 kmh you had to choose which side to take.  Each led to I-94 Eastbound, but the roads didn't converge for some miles. I went right and Evil went left.  With the density and speed of traffic, there was no turning back.  It was the last we saw of each other until we after got home.

Before and all the way after Chicago, there are many more fuel stops compared to the vast spaces in the mid-west, and I was able to keep a good pace without worrying too much about fuel conservation.

I reached the Bluewater Bridge in Port Huron, Michigan at 9:00 p.m., about an hour after Evil as it turns out. His bike is substantially easier on gas (it's a semi-bobber, much lighter though running the same 1.9 litre engine) so he had fewer fuel stops to make.  I took more leisurely stops as well, at this point.  But fatigue had not set in.  I paid the $3 toll to get back to Canada ("That's a beautiful motorcycle you have there," said the attendant- nice welcome!).  My Nexus card worked its magic at the border and by 9:05 I was back in my homeland. I love Canada.  Americans and America have a lot to offer, but there's no place like home.   The GPS said 308 km to home from Sarnia. No sense hangin' around, I"ve still got some riding to do!

At my last fuel stop in Woodstock, ON, I met a real cool couple on a Hog.  They, too, had come all the way Iowa on this last day, coming as well from Sturgis.  I promised I would visit them at their home in Uxbridge, and will indeed follow up on that.

It was a remarkable road trip, 6,550 km in total (4,007 mi.) to attend Sturgis for the Black Hills Motor Classic.  Whether you go there for the rally or at another time to enjoy the region, whether by motorcycle or other transport, you are in for the best of times in a fabulous part of America. I'll be back.

Last ride in the Black Hills

The only famous ride in the Hills that we hadn't done was the Devil's Tower. An exposed volcano, the Tower is about a two-hour run from Rapid City along a winding route that ventures into neighbouring  Wyoming.  My impressions of this state involves actors like Glenn Ford and westerns featuring homesteads and cowboys.  The landscape is pastoral beauty- rolling hills, and there really are ranches with names redolent of the old-movie era, like the Circle J and the Triple M.  Or something like that.

The Tower is another tourist site, and as with all Black Hills attractions, there are abundant items of interest for travelling families in the form of kiddie fare, restaurants and gift shops.  We found our tastes better satisfied in the nearby town of Hulett, Wyoming- pop. 383. (Don't laugh- in Buford, WY, the population is 1.) Other towns along route 24 boast similar metropolitan density, like nearby Alva (pop. 97), which contains one person per square mile.

Nine miles north of the Tower, Hulett's main street restaurants and bars are a must-see for the travelling biker, with live music both indoors and out.  Cool Willie and the Frigidaires were playing on the outdoor stage at the rear of the Ponderosa Cafe. Playing a mixture of old rock and R&B, Cool Willie was wholly entertaining, especially in the last of their sets that we caught when they invited a young fella from Chicago who was playing a duo indoors to join them between his sets. Patrick Keifer traded  blazing guitar riffs with the man we assumed to be Willie to the delight of the assembed.  What a great afternoon!

The trip to Devil's Tower also introduced us to the Wyoming Highway Patrol.  We were pulled over along the scenic route by a State Trooper who flagged Evil for having no headlight on his bike. Turns out the low-beam bulb had expired, and the Officer was lenient and understanding enough to let him off with a warning citation.  And a lesson learned in addition to a circle check? Always obey the speed limit- no speeding tickets for us!

Back to Hulett for a moment (cut 'n paste on an iPad is still a risky maneuver for me), the little town hosts a variety of shops, including an antique store which has vertical, open coffins out front in which you can take your picture  for no charge, although donations are welcome (the sign says: "We're not trying to get rich, we're just trying to pay off the sumbitch!")

As this was our last day the Black Hills, a final trip to Sturgis was in order.  The town was in full rally bloom, and as had been the case for all but the first day we were there, morning clouds had given way to another brilliant day of warm sunshine.

We said goodbye to One-Eyed Jacks Saloon and the enjoyable noise and madness of Lazelle and Main Streets, but made a final pit stop en route back to Rapid in the small town of Piedmont on Sturgis Road that runs parallel to I-90 to check out a bar we had spotted a few times that could be used for a motorcycle commercial.  A weathered board and batten exterior, bikes angle-parked in front and a mix of regulars and Sturgis event bikers inside.  A friendly waitress brought the best burger I have had in years.

It was to be the last visit we would make in Sturgis 2013.  Next up is packing and heading home.  Don't recall a week passing so quickly or more enjoyably.

We'll be back.

