There are moments in our
lives that present themselves, unbidden.
And there are moments that we sit waiting for, pleading, hoping,
dreaming that one day they may come. This is a story of grabbing that unbidden moment and swallowing it whole.
I went across country this
summer to gather moments or fill them and even, perhaps to release some of them
into the wild. I went to see some of this
world, this country that I had not earlier had the time, the opportunity or the
belief that I could simply pack a bag or two, fill my car with gas a few dozen
or more times and ride out into the sunset or over the mountains and through
the woods as the case may have been, depending on the day.
I travelled from the Hudson
Valley to Chicago in one fast and furious day of driving. Not stopping in Pennsylvania or Ohio, save
for a quick fill-up. Gary, Indiana
provided food, gas, and brief respite from a storm. It was here that I
contacted a friend of a friend who helped guide my itinerary for Chicago. I can’t imagine how sorry I would have been
without her enthusiastic guidance. I
will be back in Chicago for certain, I loved it, each and every shining
moment.
How can I explain where I
ended up a few days later? Maybe there
isn’t any particular explanation that would make a great deal of sense. Maybe it was kismet or the strong pull of
freedom and curiosity and a strong desire to just throw caution to the
wind. Maybe it was the idea of living
life largely in contrast to the too small life I had been only barely living
not so long ago for quite some time.
About a week before I left
on my big and daunting journey cross country I decided to start panicking, or
preparing for what I hadn’t yet spent a great deal of time planning for. This is important to note. In the past, I have studied every nearby,
neighboring, nook and cranny and trail surrounding, leading to or from a
destination that was painstakingly determined for the purpose of a little r and
r. I enjoyed this pursuit of happiness
and action packed discovery of regions yet unknown to me. I would pour over books and catalogues and
then eventually websites and web engines to find the best of, what not to miss,
what was best for families, what might enhance coupledom or at least not cause
further angst in the couplehood. And
yet, here I was venturing off solo for the biggest adventure of my life. Heading cross country in a state of
unplanned, disbelief. With a tent in my
trunk, a suitcase, a backpack, wilderness camping gear, several journals and
sketchpads and a few cameras and assorted lenses to capture any and every
moment I so desired. My GPS system, a
road atlas, a pocket knife and a corkscrew, you know, the essentials, I began.
I was planning on
Chicago. That much was certain. Where I was staying was not firmed up until a
week prior. A few misguided attempts at
searches, requests from friends and playing a bit of truth or dare with
Hotwire, hotels.com, and Priceline had me more perplexed than ever. As I started the search for accommodations
in Chicago, it became clearer to me I had no BIG plan. Did I need a plan? Would a theme help? National Parks? Quirky roadside attractions? Music? Food?
I didn’t want to focus on any one of these themes, but a combination
would be appealing. How to begin? I decided
to take a little look-see at events across the country that might happen to be taking
place in early August. Music venues, art,
what have you. I fell upon a few oddities
that did not actually take place in August, a few that were not on my path and
then I stumbled upon, this land called Sturgis.
As it turns out a great many
of you already know what this means. It
turns out that yes, I was living, barely, that small confined life and had no
idea. It also turns out that after seeing
Sturgis on my laptop, and digging deeper,
I discovered that Sturgis means bikes, big, bold, beautiful, beaming motorcycles.
All
Heading
Straight to
Sturgis.
Yes, Sturgis, the home of the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally. Sturgis.
That otherwise quiet little slice of the Midwest. Sturgis is a small
city, and I use the term loosely, in South Dakota around about 50 minutes from
Mount Rushmore. Sturgis is also the home of
the largest motorcycle rally in the whole honkin’ world. So imagine, there is a lot of roar. A lot of leather. A lot of studded, or otherwise bedazzled or
grommeted vests, chaps, bags, sidesaddles and what-nots. There are a lot of bikers and biker buddies
and biker babes. There are over a
million choppers in one place at one time, or so says a tagline from some such
Sturgis locale.
Hmmmmm. So where do I fit
into this mix you wonder? Well, pre-Sturgis,
I was fitting pretty quietly approximately 1775 miles east of Sturgis. But I can’t help but smile, again, that same
devilish grin that appeared when I was looking at the big flashy Sturgis webpage
that came up while I was looking for fun little venues across this great wide
country. Devilish. Shit-eating.
Me? Sturgis? Giddy in fact. It lasted a little while, I even looked into
camping, since, well, it’s fairly close to Mount Rushmore, and I would need a
place to stay.
There are concerts in
Sturgis, I learned, that occur, free of charge, at various campsites, in
addition to the middle of town and in local bars and restaurants. ZZ Top, Kid Rock, Joe Santana, to name a very few. I went so far as to fill out a
camping request form, but I did not submit the reservation. I went on with my day, avoiding making
reservations for Chicago, and wondering what the hell was I thinking,
attempting a cross country trip alone?
A day passed. I called a friend. A sort of biker friend. “Hey biker friend (name
withheld to protect the not so innocent), What can you tell me about
Sturgis. Am I crazy? Don’t answer
that. OK I know I don’t have a
bike. I haven’t even been on one since
high school. Boy that was sweet. Sure
maybe that was the year of the 41st Annual Sturgis Rally, but who’s
counting? Yes. Camping and a multitude
of concerts. And it is right close to
Mount Rushmore and I’m heading there anyway.
So…..?”
Basically what I found out
was Sturgis, like Times Square has cleaned up a bit. It wasn’t likely I would have to fear for my
life if that was a concern. Cyclists
these days are a bit more diverse, even if the standard issue costume is the
same. In summary, it’s not quite the
hard core death defying cycle venue it once was. I
lost a little interest, but not all. Not
that I needed hard-core, I just wasn’t really sure how this venue would work
into my trip, my sense of self, or my desire to see so many things in a fairly brief
time.
