‘300 miles to Sturgis’
I just about crapped my pants. Julie had never heard of Sturgis, but I grew up in Milwaukee and one of my life’s ambitions is to some day own a Harley. I’ve ridden on the back of a few motorcycles and driven even fewer, but I will feel like I have really made it the day I own a bike. (Along with a hot tub, a pool table, and a HDTV.)
So I proceeded to tell Julie about the biggest, baddest motorcycle rally in all the land. I wasn’t sure how we’d fit in riding up in an Accord, but I knew damn well that I was going to have to go back to South Dakota some other time to visit Mt. Rushmore.
Sturgis is one helluva party. We paid some random couple $10 apiece to pitch our tents on their front lawn and traipse through their house at 4am to use the bathroom, and headed off for the nearest beer tent – about one block away. At one point, I vaguely remember trying to talk myself into buying a pair of $200 chaps but I managed to leave the next afternoon with nothing more than a wicked hangover. Missoula and Banff were also awesome stops on our trip, but Sturgis was by far the best surprise.