Hail to riding

Monday morning I fulfilled a promise to myself to get a tattoo.  Kevin Slatts from InkSmith composed a drawing of a design I had been toying with and now it is a permanent fixture on my right shoulder.  My Nikon and iPad have not yet learned to collaborate so I can't post a pic just now, so suffice it to say it is a tribute to my birthright.  And no skulls- lol!

After a bevvy at One-Eyed Jacks Saloon, we rode to another spectacle- Black Hills Harley Davidson for Bike Week demo rides.  Now, I have been on more than a few of these in the Greater Toronto Area, and it usually involves registering for a ride and sometimes waiting for a significant period of time before your ride selection becomes available from the fleet of perhaps a dozen or so bikes. Registration at the Black Hills dealer is electronic- they stick your license into a reader, it displays and stores your info, you agree that any death, injury or dismemberment however tragic for you and yours won't be ruinous to the dealer and manufacturer and boom- yer on a bike.  Waiting time was zero, and choices abundant. "What would you like to ride, sir?" Well, I said, dreaming just a bit, how about a CVO Screamin' Eagle 110 ElctraGlide Ultra Classic (ya can't make these names up!)? No problems.  The gorgeous $37,600 (pre-tax US; $42,700 in Canada) chromed out tourer became mine for the next 20 minutes.  Although the parking lot and the road into and out of the dealership was engorged with motorcycles, the dozen or more staff dedicated to directing and managing traffic were doing a first-class job of keeping things moving, and in a few minutes I was touring the beast along a two-lane country road.  The tour is without a Road Captain or Shotgun, you simply follow the signs. The return route takes you along I-90 where the strengths of the 900+ pound behemoth are truly revealed.  Like a fat man dancing, the Ultra is lithe and agile in spite of its bulk, and its six-speed gearbox ensures that the revs are never imposing.

Immediately upon our return from the first demo ride, we were offered another ride.  Evil rode the big Ultra CVO I had just dismounted and I chose a beautiful red CVO Road King, also with the 110 cubic inch monster.  Was it fast? So fast that when I twisted the throttle, the bike shot forward, turning my wrist further than intended, launching me toward Evil's Ultra in front of me at an alarming pace.  It seemed to take a very long time (in reality, less than a second or two) for my synapses to organize themselves to avoid a collision.  Did I mention that I was also trying to fit my sunglasses on my head as we started to pull away?  Even with that introduction to the 110 Roadie, it still startled me when I twisted the throttle for some giddyup cruising the two-lane blacktop.  This puppy has got some spunk!

For a third and final demo, I tested a Softtail with a 103" engine.  The skies in Sturgis are never complacent, and despite some significant rain clouds having moved in, off I went.  About two miles after I left the  lot, the skies opened up and drenched me.  Then it turned to hail.  This version of the Softtail, with no fairing or windshield, left me exposed to the sting of hail.  In short order I found myself navigating an unfamiliar bike through a river of rain.  I kept as lively a pace as I could to shorten my discomfort, and was heartened to see the exit for I-90 that would get me back to the dealership.  The hail intensified to the point that to minimize the stings, I was riding with my left hand over my mouth and chin while holding the throttle with my right.   Then it turned to heavy rain. I was soaked.  I stopped under the first overpass I encountered, and wasn't short of company.  These squalls are common to the region and are best waited out.  I waited.  The rain seemed to let up, so off I went again, eastbound on the I-90.  The rain returned. So did the hail.   There was no overpass in sight.  A transport passed me with a spray surfers dream about.  The rain intensified.  My vision was limited to the point that Exit 55 - my exit and the pathway to redemption from the elements- was but a hazy blur.  After another stint under a bridge and re-tracing my path to Black Hills Harley, I parked the bike and had a great laugh with Murph and Evil.

Rollin' n Rockin'

We put on our Sunday best- i.e., the same jeans, tees and boots- to meet our friends from the Delphi Stratoliner and Roadliner forum at the Powder House Resort in Keystone.  Was great fun to meet folks that we had only conversed with on the forum, though having done so for years:  Rich (RW), Alan (bikrdad) and his wife Sue, Gene (Mid-wester), and the three of us (Caper, hughze and TeeEffEss) had a fine repast and got some pics of the seven Strats and riders for posterity.  Murph and I followed RW to the exit for the Crazy Horse Monument before we bid our final adieus.