As I drove to Chicago,
however, I started noticing…. One cycle, two, sometimes packs of bikes and
bikers. Each rest stop along the way, I would notice more. I smiled knowingly to myself. Sturgis
bound. I could feel it. I envied the chrome, the pulsing, roaring
engines. The weaving in and out of
traffic. The sense of being
unencumbered, uncontained. It was gloooooooorious
to watch. I drove on. I enjoyed every moment of Chicago, and when I
hit the road again, I was calmly enthralled to catch sight of new cycles, more
bikers. Somehow it made me feel like a
part of something larger, even just in the knowing.
I can’t say exactly at what
moment or intersection I decided to actually go. I will say the parking garage, after a good
nights sleep at the Hilton in Sioux City might have had something to do with it. I asked the man sitting on the ground
maintaining his bike parked dangerously close to my nonbike-like Toyota Corolla, “Are you
heading to Sturgis?” Just like
that. Suddenly I’m all friendly and
personable and approaching motorcycle thugs armed with big wrenches in a dark
parking garage, all the things your mother, and the world at large tells you
NOT to do, when you are a woman travelling alone. Oh, wait, women are told not to travel alone. So I am
already living on the edge. He smiles, happy for the attention, and tells
me he is in fact going there. I ask if
it would be worthwhile for me to go. He
sizes me up and smiles sweetly, not hungrily. Of course, he says
yes. It’s like asking an artist if you
should stop at the Louvre, or an exhibitionist if you should stop at
Burning Man. We talk briefly, he is
from Chicago and has made a few side trips on his way, Memphis, Kansas City... I decide not to tell him I know a much easier route… We say goodbye and wish each other safe
travels.
This interaction pleases me. It makes me smile. My interaction with him, with others throughout
this journey have been almost entirely positive. It restores faith in me. These personal interactions
with strangers became incredibly validating and instantly valued. They are somehow easy. And this is somewhat, miraculous seeming. I
have not been at ease in the world at large in my barely lived life. I am only recently at ease around and amongst
those beyond my tight circle of close friends and loved ones.
I generally prefer the safety of loved ones and friends
before even attempting to utter, awkwardly, words, that are
often confused or tongue-tied before I communicate effectively.
Yet here I was alone in the world, open and available and filled with
gratitude and twirls of appreciation for the landscape, the diversity of place
and people, as well as a gathering calm in the recognition of a common sense of
sameness among others. Why did it take
me so long to travel such a short and vast distance, I wonder, briefly…no
matter, I am here, now.
Where
am I now? Oh yes Sturgis. I could not but wonder at the
time, Who the hell was I to drive right into Sturgis? Hearing
about Sturgis was fairly unlikely for me, heading toward Sturgis was pretty improbable,
somehow being in Sturgis was incredibly perfect for me. And this is how it happened….
I continued my drive cross
country, stopping at the Corn Palace. Biker’s
all around. I stop at Wall Drug. Again, bikers everywhere, it’s practically a
mini-Sturgis, but I have no frame of reference.
6:00 PM the street is lined with parked cycles. The shops are lined with Sturgis
memorabilia. T-shirts, caps, bags,
skull-caps, shot glasses, bandanna’s, wallets, you name it, Wall Drug has it
covered for bikers, biker chicks, biker fans, anyone and everyone. By now, I am planning on going, so I indulge
in a t-shirt and a cap emblazoned with Sturgis 73rd Rally, 2013.
Prior to making the decision
to head directly into Sturgis with a confident sparkle in my eyes and Bob
Seeger grinding through my speakers, I have three separate interactions with
friends and loved ones via text, email, and Facebook messenger… anyway, three
very timely conversations take place before I land in Sturgis. Conversation 1: “Honestly? You want to know if you should go to Sturgis
or Mount Rushmore? There is no choice between Mount Rushmore and Sturgis, but
the fact that you have to ask….”
followed by “OK I need to say this, if you can’t find a man in Sturgis, then we
need to talk about this, because something is seriously wrong…” Or
something to that effect. It makes me
laugh. It is somewhat true, my sea legs
in this dating process are much more wobbly than I would like and my aunt, a
verified biker chick from way back comes at the conversation, direct and in my
face, the way I like it. Conversation
2: “I
hope you find a boyfriend!” This causes me to stop and consider carefully
and process around in my noggin. How does he think I might find a boyfriend?
I wonder and maybe hrrrumph. Oh, maybe there’s one hiding under my bed? Nope.
Do I make little kissy sounds as though I am finding a dog? Here kissy, kissy, boyfriend, come out, come
out wherever you are…I visualize myself with a large magnifying glass
looking throughout Sturgis, and then I sigh resolutely, I know this is said with the most sincere and
loving support by a close and loving friend, but I wonder if he has paid any attention
to me throughout our long and loving history to know how difficult this seems
to be for me, this finding of a boyfriend thing. I decide to focus on the love that he is
genuinely offering and not on the let down of the relationship that cannot be,
that we have bumped into throughout our lives and have not managed yet to be in the
same time or place at the same time. Conversation
3: “Relax,
let your hair down. Go get lucky and then I want all the details.” Wink wink nod
nod, I laugh, What? He can’t really mean that? Nah….not him. Well maybe… It
should please me to know we never got anything off the ground. Is he serious? How did I miss that?
I wasn’t heading to Sturgis to bag a
biker. I was heading to Sturgis to get
out of my comfort zone. To listen to
music. To take photos and observe life
beyond that barely lived life of mine. The conversations, however, got me
thinking and helped me consider it was
maybe time for me to get back on that horse, iron, or otherwise and go for a
ride. And away I went, straight into the
rush and roar of Sturgis.
.......to be continued.
No comments:
Post a Comment