S a s h a M u l l i n s
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HOG Tales 12/99 IRON PONY RIDE Who can deny an invitation to hit the road and "GET A GRIP"? With a
grin as wide as South Dakota, Harley Owners Group (HOG) offered members to
abandon the daily doldrums, saddle up, tank up and head for the hills. They didnt
have to ask me twice. Eager to escape, I gladly took hold of their friendly grip. On August 4th, I bid adios to big apple traffic and the insane routines of every day life in New York City. With my 883 Sportster creatively packed, I giddy-upped west out of town to join in HOGs Iron Pony Ride from Milwaukee to Sturgis. Smiling staff greeted each rider with a ride packet which included a T-shirt, rally and ride pins neatly assembled inside a HOG tote bag. Tapping into each members scouting instincts, a Landmark Poker Run through Milwaukee kicked-off the Iron Pony events that Friday. Harley-Davidson offered a tour of the famous Capital Drive Plant and Miller Brewing Company invited us to view their brewery and responsibly sample some free draft. The Milwaukee dealership threw a party for the Iron Pony riders from all over the country, including Hawaii and Canada. It was there that I met the three riders who would end up being my comrades for the ride west: Fred Chavis, Jonathan Hoffman and Al San Souci. I felt like Dorothy with her three pals. And if that wasnt enough partying, that evening HOG hosted a rider welcome jamboree, featuring a fantastic local band. Members from rowdy Detroit City howled at the moon, while carving their boot heels into the dance floor. The jamboree was just the place to meet new friends and catch up with old buddies. House of Harley hosted a lunch the next day featuring a biker favorite, roast pig, and we tore it up and swallowed it down like cowboys. Jimmy Martinaltis, road captain from the Milwaukee Chapter, wore a custom made holster containing his own tobassco sauce, which he generously sprinkled on his food everywhere he went. The steady drizzle didnt keep any of us from riding over to munch. We ate like it was a sunny day with a full day of riding ahead of us, and we werent even leaving until the next morning. That afternoon we assembled into a riders meeting outlining the Iron Pony Ride. We were free to choose our own routes, which would lead us to the days end destination. This arrangement fed into our wanderlust spirits and afterwards members united in small groups to choose their journey west. Of course, HOG didnt forget the riders that couldnt make Sturgis. Everyone was included as one big family to celebrate the Iron Pony kick-off at a "Cant Make Sturgis" party held on Brady Street the night before our westward ho. Rides of all makes and models roared in to take part in the action. As the night continued, the party got hotter and the music louder pure Sturgis style, uniting those on route west and those with other obligations. The following morning, the Iron Pony riders departed Milwaukee in their chosen groups under low, steel gray clouds creating a tunnel between heaven and earth. Fred, Al, Jonathan and I took off by way of back roads, unexpectedly meeting up with two iron-mounted police officers who escorted us out of town. Route 41 led us into the Wisconsin countryside, a combination of the diverse terrain further west. Flowers edged the roadway bending slightly over the pavement in a bouncing hello to passersby. Naturally manicured earth, dotted with various shrubbery, resembled a homeowners front lawn stretched over oddly shaped hills. Rocks jutted out from egg-shaped peaks as if breaking free from an earthly shell. Farmland expansively embraced either horizon, and clusters of trees led stark plains into hillsides. The scenery drew us into natures peace and the winds grip we were out to grasp took hold. We rode the twists and turns leading east to Route 35 and the Mississippi River. Freds rig reminded me of a chariot with his Ultra Classic galloping forward, the attached pop-up camper swaying on its hitch left to right inside the highway lines. He became our "Scout," the nickname of his motorcycle painted in script above his license plate that read "Hog Tyme." And, indeed, it was HOG time. The Mississippi River was a sheet of calm though the water playfully slapped at the earth banks showing land who could be boss at any rainfall. LaCrosse Harley-Davidson treated us to a sit-down pig feed, and pig feed we did. Not far off Route 35, a meandering roadway surrounded by emerald green, lily-canvassed ponds led us into the riverside campground. We corralled ourselves into camp as dusk sunlight danced off the water turning chrome into starlight as bikes rode by. Riders tents in circus colors and earthy tones dotted the grassy ravine and forest. My tent was compared to the size of a Ziplock bag and when filled with all my belongings, it truly