Crazy Sturgis,

Sturgis is, for 7 days a year, an overwhelming village. Normally there is not much to do here, but during the festival it's shaking and I'm curious to find out what it has to offer. That there are Harley's already became clear to me on my way here because thousands of them passed me by, those monsters can be noisy ! Last year, on its 60th birthday there were an estimated 60.000 twins in Sturgis and the beautiful Black Hills.






My new found friends drag me everywhere, and learn me the "ins and outs"of Harley's, women, beer, breasts and burping. I already knew quite something about this myself, so I'm not shocked when I'm awoke by a burp and a few big farts coming from the tent next to me. I laugh myself silly about Tom's tent, (he is the biggest of the bunch) it is far to small, it is such an old-fashioned one with 2 tent-poles in the middle. His boots stick out of it when he is asleep and when he turns around at night, the tent turns with him. But still he is always sleeps like a lam.
We start the day off with coffee and a drink, and later beer and after that Down Town…. When I ask about drinking and driving, they have the simple explanation that it's alright as long as you don't get caught. Tom is by the way a Vietnam veteran, who got hit by a mortar when he was 19 and can only see with 1 eye.





In the evening we go, with quite a group, to an enormous camping place further on to look at the loonies who are driving back and forth there with their girlfriends at the back to have their stuff inspected by the spectators. And there is quite a lot of stuff….


I can hardly believe my eyes because as it is getting darker (everybody has searchlights) and more beer is drunk, the scene gets heavier. Naked men and women in all shapes and sizes roar over the camping. There are morons who keep their motorbike on full-gas for a quarter of an hour. But it's all part of it .




The next day it is "no panty's Wednesday" in a neighbouring town. Here you can still see what life was like when it was really rough. Beards, tattoos, Harley's, naked chicks, a lot of booze, burn-outs in the pub and a little fighting every now and then. Sturgis itself is strictly supervised by the always very rough handling American Police. I sometimes complain a little about our Dutch cops, but this are real bastards. Once they wear a police-cap and a few stripes for a lot of people something goes seriously wrong in their brain. I'm not really aggressive myself but I have seen coppers here that, as far as I'm concerned, can be run over by all those thousands of Harley's here !










Of course also normal things happen here.
There are kilometres of market stalls selling everything, the newest models of Harley Davidson, Indian, Honda, Boss Hogg, Victory and more. There is hill climbing with motorbikes and rally's through the Black Hills. Elections of the biggest, ugliest, most beautiful, most expensive motorbikes, women and bellies, with the suitable price that goes with it.
In short, Sturgis is the place that every real motor biker must visit once in his life. Total craziness in a mostly pleasant atmosphere.


After a week it is time to move on, and it is hard saying goodbye to the men who gave me an unforgettable time between the noisy Harley's, bare breasts and beer. I'm on the road again, with ahead of me the road to Yellowstone and the Grand Canyon.