It is Day One of my first Sturgis Motorcycle Rally, and I’m sitting on the deck of our one-room, four-cot shack in the rain, watching my 2021 Indian Springfield Dark Horse slowly sink into the mud. This is definitely not what I expected, and apparently not what most of the people there anticipated, given the number of cruisers I’ve seen bite it in the mud while going down slippery slopes and mucky grass.
Like most motorcyclists, and almost every heavy cruiser rider, the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally is a bucket list item for me. As predominantly an adventure bike rider, I wouldn’t say that a cruiser bike rally is necessarily my thing, but Sturgis is Sturgis, and the Rally is to be experienced at least once.
The plan hatched by my riding buddy, Alex “Snake” Cobb from San Francisco, was for us to ride from the West Coast, our buddy Emil “Chill” Regard to head north from Lafayette, Louisiana, and a fourth buddy, Limbo, to arrive from Maine. We would converge at Sturgis for four or five days of music, motorcycles, and mayhem. For Safety 3rd Riders, our fledgling biker gang—or “biker club,” as Snake’s wife pointed out—we felt biker names were necessary. You can call me “Woody”.
Snake handled all the planning, which miraculously actually happened given. Snake, myself, and at least one more of us are ADHD and have zero planning skills. He quickly found us a no-frills cabin at the famous Sturgis Buffalo Chip spread, where most of the big-name musicians play. The cabin had four twin-bed platforms and electricity, but no bedding, running water, bathroom, or window—just a door. In addition to the cabin, we needed Buffalo Chip campground passes (which included access to the music stage). We also decided to do VIP passes for the first three nights. All in all, it was a very expensive proposition, but what the heck? We wanted the full experience.
As the departure date approached, we were hearing less and less from Chill, our Louisiana gang member. He has been a close buddy of mine for over 45 years and has the nickname The Bail King among our friends, so I knew what was happening. Sure enough, the call came that family obligations would prevent him from coming. Sadly, we were one man down.
The week before Sturgis, I planned on being in Oregon with my family, so I decided to meet Snake in Bend and head east. Limbo, our Maine associate, planned to meet The Bail King (aka Chill) along the way and travel together. When Chill bailed, Limbo audibled, booking a flight and shipping his Triumph Scrambler 1200 instead of riding. He is smarter than he looks.
It was down to just Snake and me riding to the 2023 Sturgis Motorcycle Rally.
Having spent the last year and a half customizing my 2021 Indian Springfield Dark Horse, I was excited for the long trip. Snake was intending to ride his tricked-out 2017 Ducati Scrambler Desert Sled with a windscreen, throttle lock, heated grips, and saddlebags. However, when he pulled up to meet me in Bend, he was riding his new baby—a Triumph Street Triple 765 RS—a middleweight naked sport bike that definitely isn’t the ideal ride for a long-distance trip to Sturgis!
Fortunately, Snake, who stands six-foot-one, has freakishly long orangutan arms and short Lilliputian legs, all of which combine to make the Striple a surprisingly good fit for him for distance. He added a nice aftermarket windscreen by T-Rex Racing, nice saddlebag panniers from SW-Motech, and a waterproof duffel by Kriega. There isn’t much packing space on the Street Triple, but he seemed to make it work.
After getting settled into the hotel, we headed off for a drink and dinner reservations at Wild Rose, my favorite Thai place in Bend—maybe my favorite Thai anywhere. Unfortunately (or fortunately), we stumbled upon a tiki bar on the walk over, one of Snake’s weaknesses—he loves a good tiki bar. Suffice it to say, we didn’t make our Wild Rose reservation.
Snake is decidedly an old-school guy, so he went analog for the route planning using Butler Motorcycle Maps. In a world where we depend on Google Maps, Apple Maps, Waze, or a GPS unit, it was really interesting, and very easy, to plan using physical maps.
Our objective for the first day was to ride from Bend to McCall, Idaho, via back roads. After a very mediocre hotel breakfast, I climbed on the Indian, slightly foggy from one too many Zombies, and a terrific craft cocktail, at the very well-hidden Broom Closet speakeasy at Old St. Francis School.
