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
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