Back in '80, my dad had just retired and I had just gone back into the ministry in Casper, WY. My folks and my wife and I (with our two kids, 15 and 12) decided to meet in the Black Hills, and then ride to the Custer battlefield, Cody, Yellowstone, and Jackson before heading back to Casper. We met at a KOA west of Mt Rushmore at about noon on a Monday and were surprised that the campground was practically empty. We drove to Rushmore and then back to the KOA. At about 3:30, motorcycles started coming into the KOA and by 5, it was full. Mom started wondering about what was going on. I went to the camp store for some ice and asked a guy in front of me what was going on. He answered, "Sturgis." "The town?" I wondered and he replied simply, "The
Rally." Then he told me that it happened every year and that there would be about 50,000 people there. When I told Mom, she wondered if we'd be safe. By then most of the bikers were around campfires and things were pretty quiet. On Wednesday, Dad wanted to move closer to Lead, and my wife, kids, and I decided to go to the Badlands. We were ready to head back west to meet the folks when we pulled into one last scenic overlook.
That's where we met my favorite Harley rider of all time. We were sitting in our car (an 80 Accord that, in my brilliance, I had bought without air conditioning
) when a Harley that had no chrome and was covered with oil and grease pulled in next to us. The rider was as black as his bike. He was wearing cut-off jeans, a sleeveless t-shirt, a red bandanna, and combat boots. He turned off the bike, started rubbing his lower back, and moaned. He had a blanket roll and not much else on the bike. After a minute, he tried to get off the bike and couldn't get his leg over the blanket roll. He sat there another 30-40 seconds and managed to get off. I asked him if he'd like some water or a soft drink or tea and he said, "Man, water would be great!" I got out and gave him our Coleman 1-gallon water jug. He unscrewed the lid and started trying to pour water from the spigot at the bottom. I told him that we hadn't had any water out of it and that we weren't going to and that he could just drink straight out of the jug. He drank about half the gallon non-stop. He said he had left St. Joseph, MO, that morning and that the temperature had been 100F by 10 and he'd been riding into a 20-25mph headwind all day. "I've got to figure a way to carry some water on this hog," he said.
I noticed that he had Virginia license plates and asked him where he lived. He told me he was from Fairfax and I told him that we had friends who lived there. The wife worked as a comptroller in the Pentagon, reporting to an Undersecretary of the Air Force. I asked him what he did and he looked around to be sure no one was listening, then he leaned in close to me and said, "Don't tell anybody, but I'm a senior systems analyst in the Pentagon...except for three weeks every year, when I get on my Hog and ride to Sturgis, terrorizing white people all across the country." I asked him if he did anything special to spread terror and he laughed and said, "Look at me! Look at my bike! I don't need to
do anything!"