Crazy Horse is a must-see, as is the short documentary film shown in the reception centre.  Though not usually inclined to take in such details, we thoroughly enjoyed the story of this ongoing effort to carve Lakota warrior Crazy Horse and his horse (redundancy intended) out of Thunderhead Mountain on private and sacred native lands.  The Crazy Horse Memorial Monument is an awesome tale of persistence, dedication and talent.   When completed, the monument will be 27 metres high; the four busts of Mount Rushmore are, comparatively, 18 metres.

The project began as a discussion in 1929 between a Lakota chief and Korzak Ziolkowski, a sculptor who had worked on Mt Rushmore.  Blasting began in 1948 and will continue likely for several more decades before it is completed.  The project eschews any public funding and has been operated since the sculptor's death thirty years ago by Ziolkowski's wife and ten children.

Later in the evening we rode out to the Full Throttle Saloon on the eastern fringe of Sturgis, where heavy rocker Bret Michaels was headlining on the main stage of the saloon.  Riding into the grounds was a spectacle in itself- 12,000 motorcycles parked on the vast acreage of the property.  (Bartender: last Thursday we had 15,000 bikers here!)

Parking required a bit of dirt-bike riding through the 'back forty' before we made our way into the bar.  The place is simply enormous, large enough that two rock bands played different stages at FULL VOLUME without interfering with one another.   Not unlike  a resort, there are multiple watering holes to accommodate the patrons.  The logistics must be staggering, yet you could buy a drink without even being in a line-up. And not many resorts can boast having a burn-out pit inside the bar.  Full Throttle Saloon is not boasting in its claim of being the "world's largest biker bar."  It might well be simply the world's largest bar!

Sobriety has its advantages, so after this amazing experience of such massive scope in motorcycling and entertainment at the  Full Throttle Saloon, we headed back into town to the Loud American Roadhouse on Main St., where the band Dirty Word had the place jumping.  Wicked guitarists, drummer and vocalists, the band displayed a sensational degree of talent and energy.  As has been the case throughout this road trip, folks were friendly and engaged, and we chatted with riders from all over the US and Canada, including a rider from White Rock, BC, where Murph currently resides.
     
Sturgis SD, home of the world's largest biker rally, is the only place in the world where you can experience this quality of riding, vast list of events and massive entertainment venues on such an unbelievable scale.  No wonder at all that riders converge here from all over the world and return year after year for the same adrenalin rush and sense of rider/biker community that the event entails. Wouldn't have missed this for the world.

A Full House

Saturday
After another dire weather prediction that failed to materialize for more than fifteen minutes , SD offered up mostly sunshine and warm weather for another day of fine riding.  Deadwood is a town of not much more than a thousand souls nestled in the Black Hills less than an hour's ride from our base in Rapid City, and a mere hop from Sturgis. Its most famous denizen was James Butler Hickock, better known as Wild Bill.  The place is crawling with motorcycles as it's a tourist town with a colourful past, an attractive facade of old-west buildings, excellent bars and restaurants, live music, and for those so inclined, a lot of casinos.

After a few refreshments, we motored on to Keystone, another beautiful town in the mountains that features similar daytime attractions and nightlife. We took in the sights from the upper balcony of the Red Garter Saloon, observing the constant procession of motorcycles and listening to the rumble and more than occasional roar of two-wheeled traffic.  As in every town within 100 miles of Sturgis on this first weekend of the rally (except for Rapid City- more on this in a moment), almost every empty space on the street is occupied by a bike.  There are few events on any regional calendar that consume the very fabric of a society the way Sturgis does the Black Hills.  

Human and bike traffic are escalating daily.  A walk through the town after our riding adventures illustrated the grip the rally has on everything it touches.  Nine blocks of Main St. are now closed to non-motorcycle traffic.  Motorcycles are parked stem to stern in the middle of the road, with narrow lanes accommodating motorcycle traffic, which slowly discharge man and machine from opposite ends of the venue.  There are few traffic lights in Sturgis, and in some intersections the authorities have erected temporary four way-stop signs to regulate flow.  Stop signs or no, there is a remarkable code of behaviour that governs ingress and egress.  The bikers seem to automatically compensate for the difficulty that riders experience while attempting to enter the east-west flow of traffic.  To describe it as courtesy is an understatement.  This ad hoc community functions better that any traffic planner could imagine, without benefit of signals or bylaws.  It is a give-and-take of you first, me later. 

Both sides of the two main avenues, Lazelle and Main Streets, have been confiscated by vendors, who have erected everything from stalls to massive tents to promote their wares.  Every imaginable kind of motorcycle part, service, accessory, machine, adornment and concept is available.  If it's not available in Sturgis, either you don't need it or it just can't be had.