This was the first big trip on the Indian Springfield, and I was excited to see how she would do. With a big 116 cubic inch Thunderstroke engine, a very comfy seat, cruise control, heated grips, and a big windscreen, the bike was dialed for the trip.
We started the day following U.S. Route 26 to John Day, Oregon. The straight and open roads suited the Springfield well. The Indian purred wonderfully and seemed as happy as I was to get going. From John Day, we split off on Oregon Route 2 to Baker City, where we caught Oregon Route 86 up to Oxbow at the Idaho border.
From there, we had a beautiful section of twisty Hells Canyon Road along the Snake River (no surprise who came up with the route) down to Cambridge on Idaho State Highway 71. After that, we headed up U.S. Route 95 over to the cute town of McCall on Payette Lake.
Having exhausted our planning genes, we picked a nice motel on the fly, with The Mill Steak and Spirits across the street. Overall, it was a fantastic start to the trip and a gorgeous ride with a mix of mountains and rivers. We knew the next day would be a good one.
Our route took us back to U.S. 95 north towards Montana, following the Little Salmon River and then the main Salmon River, a gorgeous ride, to say the least. We took Idaho State Highway 13, not the least bit unlucky, up to Koosia, where we transferred to U.S. Route 12—a spectacular windy road over historic Lolo Pass (traversed over 200 years ago by the Lewis and Clark Party) and through the Nez Perce-Clearwater National Forests to U.S. Route 93.
After a fair amount of straight road riding, this section was where Snake’s Triumph was most happy—he left the Indian and me in the dust. This was probably the most beautiful day of riding on the entire trip. We took in amazing river vistas along with beautiful, curvy roads and mountain scenery.
We stopped in Missoula as the heat began to set in. Snake’s eagle eye spotted a brewery for a little food and a beer to decide where we wanted to stop for the night. We planned to go to Bozeman and drop down into Yellowstone the next day, as Snake had never been there.
However, looking at the weather along the route, we decided to take back roads to Dillon, Montana, which avoided the interstate and provided a straight shot into Yellowstone the next morning. The ride was very nice, particularly crossing some mountain ranges closer to Dillon.
Rain clouds were forming, which normally wouldn’t be a huge issue, but at one of the stops, Snake informed me that he had no rain gear. This was only his second big motorcycle trip, so I thought it was a rookie mistake. Oh, no, it was not. He had to make a choice, he said, between bringing his Norse drinking horn or rain gear; he chose the drinking horn.
Now, Snake isn’t necessarily the sharpest tool in the shed, but I had a hard time arguing his logic. We raced the storm and made Dillon without any major rain. After checking into the hotel, we rode to The Den Steakhouse & Bar for a great meal. While there, we plied our waiter for a little local knowledge about the nightlife of bustling Dillon. He suggested The Knotty Pine, which was supposed to be a great local dive bar. Snake’s other weakness is a good dive bar, so off we went, and we were not disappointed.
Waking up a little groggy from the Knotty, we checked our planned route through Yellowstone and realized it was completely socked in with heavy rain. We decided it wasn’t worth the traffic and rain—hard to take in the sites in a storm—and rerouted north to Butte, intending to get somewhere east of Billings.
The route still had some rain, and even more the next day, so we headed over to Murdoch’s Ranch & Home Supply to hunt down some rain gear for Snake. Murdoch’s may be a chain, but it is a rancher’s shopping heaven with everything from guns and ammunition to ranching tools and (you guessed it) rainwear. And while the Australian oilskin raincoat pulled at the heartstrings, Snake opted for an XL blue Frogg Toggs rain suit. Of course, we bitterly regretted not getting ourselves oilskin coats for the rest of the trip! Interesting note: the Toggs catch a lot of wind on a naked bike, so poor Snake looked like Violet from Willy Wonka after she blows up into a blueberry.
Our first stop of the day was Bozeman, about two hours away. As we pulled into town, we realized that neither of us had ever been to Bozeman. I was in need of a coffee and, as we pulled up to the cafe, Snake’s keen nose for IPAs once again found a brewery with a covered rooftop bar next door.
