Coop's Corner: “Are You Going To Sturgis?”

Monday, August 17, 2020

“Are You Going To Sturgis?”

It was a perfectly logical question based on our group, our location and mode of transport. Few of us planned on making the entire trip west and in the end, I was the one that made it the furthest west. Whenever we stopped, the question was asked. The majority of folks in our group were members or connected to the Viking Chapter - AMCA. As Mike clarified in the comments in another Post the bike age and the rider age added together need to be at least 100 and the ride needs to be at least 500 miles in length for the Century Patch.

We met west of the Twin Cities at Hollywood Roadhouse and 8am Saturday morning was to be the departure time. That was too far away and too early for me to reasonably make it Saturday morning so Friday afternoon I went most of the way and spent the night in Shakopee, leaving a 40 minute ride and arrived at 7:15.

A real mix of men, women and machines.

Mike managed to catch me....

After our gas stop, we stopped at, toured and joined Dean on our way west. Dean's Indian was out front ready to lead us but first, we all got a chance to tour his shop and part of his collection. Kathy was out and shared some things as well. It was my first time there, thanks to them both for sharing it all!

Mike wondered if the old Chevy would start...

Harvey and Rick debating whether a couple hundred $$ would bring that one back

We stopped for a break in Cobden.....

We stopped for gas in Ruthton, amazingly as we cut SW down Hwy 23 we were skirting what looked like Armageddon to the west and north.

We masked and lunched up in Pipestone...

A stop at the Crossroads Truckstop (34 and I-29) for a carb adjustment...

Rainsuits adorned in Coleman...

At the city park in Wessington Springs, our destination for the day. Lots of space for our tents, plenty of shade, a shelter (later very handy!), gravel parking lot to park the bikes that stayed out and not under cover.

Keith's 500 Triumph...

Gary's immaculate BMW....

Mark's fine 750 Honda...

Mike's rig...

Gene's 'Wing...

Steve's Buell.....

That was the longest hour in a tent that I've experienced. I spent the entire time holding my trekking pole up to keep my River Country Trekker in some form of upright. Note to Self:...extend AND tighten the extensions BEFORE severe weather strikes.

Gene and his tent were facing west. He commented that his upright tent was flat against his face for most of it. When morning came, various townspeople stopped to see if we were alright, telling us about much damage through some sections of town. It sounds like Sturgis brings this out in the weather...these bikers have witnessed bad weather in this park before. The shelter is new and not because it was old.

We were SO lucky! Harvey's BMW was missed by inches..

Things were wet, some of us were wet...

Jeremy's tent was a phenomenal avoidance!!

On the way out to Wessington Springs, there were some "maybe's" about continuing on to Sturgis but Sunday morning, most of us headed home, some like me, the longer way. Bob and his daughter continued on, planning to attend the event. Marty and Craig made a north loop to visit friend Jack and I went west as far as Fort Thompson/Missouri River before going south, following parts of the Lewis and Clark Trail downriver.

More of that trip in an upcoming Post.

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Others say....

"it was auspicious to approach any situation from a deferential, inquisitive place. Conceding that there is much to learn is the best blueprint for discovering something new." ----B. Fuller

The Man straightened stiffly above the block of salt fixed to the stake and looked at the young cattle ringed about him. The pasture was holding out well and the stock was looking good. This bunch would be ready to sell in another month, maybe sooner if the market was right.

A stir among the cattle down near the river brought him round to face the swinging bridge he'd built years before. Someone was coming toward him from the bridge. Someone in breeches, but it didn't look like a man, somehow. What was a woman doing in his pasture this time of night?

He bent over the salt again; maybe if he paid her no heed she'd go on past and let him mind his own business. He heard her footsteps come nearer and stop. "Good evening," she said.

Her voice was smooth with book learning but friendlier than most, and somehow almost shy. When he made no answer she went on, "I've been sitting on your swinging bridge....I thought I'd like to say thank-you...." Her voice stumbled a little, then she tried once more.

"You are Mr. ____". His name sounded strange in her voice, but she went on to tell her own.

"That's what they've called me the last sixty-eight years," he said, looking past her face to the hills fast darkening under a single star. "I reckon the woods are free for those that like to walk there."

The unfamiliar voice laughed a little. "That's what Emerson said: the grove belongs to the man who walks in it with an open heart....On that basis I guess I've owned part of your woods for a good many years.....". She made a final effort. "I've always wanted to thank you....."

Something deeply hidden stirred in him. "There's a stump up there, in the notch of the woods", he said slowly, "that before the timber grew so tall you could stand on it and see all over this country."

He kept still a minute, remembering, then, "I used to stand up there an' look at things, an' wonder how they come to be like they was, an' how the hills was created, an' all the things in Nature.... I told my wife I guessed all the religion I ever had I got standin' on that old stump, a-wonderin'..." He turned his face away from her.

She helped him out. "I know about that, a little. This afternoon I saw......." Her account of a thing she had really taken time to look at eased him, and he answered with telling of the badger den at the foot of the swinging bridge.

When she had gone, he turned to watch her. After a moment she stood clear and unmoving against the sky. You could hear the sounds of the river where she stood. She was one that could stand still long enough, he thought, really to hear what a body was saying, or a river.

Then she walked down the farther side of the slope and was gone. ------Margaret Snyder from A Chosen Valley

Fall was the end of harvest, end of the growing season, a burst of color and sun-warmth before killing frost turned the land gray and cold. Fall was a moody time, full of both life and death, a time when we were reminded of the power outside of us, reminded that the seasons happen to us. We do not invite the change to come.-------Ben Logan, from The Land Remembers

When you get those rare moments of clarity, those flashes when the universe makes sense, you try desperately to hold onto them. They are the lifeboats for the darker times, when the vastness of it all, the incomprehensible nature of life is completely elusive. So the question becomes or should have been all along, what would you do if you knew you only had one day, or one week, or one month to live. What lifeboat would you grab onto? What secret would you tell? What band would you see? What person would you declare your love to? What wish would you fulfill? What exotic locale would you fly to for coffee? What book would you write? ------- Ben Tyler

We were also cautioned about journeying far from home. As an example of the dangers, the town had a badly crippled lady named Lucy, who as a girl had traveled to New York City. As she traveled along a sidewalk, sightseeing, she was struck by the outstretched hand of a suicide who had leapt from high above. Her spine had been shattered and for the rest of her life, she was to walk bent forward at the waist, tapping the sidewalk with two black canes. Whenever the subject of travel to a big city was raised, someone would say, "Just remember what happened to Miss Tripp." ---- Ted Kooser, from Local Wonders

"Steamboats are like wedding cakes without the complications...." ----Mark Twain

"It's not about having lots of money, it's about having lots of options......." -----Chris Rock

As the very proud father of three former ponytail wearers, hopefully I can get away with this....."For the past few years it's been fashionable for young women to wear ball caps and to snap the strap on the back under their ponytails. I like the looks of that, their shiny ponytails jauntily swinging, but it's hard not to think of the rear ends of horses. There's a piece of harness called the crupper that goes just under a horse's tail to keep its nose down. If the horse lifts its head to look for a way out of whatever predicament it's in, the crupper tightens and hurts the horse. But it's foolish for parents to think that a ball cap might keep a young woman from running away. Anybody can see they're made for running." ------Ted Kooser, Local Wonders

"I tell the guy's girlfriend that the only difference between the book's main character Phaedrus and myself is that I am neither brilliant, tortured or insane, she looks at my bike and there is an uncomfortable silence." --------ahendepe (a.k.a. Vermin)