The police presence in the town ranges from subtle to invisible.  It was Day Three before I spotted two officers in the melee, and asked them how they felt about Sturgis 2013.  "It's been great, people are having a good time," they offered.  Problems?  "Nothing out of the ordinary, just the usual traffic offenses and a few drug charges." Their tone was more sombre when we broached the topic of fatalities.  "About a dozen each year."  Sturgis' finest cited inattention as a major cause, usually single vehicle (i.e., motorcycle) crashes. 

No sombre mood can be found elsewhere on Main St.,  where the blocks reserved for the bikes are framed by a viewing stand erected at each end for taking it all in.  The $5 fee seemed reasonable for taking a good pic of the crowd and their machines.  It happened to be a perfect location to catch a wedding party traipse down the boulevard to the cheers and well wishes of the crowd.  The bride wore black.

 The scene at One-Eyed Jacks saloon was a happening, the seats at each of its many bars occupied by Sturgis' faithful.  Biker gear is pretty much the only sartorial choice.  It seems that everyone in the bar and throughout the region  is sporting tees, tops and tanks featuring bars, bikes and rides.  There is no shortage of supply and a plethora of designs.

The night ended with a wimper.  Great company notwithstanding, Rapid City may be the only municipality in the Black Hills that lacks the Bike Week spirit.  The public establishments were doing tepid business.  That might explain the remarkable lack of talent and passion of the live band at the watering hole we frequented.  Catching an act in Rapid (as the locals call it) is like

buying tickets to a Monkees cover band when the Rolling Stones are playing a free concert down the street.  We salvaged what we could from the evening by staying up till the wee small in our hotel room with  glass in hand.

Mount Rushless

Friday was a riding day extraordinaire, though the prospects were dim as the day began.  We donned the rain gear and headed for Mount Rushmore, the most famous attraction in the region, and the Needles Highway, a famous Black Hills riding destination.  The needles are spired granite rock formations which line the route, which leads to Custer State Park, another landmark touring area in the Black Hills National Forest.  Rain began just as we were getting underway, and as the attractions of the highway to motorcyclists are the steep, sharp turns, tunnels and hairpins, negotiating the route on wet roads was not an inviting prospect.  We opted to detour to nearby Black Hills Harley-Davidson, which hosts more than a hundred vendors on its 40 acre lot during the rally, in the hopes that the rain would pass and we could resume our tour.  Within a half-hour, the skies cleared and off we went in search of dead Presidents and riding Nirvana.

Alas, while the rain remained at bay, its first cousin, fog, made an appearance.  When we arrived at Mount Rushmore, not even the base of the gargantuan sculpture could be seen.  Evil took us to a different vantage point a few km away where lo and behold, George Washington's stony face could be seen clearly, but no other.  Mount Rushless, we called it, a deal at 75% off.

The Needles Highway, on the other hand, did not disappoint.  The sharpest of corners are marked with 15 mph warnings, and a useful maxim in the hills is that the lower the speed recommendation, the more accurate it is likely to be; you can safely negotiate a 30 mph corner at 40, but 15 mph is not to be taken so lightly.  These turns call for first-gear entry, keeping the revs up, being wary of other motorists encroaching in your lane, not being afraid to scape the floorboards to keep your line through the corner, and accelerating out of the apex.  It requires a degree of near-surgical precision, especially considering you are riding in mountains with no guardrails, and the opposing traffic is mostly tourists unfamiliar with the terrain and gawking at the sensational, distracting scenery.   And did I mention it is great fun?!  Not for the faint of heart or new riders, but exhilarating to the point that we rode through 2,500 km of cornfields to get here to do this!  A few miles into this terrain and we saw a road sign alerting is to the next corner: 5 mph! You gotta be kidding- not even along the Pacific Coast Highway that all three of  us rode last year did we recall a 5 mph-er.  Nope, they weren't kidding!  Round the bend and give 'er!  Even through my helmet I could hear Murph yelling "Yahoo!"

The tunnels are so low and narrow that commercial trucks and all large vehicles are prohibited from entering the highway.  Nearing the end of the road, we came upon a cadre of vehicles stopped and a dozen or more folks taking pictures of the last tunnel, a remarkably narrow passage carved by both man and nature through enormous rock needles.  We took a few snaps ourselves before continuing on our way. And as soon as I can locate an Apple store to purchase an SD card reader/adaptor, I will post pics to share.