was even smaller. HOG member Dale Roberts invited the riders for a free "darn good burger" at his cozy roadhouse tavern just cross the Mississippi from LaCrosse. We were much obliged to take up his offer as the late night munchies set in. In New York style I was the first to finish, while the others had just tasted their second bites. The second riding day proved to be our most challenging. We decided to travel back roads to Sioux Falls. Severe thunderstorms were forecasted throughout Minnesota but we didnt mind. The sun made an early morning appearance to see us off, then disappeared. After a hearty breakfast, we donned the rain gear and rode off into a gusty drizzle. The wind continued to pickup, and the sky pistol-whipped us with rain and sleet. Thunder crashed splitting the smoke sky into metallic jigsaw pieces, yet the Iron Pony Riders continued to journey forth in true biker spirit. Cold, wet riders huddled inside Rochester Harley-Davidson; their pruned fingers wrapped around hot Styrofoam cups. The dealership warmly directed our drenched selves into the lounge where coffee and donuts were served. The rain didnt dampen anyones spirit. "This is what its all about," laughed Rheal Roussel from the Quebec chapter. Smiles and laughter were plentiful as some of us compared whose dye-soaked hands turned the darkest from our wet, black leather gloves. Others stood at the window sharing road stories or telling the sky to lighten up and quit its moanin and cryin. After riding for several rainy hours, the clouds peeled away, cascading light strips upon the prairie farmlands. In New Ulm, Minnesota, we stripped off our waterproofing and sat down at the Dug Out restaurant to devour a home-cooked lunch. From there, the scenery began to get even more interesting with bails of hay resembling hair curlers on scalped land, and odd shaped windmills seemingly rising out of farm vegetables, whipping the air like space alien communicators. J&L Harley-Davidson in Sioux Falls welcomed us with open arms and a BBQ pork dinner. Groups of us gathered with our ride journals, roaring with laughter over the challenges we had faced that rainy morning. Other members slipped away to spit shine their rides into gleaming stallions at a local car wash. My bike was clearly a ratter, covered with mud splats, a variety of bug remains and road grime. Proud of my Sportsters accomplishment, I decided to leave her that way. The early Tuesday morning temperature was chilly on the plains. Gas station choices would be few so I fueled up at almost every one to quench my Sportsters small tank. The smooth farmland thoroughfares were virtually empty with only a handful of passersby in hours of traveling. We saw more livestock than we did folks. Abandoned homes, churches and farms speckled the monotonous grasslands; the once tawny wood faded into a forsaken gray. Riding on the wide-open back roads undisturbed by traffic was an opportunity to open up to ourselves and to each other. Friendships were nurtured over mom and pop cooked meals. We came upon several small towns where the only retail was a gas station that pumped ethanol-blended "corn" fuel and a sparsely stocked market, with maybe a barbershop lonely standing at the edge of town. In Chamberlain, the Iron Pony Riders were treated to an authentic Pow-Wow at the Akta Lakota Museum, which opened its doors for a guided tour of the Lakota Sioux heritage. A Native American lunch including Indian tacos on fry bread with Wojapi was served while Lakota George, a traditional fluteman, entertained us with his spirited music. Some riders took a snooze in the thick, green grass, while others opted to stroll along the banks of the Missouri River. And to the surprise of my fellow riders, I cooled off in a decorative water fountain. World Hoop Dance champion and storyteller, Dallas Chief Eagle, a Rosebud Sioux tribal member, told a poignant tale about the broken hoop. "Mitakuye Oyasin" repeated Dallas Chief Eagle; "We are all related." He then danced an emotionally charged Hoop Dance inside the Wisdom Circle. Colorful hoops powerfully swung about his body ending in shapes that represented symbols of the land, a legacy of his culture. The gift of personal insight from his dance and words was bestowed upon us all. After a mesmerizing performance, it was time for the Iron Pony Riders to grab some hoops and dance along to Native American chant with the mighty Chief. I got a grip on those hoops faster than the lightening that split the sky the day before. Five others joined me. We imitated Dallas Chief Eagle, twisting the hoops around our bodies and dancing in circles to honor the Great Spirit that unites all nature. Our unwieldy moves spawned lots of laughter and applaud. Leah Castle, director of the Pierre chapter, led five of us towards our Pierre destination by way of Lewis & Clark's 1806 route, turning