MOTORCYCLE DIARIES prt 6

Malaking Pula goes to Sturgis

Up at sunup and down the road on a cook foggy morning, I cross the border with a “welcome back”. My load lightened, heart saddened and eyes to the next adventure, I cross over the mighty Cascade Mountains on Stevens Pass, drop off Donna’s riding leathers and gear at Yakima and cross the desert to Kennewick and the Harley dealer where I bought the bike, Rattlesnake Mountain HD.

With big hugs and smiles the Rattlesnake crew greeted me, a bit amazed I have already put five thousand miles on the bike and ready for service. One thing about HD dealers, one can count on excellent service, quality work and a big bill to show for it.  They give Malaking Pula a thorough inspection, service and all before noon, knowing I was hitting the road.

There is something in the DNA of motorcycle riders, something that draws us to Sturgis like moths to a flame. It had become the annual migration of hundreds of thousands of motorcycle enthusiasts from all over the US and Canada and even Mexico. This is my second time, first being ten years ago.

With the drive of a migratory bison, I push hard across Idaho, Montanna, and arrive at the motorcycle Mecca. For several hundred miles the bike population grows and grows until it is a sea of roaring thunder.

Sturgis has a reputation, not unearned, of being wild and crazy, but also caters to those wanting to actually sleep. I had found a great campground 4 miles from town that caters to the quiet side, Katmandu campground.  I check in, get a nice tent sight, dinner from the resident food truck and prepare for the next exciting day.

Sturgis has several attractions; the town turns into a bike show, venders display their Sturgis wear, some quite risqué. The people watching is world class, everyone dons their best biker gear, especially the ladies.

The best reason to go there is to leave! The area sports some of the most amazing rides in the country and spectacular landmarks. Mt. Rushmore is a Sturgis must but I had done it before so I went to my favorite, the Crazy Horse Monument and Museum. I was joined by several hundred bikes in the parking lot. I found out, one must take bearings and markers to find your bike in such a crowd!

I toured the museum and watched the Native dancers perform, always a moving spectacle. The lady and her two daughters did amazing things in the traditional Hoop Dance.

There are so many incredible rides in the famed Black Hills, I took the Iron Mountain Ride, a twisty, windy road through breath taking forests and rock formations, even three tunnels. Iron Mountain Road: 17 Miles, 314 Curves, 14 Switchbacks, 3 Pigtails, and 3 Tunnels

No trip to Sturgis is complete without a stroll down the streets of Deadwood. The 1800ish buildings, and streets lined with bikes, bikes and more bikes. I did my people watching, even dropped in on the very same bar Wild Bill Hickok was shot in, holding those Aces and 8’s.

Back in town I did the mandatory tshirt shopping. I dropped them off at the street side UPS station to begin their long voyage to the Philippines, and even found an AA meeting.

Although I saw bikes of every make and style, Sturgis is Harley country for sure. I went to the nearby HD dealer, who had five acres of venders and displays. They reported a record year, sold over 600 new Harley’s in that week. There was absolutely no evidence of Harley owners not being loyal.

One tradition to go and a big one a must do, I took the dusty muddy Malaking Pula to the famed Bikini Bike Wash. The bike spotlessly cleaned and the compulsory photo taken. Facebook ironically posted the pictures showing bikini clad girls washing my bike “ten years ago memory” on the exact same day.

Four days of riding, shopping, sight seeing and the joy of many new friends ended on a sunny day. I packed my camp, and road off thru the stream of motorcycles out of town.

I got 100 miles out of Sturgis and got to a hotel, rested up and headed out to the thriving metropolis of Thermopolis, Wyoming, known for its wonderful hot springs. i enjoyed a soak with a troupe of Amish folks, soaking in full regalia, had a dinner in the Safari restaurant, with the most amazing collection of wildlife

trophies I have ever seen.

Next day I road up to Cody just to see if anything had changed in ten years. Cody Wyoming was settled by none other than Buffalo Bill Cody. His daughter, Irma, built and ran the hotel that still bears her name. I was only there for lunch so did not take the phenomenal western museum nor the nightly shoot outs Cody is known for.

Back in Thermopolis, I picked up some snacks at the small grocery store. Ah only in Wyoming can you find a fully stocked gun shop inside a grocery store, “I’ll have 6 apples, box of Corn Flakes and a Glock 9mm please” .

From there across the Grand Tetons, and high desert I hopped from one hot spring to another across 3 states, great way to travel. I went from full leathers and heated grips to basic t shirt and sweltering as I descended from a  ten thousand foot pass to the high desert. I saw a buffalo herd, came too close to a couple dear, waved at mountain sheep, and a couple antelope.  But mostly I saw sage brush, miles and miles of sage brush and wide open spaces.

After a lavish soak at Crane Hot Springs on the very SE corner of Oregon, I headed to my good friends Chuck and Jan’s house in the center of the state. Chuck and I went to farrier school way back when, he went on to a life of rodeo and shoeing horses. He is the real cowboy deal. I enjoyed two days of telling old tales and hearing new ones.

As my great adventure was winding down, I headed back to the source, the place it all began, Chris’s house in Yakima. I crossed the great Columbia River and entered Washington State, sped up the highway through hundreds of new wind generators and arrived safe and sound.

It is a few days until my flight, so will polish up Malaking Pula, pack all the gear and put her away until next year. I will be sad to end the ride but very eager to get back home to my loved ones. I look forward to sharing all this with them next year when they can join me.

I am overwhelmed with gratitude for my many blessings, at 72 years old I can still, albeit slowly, enjoy the adventure, the dozens of wonderful people we met along the way, the indescribable scenery and the pure joy of riding my motorcycle in the great wide open spaces of the West. Some one asked “aren’t afraid of dying on such an adventure, I said, “ I am not so much afraid of dying, as I am afraid of not living”.