Next scheduled stop was to be Custer State Park and the Wildlife Loop Trail, where the deer and buffalo roam.  Last in our small group, I followed Evil and Murph making a u-turn to correct a small navigational error, to wait for traffic to clear before completing it, and found my two friends had vanished.  They thought I had understood we were making an immediate left turn, I thought we were heading straight and never the twain met for the rest of the day.

But the sky had cleared and I decided to continue with the route as planned.  After a fine tour through the Wildlife Trail I decided to re-visit Mount Rushmore, no longer shrouded in fog, paid the $11 fee to get a close-up shot and headed off for another of the Black Hills' famous trails, Iron Mountain Road.  This 40 km run features sweepers and tunnels and hairpins like Needles,  with the added attraction of pigtails: 360 degree turns that wind over or under themselves.  Fabulous stuff!

The weather forecasters be damned, it turned out to be a first-class riding day, full of sunshine and  corners that warm the heart of bikers the world over.  No wonder as many as a half-million riders descend upon Sturgis every year.  It is Nirvana.

Rainy Days in the Black Hills

Our pal Murph has arrived from points north and has joined our little travel party for the duration.  By pure coincidence, all three of us ride the same make, year and model of  motorcycle, the venerable (to Metric bike riders, at least) Yamaha Roadliner, a 1900 cc behemoth that pulls like a train and can stop on a dime (two cliches for the price of one). Murph is pulling a camper behind his bike, a two-wheeled clamshell-design trailer that features a bed, awning, and even a patio. He also brought a case of beer, which we thought might come in handy yesterday as we got to pondering our options in the face of a relentless series of thunderstorms and rain showers that had us holed up here in the very non-biker hotel, the Hampton Inn in Rapid City.  (Incidentally, even in this bastion of middle-class business travellers and vacationing families, there is a sense of excitement among the hotel staff  who are planning a bike wash today (redundant, most likely, given the weather) and will be opening a cash bar this afternoon.) But before we closed the door on riding by opening the beer fridge door too often, we decided to brave the elements and make the 50 km run to Sturgis.  The rain gods frowned upon our insolence and tried to disuade our progress, but to no avail as we endured the downpour and soon found ourselves amongst the throngs in the epicentre of the rally.  Most vendors are now in full swing and the bars and restaurants are seeing a substantial increase in customer traffic. Bike traffic will be immense over the next few days as this small town of 6,500 will host more than 400,000 bikes by the end of the weekend.  The hotels and campgrounds within a fifty kilometre radius and beyond are already witnessing the swell of two-wheeled tourists, and the highways are becoming more packed with RVs of every description, many of them 40+ footers with every amenity known to humankind.  Open and closed trailers abound, some with as many as three bikes aboard.  A popular vest patch in Sturgis says "I rode mine to Sturgis 2013." Small compensation in the face of the prospect of the two and a half-day ride home, but a badge of pride and honour no less!

The rise of the three-wheeler in bikerdom is well in evidence, with many $40,000 (before any mods!)  Harley trikes and equally expensive Honda Gold Wings cruising the main drags along Main and Lazelle streets.  As of today it will be motorcycles only in town with other vehicular traffic banished to the outer limits.

Despite the dour predictions of meteorologists (and they call economics the dismal science!), we enjoyed many hours of sunshine and warm weather as return on our brave travel investment.  No visit to Sturgis is complete without having a pint at One-Eyed Jacks, our second sojourn there in two days. Bars in the region enjoy iconic status, with their names and logos emblazoned on thousands of t-shirts: Full Throttle Saloon, the Buffalo Chip, Broken Spoke Saloon, all enormous establishments. We rode out to the Chip to check on concert ticket availability and prices.  The scope and status of entertainers playing in the Black Hills during the rally rivals what you might find in any of the entertainment capitals of North America. Who's in town? Just Kid Rock, ZZ Top, Travis Tritt, Toby Keith, and The Doobie Brothers to name but a few. Tickets at the Buffalo Chip campground were reasonably priced at $72 a head for mainline acts that also feature less-famous opening acts in a six-hour marathon of music and partying.

As I mentioned before, the hospitality and friendliness of local folks and travellers is remarkable. And there is, unsurprisingly, no shortage of characters.  Whilst taking in the sights and sounds at the Full Throttle Saloon,  we had the opportunity to meet "Little Girl," an adorable chihuahua who "just loves to dress up in biker gear" according to her 'Mom'.  I scooped a pic of her in her biker goggles and vest, and her mom told me in return I have to "like" her Facebook page.  And I would have done just that, but you try searching for "little girl" on Facebook- be lucky if the U.S. National Security Administration doesn't make a personal call after they see the metadata.

The journey continues.