By now I've been on the road about a week. I know it doesn't seem like it, but I'd been pretty concerned about making good time and still getting to see the places I'd wanted to when I first planned this trip. Starting to feel a little hassled, a little hurried, not so relaxed.
Time to start heading east, away from my itinerary and my schedule, and down across the plains. Realized that I had been fighting a little subconcious reluctance to come down outta the mountains and solitude for the lights and noise and crowds. As I'm riding back down out of the high country Wilbur and I are getting quite the chuckle out of this little satori. I swear if he could turn his head around and look at me he'd a done it just to flash me a smile at the promise of a little action. As it were, he just started runnin' stronger and stronger as we got down into thicker air.
We skirt around Dillon and hit Virginia City, followed by Ennis. Then on into Bozeman for an oil change. A buddy of mine in Alaska is co-owner of the H-D dealership in Bozeman so we get pretty speedy service and after having the little cutie at the counter mail some shirts home for me, we're on I-90 haulin ass.
It'd turned out to be a good day. Refocused, and uh, feeling strangely
energetic, we pull off and head down to Red Lodge for a campsite and maybe a little nightlife. Tomorow is Sturgis. Tonight we warm up a little, blow out the carbon -sotaspeak.
Fill up with fuel (always gas up first -n'case you gotta run fer it later), ask a fella where I could find a campsite (2 miles south of town), head down there and get all settled in. Tent pitched, pack jettisoned, met a guy on a road king next to me from Maine. He gives me a couple phone numbers of campgrounds in Sturgis and heads off for town -"maybe I'll run into ya later on tonight Bro!" I tell 'im I'll try not to wake him up when I get back to camp. Call the first number on the list -Creekside Campground, and make reservations for tomorow night. That done, all my responsibilities are covered. Off to town!
It's some kind of big biker weekend in Red Lodge, signs all over proclaimin' "bikers welcome!" and such. Prolly 200 scooters parked along main st. It's just gettin' dark as I walk into a tavern and find a place to squeeze in at the bar. Ordered up a 16oz PBR and met a couple from Roscoe, just down the road. They ask where I'm from and after that, I can hardly get halfway through a beer before he's buyin me another one. Long as I keep tellin' stories, he's buyin. Sometime between that day an' the next, they have to get on home and I decide to go see what the rest of the town has to offer.
Next bar has some live music and more PBR, after awhile I get restless and walk on down the street to the next one. "Snag Bar" it's called. Full of mostly younger locals, I stand out like a turd in a punch bowl. No Pabst, which I shoulda took as a sign. So I'm 2 sips into a Rainier and a fight breaks out between two kids whose combined weight fell short of me -not 'cause I'm huge, just cause I was carryin' about 18 extra pounds a beer. One of em bumps my stool and before long the other gets pushed at me. There's a couple girls tryin to break it up while I spin around to wait for the next sumbitch to invade my world. Turn around and there stands the biggest indian kid I ever saw. My momma didn't raise no idiot, so I ask him "which of them two is your buddy?" He says, "the one with no shirt on." So I says, "well that other asshole runs into me one more time an' i'm layin' 'im down."
Well somehow the chicks get these two stallions back in the corral, I'm halfway through this beer an the lights come on. Angry gal behind the bar has got a friggin club in her hand and announces closing time. Damn. Wonderin' how to handle this developement, I decide the best course of action is to leave this half beer, with no tip, on the bar and follow the crowd out to the sidewalk.
Once outside, I find myself with about a dozen kids all wonderin what to do next. One fella slides over and asks, "you ridin'?" Looking down to see if I was still wearing my chaps and carrying my jacket i say, "yup." He says, "don't do it tonight man. There's 4 cops in town and right now, they're all lookin' for you."
I take a look up and down Main St. and of them 200 bikes parked against the curb earlier, there's only one remaining. I say, "Ah, I'm pretty sneaky..." His buddy says, "seriously dude, don't do it. You can crash on my couch. I live right over there."
"No man, I can't impose like that, I'll just lay low a bit and see what develops."
About then a squad car goes by heading north outta town. About 20 seconds later another goes by south. Well, they got both exits covered, maybe I can take side streets to the edge of town and sneak under the wire from there. About then I spot the other two circling like sharks running the side streets perpendicular to Main. Yeah,
nobody'sgetting outta here alive tonight. Those "Welcome Biker" signs are now reading something like "Do you feel lucky?"
All the Kings men are still trying to strategize an escape in my head when this cute little gal points to my Brown Bear Saloon, Indian Ak t-shirt and asks if I'm from Alaska. "Sure am."
"I'm from Girdwood!"
"No shit."
"You goin to Sturgis?"
"a-yep. 'sumin I can get outta Red Lodge."
She starts in on how I should take her with me cause she doesn't have to be home with her boyfriend for another week and a half, and it would be sooooo much fun to ride to the rally and then ride back up the Alcan. I tell her I'm married and that she'd freeze her ass off up in the Yukon. She says she has all sorts of warm gear and that it's ok that I'm married cause she has this boyfriend and all and I seem like such a nice guy, certainly nothing would happen. I'm standing there with this guy
on one shoulder, and this guy
on the other, when it clicks in my impaired brain that "all sorts of warm gear" when spoken by a woman means more shit than I've ever seen -let alone tried to strap onto a bike. But she's movin in close and it's lookin' like I better have a good argument to counter this. So I tell her, "I may seem like a real nice guy now, but 800 miles with yer boobs in my back I'm liable to turn into one of the mountain men from Deliverance." She looks kinda shocked as I head across the street to ol Wilbur, but it was worth it to keep from having Gunfish call Uncle Dave to put a hit on me.
Recalling my Dad's experience with escape and evasion in SE Asia, I decide to lay up somewhere small until nobody's looking for me anymore and then make my break.
I head down an alley and find a nice spot on the back steps of a business with no lighting and a dumpster for cover, snuggle in, puke, an fall asleep. Wake up completely disoriented, puke, and fall back asleep. Wake up completely disoriented, don't puke, start trying to figure out where the hell I am. Check my watch, it's 04:30. Honestly can't remember where I am or where my faithfull steed is bedded down. But I am feelin' right sober, so I head down the alley and out onto a street and decide I'm still in Red Lodge. Two turns later I spot the bike a couple blocks down. Thank God. Hop on, fire it up and head down the road barely crackin that throttle off idle. Make it the two miles south to the campground without seeing a single car -let alone a cop.
Crawling out of the tent at about 11am, I'm met with laughter from that fella from Maine. He's packing up his bike and laughing his ass off. Seems he'd heard me come in at 4:30 and knew there must have been a hell of a night that preceded it. According to him, the trick is to go out, have a good time, but have all yer poop in a pile by midnight while there are still a lot of other bikers to distract the cops.
Noted.