Young Bucks in a Sea of Grey. I Also Saw a Cat Ride a Dog.

The time for entering Sturgis was upon us.  It was Sunday, the holy day of sinning… Wait, I think I got that backwards.  Whatever.

By the time we found a place to park the car it was already a bajillion degrees outside.  I made the mistake of bringing the wrong flip flops on this trip. Any water, sweat, or spilled drink and I am sliding around like a goof.  I end up having to walk like an old man using all his concentration and energy to avoid breaking a hip.  This day my feet are a bit sweaty and I am a goof.

A brief stroll through some of the bike builder tents, we take some pictures, and an agreement among us forms; fairings and giant windscreens on hog motorcycles are for old people. Fat, slow, not very limber, old people.  I say this with my extremely abundant experience with motorcycles.  After we cruise the bikes we go to a “little joint” called One Eyed Jack’s.  There are easily twenty bars inside this one bar.  Every single bartender is a young woman dressed to give the crowd overflowing with graying old men one giant collective heart attack.  These old men won’t die though; thanks to all the Viagra lowering their blood pressure, but raising the randy factor by factors of ten.

The first bar top we stop at is OK.  The ladies were OK.  The service was OK.  We moved deeper in and found another bartender who was OK.  After about ten minutes Jesse turns and points and says, “We need to go over there!”

We look up and over to the furthest, most hidden, corner of the establishment and see this blond vision beckoning us over.  On top of the bar is a crosslegged and nearly topless Marilyn Monroe.  We do as she commands and go to her.  She is funny, beautiful, and flirty.  We all fall in love.  Jesse and I decide that I need my picture with her to send to our friend Ben who was supposed to join us in Sturgis but wussed out.  The photo is of me looking smug, and Marilyn looking amazing.  The message to Ben was short and as follows: “We found you a wife!”

Ben then apparently used this photograph to convince everyone he met that this woman was, in fact, his wife.

We didn’t want to overstay our welcome with our voluptuous hostess so we ambled on.  We saw shops, topless young woman, topless old women, lots of motorcycles… and bars!  We went down the steps to The Dungeon.  Dark, brutal, vandalized, and pounding with AC/DC’s “Thunderstruck”– The Dungeon is my kind of place!  Aren and I had to duck our heads as we stumbled in.  The walls are covered with evidence that thousands of customers were indeed “was here” at some point.  The ceiling was awash in the panties of the ladies who felt that people like Aren and I like to have their dirty underthings hit us in the eye.  We do.

We had no pens.  Jesse was not about to drop trow and staple her ungies to the ceiling.  I had to leave my “was here”.  I felt that the panties-thing was a little to sexist, so I unraveled a condom and tied it around the neon Budweiser sign.  Oh yeah.

We left The Dungeon and went to The Oasis for some karaoke.  Some good singing before a crowd of hundreds was taking place.  Dave was the first to up and wooed the assembled mass with Hank Williams Jr.  A few songs later I was easily bringing down the house pelvic thrusting the faces of strangers and giving it my all through a healthy rendition of “Sweet Child of Mine” when the song just ended.  I hadn’t even gotten to the “Where do we go now?” part.  The “Where do we go now?” part is the entire reason to do that song!  The crowd was as disappointed and confused as I was.  The lady running the show took the mic from me .  My moment in the sun was over.  Jesse then made everyone fall in love by morphing into Tina Turner before our very eyes.  Her voice was spot on, and the hair was definitely big enough!

By this time it was two o’clock and four out of five of us were drunk.  Good job, Sturgis!  We visited Jesse’s uncle Jeff were he was selling his line of clothing “Celtic Roar.”  Then we ended up next door and Big Bertha’s Biker Bar.  Free peanuts and girls with their boobs spilling out serving drinks.  Perfect.  Jesse was excited and started spanking me with her new Celtic Roar bandana, so I naturally stuck out my rump for some more abuse.  Aren kicked me in the balls.  My day was now ruined.  Hunched over, I rested my hand on Aren’s shoulder and punched him square in the nuts.  Aren’s day was now ruined.