west along the Missouri River. The intense beauty of the Dakota landscape stole the breath right from us. Resembling a rumbled bed blanket the golden earth folded itself into odd peaks and valleys where water would pool at the base. Shrubbery and trees sculpted by ruthless force surrounded the drink to save themselves from extinction on the barren terrain. We galloped along slab that meandered through the landscape, delivering us heavenward and then carrying us into the valley basin. Each turn surprised us with another spectacular scene. As we mounted one peak, Leah pointed to an expanse of sunshine seedlings that had sprouted into a sea of giant sunflowers. The tall, lemon-yellow blooms swayed in unison to the winds rhythmic breath and our exhalation. It appeared so otherworldly against miles of desolate prairie; it was like stumbling upon heavens private garden. The late afternoon sun reached across the flowerbed and touched our admiring faces with its warm glow. Petersen Motors in Pierre was our last dealership stop before heading to Sturgis the following day. They made sure we had plenty of road food to fill our bellies. We set up camp in the forest along the scenic Missouri River. The river was inviting after a long day in the hot sun so we refreshed ourselves in the swirling waters that evening. The final day of travel had arrived and riders left early to maximize the days attractions. This would be my first day riding solo without my three companions, who opted to continue on the lush back roads. Eager to view the fossil treasured Badlands in early morning light, I wanted to save time by taking I-90. Emerging from wild, unforgiving prairie lands rose the strange, exotic landscape the Lakota Sioux call "maco sica" or bad land. For a moment one could imagine what it might be like to stand on the moon the way the early sunrise cast orange hues and deep shadows on the buff-tone thicket. Park roadways winded around ghostly canyons and towering spires like a bizarre maze. We freely rode through the mysterious western wonderland, uniting with the desperado spirit of the land. Our arrival into the Iron Pony Campground in Rapid City was celebrated with a camp style barbecue. On route to the final destination, riders visited Wall Drug, Custer, Keystone, Mount Rushmore, Pine Ridge Reservation and the heartbeat of the rally, Main Street, Sturgis. We had the opportunity at the barbecue to share our road stories and shoot the cowpie with fellow riders. The gathering ended in time for everyone to pick his or her poison for the night. Some opted for the dirt track races, Deadwood casinos or the potent energy of Sturgis. Rising in the chilled early morning temperatures, we ventured out to Crazy Horse Memorial nestled in the Black Hills. We viewed the sculpture while sipping hot coffee and chewing on cinnamon rolls. We continued our journey on back roads that twisted through the Black Hills, bypassing wooded gorges and hidden canyons. Out of nowhere, small western style towns would appear. We challenged our riding skills on Needles Highway, riding like a pack of wild outlaws defying the laws of nature, as we leaned our iron horses deep into the hair-raising switchbacks. Thursday night brought us to the Trails End Bash at the Iron Pony Campground. We were treated to banquet style road chow and prizes were given out for the best road stories from the Iron Pony Ride. It was a tough choice to choose the winners, as the stories ranged from wildly humorous, to poignant, to most unusual. After dessert, we gathered ourselves into farewell groups to reminisce about the ride, exchange contact information and plan the remainder of our time for those who would linger in Sturgis. Father and son duo, Bill and Michael Marquet, from Cincinnati, Ohio, experienced such an incredible bond during their ride west that they decided to keep on riding for several weeks more. Saying goodbye to my three riding companions made me look around for a wizard and then down at my shoes for red sparkles. Riding the back roads to Sturgis was an entirely new rally experience. Compared to the usual route west, I-90, dodging trailers and trucks, disconnected from other people -- our ride was akin to a wild-west adventure. It offered us a deeper connection to the western lifestyle, as we galloped through the odd terrain and unpredictable challenges; our common love for the road uniting us like kinfolk. We rode to have fun and to "Get A Grip," as the HOG brochure offered. But the Iron Pony ride and camaraderie was more than a grip; the experience truly took hold of our lives. As the evening came to a close, we bid each other goodbye with safe riding words uttered in embrace, eager for the next Harley Owners Group adventure where the winds will take us where they may. © 1999
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it. Revised: 01/17/2007 |
