It's Rally Time!

Every August, I get a little big nostalgic for the Black Hills, the home of the famous 'Sturgis Motorcycle Rally.' Which is rather odd, since I'm not your typical Harley-girl. In fact, I don't think I have ever even gone to the actual rally. But it still reminds me of hot summer evenings, loud rumbling Harley Davidsons and college life in Rapid City.

As thousands of motorcycles descend on the Black Hills, many people cringe or leave town for the week. Some cyclists are rowdy and some are strange, but all are good for people watching. Once, while driving in Rapid City, I witnessed what I was certain would be a gory, blood-splattering event. A motorcyclist zoomed up beside us and proceeded to stand up on the seat of his motorcycle. I know, some people do tricks and can do all sorts of things on a motorcycle. This man was not one of those people. He had no skills whatsoever, and my stomach did summersaults while his motorcycle wobbled ferociously side to side. At the last minute, the man sat down, steadied his bike and zoomed off.

Motorcycles remind me of the time I tried to give Wayne a heart-attack. I almost succeeded. Wayne went through a phase one winter when he bought a Gold Wing. It was nice, and had a cushy seat for me on the back. However I was always cold on the motorcycle, since Wayne insisted on driving it year-round. So Wayne bought me a nice jacket that you could 'plug in' to the motorcycle and it would keep you warm. Sort of like an electric blanket jacket. This jacket required some kind of wiring to be done, and Wayne did it himself. After completion, Wayne suggested I try it out. I sat on the back of the motorcycle and Wayne attached the wires. Everything was great. Wayne then started the motorcycle, and as it rumbled to life I started convulsing. Wayne FREAKED out, killed the motorcycle, and as I nearly fell over laughing, insisted that I was never EVER to do that again.

During the rally, you can often see 20-30 motorcyclist together on a highway. They rumble through the hills like this in their motorcycle 'gang'. No helmets, of course, because you can't be a scruffy motorcyclist if you are wearing a helmet. There is no law requiring it, and helmets are rarely seen. Now that I live in a state where there is a helmet law and fewer motorcyclists, I get a huge kick out of seeing a 'gang' of Harley dudes out for a drive. There are usually three, MAYBE four riding together, trying their best to look really mean in their safety helmets.

Recently we were in line at the local deli 700 miles away, when the man in front of us had a Sturgis Rally shirt on. I got excited and said, "Oh, hey, Sturgis Rally! We used to live there!" The man's wife was standing next to him, and apparently what happens in Sturgis stays in Sturgis, because he just kind of 'humphed' and didn't say much about it. It's always too late when I get a brilliant idea, and like always, I got a brilliant idea too late. What I should have said was, "Hey, don't I know you from somewhere? Oh YEAH, that night at the Sturgis Rally!" And proceed to go into details about the wild things I allegedly saw him do in Sturgis. Oh well, I will just have to chuckle to myself about all my great ideas.