Tuesday, August 16, 2005

 

Saturday in the North Black Hills

I'll do each day in a separate post, and see how far I get. (I'm writing you from Denver, as I promised.)

Saturday. After Saturday's evening in the Badlands, I hammocked at a nearby rest area. In the morning, I drove up North, into the Black Hills. I started by driving up past Sturgis, along a scenic canyon, which was stunning, and then followed the road into the city of Lead, and then Deadwood. That is historic Deadwood, of current HBO fame. The wild west town. Well, they keep the place looking almost the same. There's Main Street, which has maybe seven or eight original establishments. The architecture was kept the same for the most part, too. Now, take that wild west scene, and important 500 bikers from Sturgis. I got a great photo of main street lined form end to end with Harleys.

Up until this point, I've been keeping to myself. Camping out, doing hikes, like that. Not too much socializing. But who could pass up an opportunity to hang out in the famed Saloon #10 (where Wild Bill Hickok was gunned down) packed with leather bound bikers? To be sure, there was more leather per square mile in South Dakota this week than anywhere in the universe. I didn't know they even made that many leather pants with the butt exposed. And there was no age requirement or limit for the pants, which I thought would have been a matter of good taste: I saw as many 8-year-olds as 80-year-olds wearing 'em out here. Fun Fun Fun.

So what am I to do? I don't own any leather. (Well, I didn't bring any with me, at least.) I couldn't compete. So, I decided I would adorn my new prized Christmas special sweatshirt. (The bright red one with the green trim and snowflakes and gingerbread sexless thing on it. With a pair of blue and grey flannel pajama pants, and my lavender hiking boots.

I swear. So I did my best John Wayne western imitation and staggered into the Saloon, pretending the looks of mockery pressed on me were actually based in fear of the vision of the self-actualized person who stood before them.

Right. Well, I got the treatment for a while. I did cause quite the scene.
"What'd ya lose a bet, buddy?" random biker says.
"Nah, his kids got it for him," his pal.
Actually the women were way harsher than the men. Most of the guys laughed, but realized ( I think, or maybe they just too drunk to care) that it was a joke. But meanwhile, the women would't give it up.
"What happened, your sister dress ya?"
I continue to play stupid. "What do you mean," I said. "This doesn't look good? I thought these colors went good together."
No one was keeping up with my irony.
They all laughed, and I laughed too, and another female biker spat, "Oh, we're laughing at you, honey, not with you."

But one fellow stood next to me by the bar, looked over at me without fully turning his body to face me, and out of the side of his mouth said, "You got balls to wear that in here, man. You got balls."

He shook my hand, and asked me where I was from.

So, I got balls, in case anyone didn't know.

So, Saturday night I went up to Sturgis, where the bike rally is based out of. Imagine ten blocks filled with four rows of bikes, mostly Harleys, lost of insane custom jobs, too. Here's something for you: there were at least four Chistian biker groups (Catholic Hell's Angels?), and three lone motor evangelists. "Jesus on Wheels." They sat on their bikes, skull t-shirt, and torn jeans with those leather open butt pants, and said to everyone that passed- "Got Jesus, brother?"

I got a photo but I was too afraid to talk to them. I took the picture and ran down the block.

Saturday night, I went into a few different bars (BTW, I changed my sweatshirt, I had enough attention for one day) and ended up in a placed called the Roadside Bar. Some cover bands playing random rock songs. Some of the girls got wacky, got naked on the dance floor (from the top up.) But overall, despite the number of mullets, long beards, leather, skull and bones buckles and t-shirts, and jackets with long frills- everyone was really nice and were a lot of fun. I like bikers. I want to learn to ride, I think that's my next project.

I left about 2:30 in the morning. I drove out of the north, barely awake, got a coffee at a gas station and drove down to the south Black Hills, not knowing where I was to sleep. It took a while, driving, exhausted, in the pitch black curving hills, to get down towards the south, where I knew some campsites where. I drove around looking for a place to stay and after going back and forth in the dark, every campground I found had NO fucking trees. Just flat dirt for tents. I don't have a tent! I hate sleeping in tents. I hate having to put them up- so much work. And uncomfortable. So, once again, I had to make my own way. I drove out into the hills and found some good trees. And there I slept.

Comments:
Wow...the bikers and your Salvation Army shirt...and then, just going out in the Wilderness to sleep???
Are you looking 'to be' a story that makes the tabloid TV shows?? It scares me just reading about your "daring do"." AF
 
Hi! Frankie, You, amaze me and scared me, at the same time. I know, your spontanous excitment in life. Believe or not, I'm daring myself. but in the wilderness? As I was reading, I was thinking, OH my God! I couldn't stop reading. I had to know the outcome. And thank God, your were able to sleep in your hammock. I love you, Mom
 
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