After some arm twisting, Snake convinced me that beer was better than coffee. Flawed logic, at best, but I went with it. With the rain threatening, and the very friendly bartender Jake slipping us good drinks, our travel plans to push on east began to crumble. The deal was sealed when Jake told us it was live-music night on Main Street. We booked a nice motel not far off Main Street and ordered another beer.
Now, I will admit that Snake and I (who also may not be the sharpest tool in the shed) tend to encourage each other in making bad decisions. I believe he has a t-shirt that says, “That is a terrible idea! What time??,” and I am usually the guy with the terrible idea. As you can probably predict by now, we may have had too much fun in Bozeman.
Morning was a bit rough. Luckily, thanks to our decision to stay in Bozeman, we only had our longest day in the saddle to look forward to. It was almost all Interstate 90, and rain was forecasted as we approached Sturgis. Wonderful.
Brightening the morning was the fact that Snake was rockin’ a sweet Evel Knievel jumpsuit for the ride. Along the way, Snake informed me that the sleeping bag/bedding he needed for the cabin didn’t make the cut when packing either (that drinking horn had better be worth it!). As I stated previously—not the sharpest tool.
The plan was to head to a Walmart for a blanket before we hit Sturgis. Unfortunately, the long day and a torrential downpour at the end kept us from shopping. Fun fact: Frogg Toggs worn over clothes are a substitute for bedding, in a pinch.
Late in the afternoon, we rolled into the Buffalo Chip along with throngs of other riders and RVs. We met our Maine man, Limbo, who looked much more rested and ready from his flight than we did from our ride, and found our cabin. With intermittent rain falling and the campgrounds already getting slick and muddy, we parked the bikes. We settled into the spartan cabin, which consisted of four inflatable twin mattresses, one door, one small table, a few plastic chairs, an air conditioning unit, and no running water.
The “basic” accommodations aside, we were fired up to be there and excited to see ZZ Top perform that night. Snake broke out a bottle of tequila and the drinking horn to celebrate. The night was off with a bang.
Being Nordic myself, I know my way around the drinking horn. However, I was still recovering from the night in Bozeman, so I kept a low profile that evening. ZZ Top started a little slow, which wasn’t a big surprise, given they are like 150 years old. It didn’t take long for the band to get cranking, with frontman Billy Gibbons showing off very impressive skills! The show and experience were fantastic.
Opting for VIP tickets, which I had thought was a bit extravagant, ended up saving us from standing in the mud next to Harleys being revved to engine failure. There was also easy access to a well-stocked bar and an onsite toilet, which was very nice. I highly recommend splurging for VIP seats for the music at Buffalo Chip.
After a surprisingly good night’s sleep, we awoke to full-on rain and our bikes sinking into the mud—no riding for us today. But, when life gives you lemons, you find the bar, and we were not the only ones with that idea. The afternoon was spent relaxing, talking with interesting people, and looking at motorcycles—not a bad way to spend a day.
Not accustomed to rain days, the Chip improvised, holding minibike slow races in the covered bar area. The objective was to be the last person to cross the finish line on a Coleman-engined minibike, some 60 feet from the start, without putting a foot down. Pretty funny to watch. That night, the rain cleared just in time for Steel Panther and Koe Wetzel to rip up the stage.
Sunday morning brought clear skies and relatively dry mud and grass. After a few days of relying on the rain to bathe us, we each found our way to showers. Limbo opted for the premium $10 private shower service, with Snake and I queuing up for the free shower stalls close to our cabin. While not the most hygienic shower I’ve ever taken, it was better than I expected and certainly a significant upgrade from scooping rainwater out of the seat of the plastic chair outside our hut.
Refreshed and ready, we headed to the Triumph demo tent to try some of their latest bikes. As a long-time fan of Triumph motorcycles, I was keen to grab one of the adventure bikes. I had covered the launch of the latest Tiger 1200 launch in Portugal, and one of the reps at that demo tent had also been in Portugal. After catching up a bit, I threw a leg over a Tiger 900 Rally Pro and took off for a spirited ride. There is a good possibility I ignored the designated test route to find some open road and test how fast the bike could go. It goes very, very fast.