For the next several hours Aren and I bitched about our lasting, throbbing pain.  No one else cared.  This was something only Aren and I would share together.

We crossed the ally to The Knuckle Saloon where the server never brought us our drinks.  There is a radio station inside The Knuckle that broadcasts commercials.  We sat there waiting for our drinks for half an hour and I am pretty sure I heard half an hour of spots for Ford Trucks and Budweiser.  Since our server vanished, so did we.  The troop stumbled on and went into some… place.  It was empty and the bartenders were total babes.  This was new.  On a stage outside was the worst freak show I have ever seen.  The crew was wasted and my balls were still smarting.  I watched the most boring “Torture King” I have ever seen.  He stood on glass! Yawn.  He laid down on a bed of nails! Snooze.  I wanted out of this place!

It was 5pm and everyone was wrecked.  We kept losing Dave, the only member of our posse without a cellphone.  I am pretty sure Dave took 11,000 photographs and I am also pretty sure that every single one of them was magnificent.

Water, lemonade, anything to hydrate.  We bounced off the crowd and searched for something to revive us.  The car was still blocks away and it was 97 degrees outside.  My flip flops were useless.

The drive back to Deadwood was so hot.  The back seat was nattering nonsense.  Food was coming.  We ate Mexican at a casino and Dave I think lost $80k in the slot machines.  Once fed, over to The Saloon No. 10 we went.  The evening is as blurry as the pictures.  I do know that we ate chicken balls and the band played Nickleback, again.

I got everybody safely home and to bed.  Monday morning Dave had to return to Trinity, California.  Our constant buttcrack and our mascot (Mud) were leaving us.  Sadness.

Since I believe the remaining gang was hung over, naps at the Spearfish Rec Center were in order.  After powering up, using the Sun like the Supermen and Superwoman we are, we returned to Sturgis and made a stop at One Eyed Jacks to visit the only bartender we liked from the day before.  There she was, a ray of light in a sea of leather Harley embroidered vests.  Marilyn!

Aren and I did the flirting because he was upset that I got a photo with her and he didn’t. Marilyn, who we learned was actually named Jenny agreed to a photo with our Giant.  She hopped up on the bar and wrapped herself around a beaming Aren.  I told Jenny that she should come out to Deadwood–she asked me for my phone number.  She asked me for my phone number?  SHE ASKED ME FOR MY PHONE NUMBER!!!

uhh… umm… Do you have a pen? oh… uh…. mutter… Wait, I have a business card!

We left jenny and drove out to The Buffalo Chip to visit Jesse’s friend Molly who bartends there.  We did not find Molly, but we did find a bar that overlooked a bikini bike wash.  This would do.  Aren and I were sitting on a bench staring at girls bedning over putting sponges on gas tanks when this giant man from Alabama sat down beside us.  He was enormous.  A head the size of a beach ball and no neck.  He told dirty jokes and was a typical good-ol-boy.  He thought we were cool.  Jesse wanted a photo of Aren and I relaxing, so naturally, I rested my head on Aren’s shoulder and he, in turn, rested his head on mine.  The perfect photo.  The good-ol-boy didn’t think we were cool anymore.

We gave up on finding Molly and made our way back to Rim Rock because it was the night for the annual BBQ at Rim Rock Lodge.  It took a while because just outside The Buffalo Chip a kid hit a motorcyclist and the police and aid crews were at work.  Once back to the canyon the boys showered, sobered, played Uno, ate fancy steak, and were pleased.  Then we went to Deadwood and the old time photo place.  Jesse was not happy about this; the rest of were.  Jesse’s ‘tude made for magnificent photos.  Erik in a sombrero made for magnificent photos. Aren and I were along for the ride.

Hey look over there!  Is that The Saloon No. 10.  I see?  The evening was rad.  Jenny actually texted me.  Holy crap.  I received a text message from Marilyn Monroe!   We danced, the band played Nickleback yet again.  We ate chicken balls, and we may have put the nails into the coffin that housed Aren’s liver.

The party is not over.  Stay tuned for more blow by blows!

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