Next on the agenda was a four-hour ride to Mt. Rushmore and back, with stops at group breakfasts and roadside bars packed with Harleys. Motorcycles were absolutely everywhere, and Mt. Rushmore adapted by creating designed entry and parking areas just for bikes.
The ride to and from Rushmore was eye-opening. While the scenery of the Black Hills was fantastic, and despite the name for our biker “club”, we were struck by the number of sketchy, helmet-free riders on the road. I suppose that is to be expected when there are that many riders in one place, but we couldn’t get off the road fast enough.
We ended the ride in downtown Sturgis, which was packed with a couple hundred thousand motorcycles and riders. The town of Sturgis has a population of only around 7100, so you can just imagine what it looks like when about half a million riders descend upon it! Crazy!
After a little touring of town and the bar scene and getting verbally abused by a couple of trashy, foul-mouthed ladies who thought they were being cute, we had had enough and hightailed it back to our shack at the Chip to chat with our neighbors and work our way through the drinking horn.
That night was the big event at the sound stage. Lynyrd Skynyrd was playing, and the place was going to explode! As it turned out, in his excitement, our boy Snake started his sprint a little early in the night. With the Top Gun credo of “Never leave your wingman!” Limbo and I followed suit. While fun was had by all, old guys like us don’t have the legs we used to, and we called the night early.
Decisions needed to be made the next morning. Limbo had left early to drop his bike for shipping and catch a flight out of Rapid City—work obligations. Snake and I had accommodations and camp access passes for at least a few more days, but we both wholeheartedly agreed that we had had enough. After packing up and saying a tearful goodbye to the shack and our air mattresses, we meandered some 400+ miles southwest, dodging rain, and landing in Estes Park, Colorado, for the night.
The following day, we hit the Rocky Mountain National Park before 9 a.m. to avoid needing reservations, and were treated to a gorgeous ride through the front range mountains. We continued the day through Winter Park, then up to Leadville for a beer stop at the Silver Dollar Saloon, a classic old bar 10,000 feet above sea level. From there, we tackled the famed Independence Pass, which suffered from traffic and construction, including a few miles of very sketchy gravel road.
Once again, Snake’s Triumph was in its element, and he was flying through the mountain passes. The Springfield and I had our moments, but for the most part, we watched the Street Triple’s receding taillights.
We ended up in Aspen for a lovely drink at The Wine Bar at The Little Nell. Snake has two friends, Steve and Jess, who live in Aspen, and they very kindly invited two smelly, dirty biker dudes to stay the night. Delicious wine and amazing, massive steaks were on offer, and we quickly decided to stay for a week. Sadly, reality set in, and we only stayed the night.
Snake and I split up in the morning. He stayed in Colorado for one more day of pass riding, and I headed west home to Truckee, California. Okay, sometimes you do leave your wingman.
Without Snake’s bad (good?) influences, my ride back was uneventful. From Aspen, I rode I-70 west to Delta, Utah, for the night. Then, I took U.S. Route 50, billed as The Loneliest Road in America. It cuts directly across central Nevada. It is a beautiful, desolate road covering mountain passes and long straightaways through the various Nevada basins. The stark beauty and enormous open spaces along that road make it one of my favorite stretches of tarmac.
Looking back on the trip, I have to say it was totally worth doing. A big shout out to Snake for doing all the planning and letting me poke fun at him. He is a fantastic riding partner. Highlights were the ride out through Idaho and Montana and the ride back through Colorado and Nevada. Sturgis and the Buffalo Chip were sights to behold. That many motorcyclists in one spot, all with a shared passion for riding, was an amazing experience, and we really enjoyed meeting a bunch of great people. That said, I doubt I’ll be returning; having seen it once is probably enough for me. I’m pretty sure Snake and Limbo agree.
Photography by Freeman “Woody” Wood
