Not officially, the true start date is August 8th, but for most everybody, today is when it all really begins. The 71st annual Black Hills Motor Classic - the Sturgis rally - a week of many, many bikers all converging in western South Dakota. A friend of mine who is here visiting and riding his Harley around the hills asked me yesterday, "Who the hell let all these bikers in here?" Good question. I guess they just showed up. I rode down the mountain this morning to town, where the main street is blocked off except for motorcycles, so there's bikes lined up on both sides of the street and another row down the center stripe. Local businesses have increased their hours - I got to my "office" here at the Silver Dollar Saloon to find out that they'd opened the doors three hours earlier than usual. Beer deliveries are once a week in winter, twice a week spring and fall, but daily this week. If you don't like the sound of Harley-Davidson motorcycles roaring down the roads for just about 24 hours every day, then this is not the place to be right now.

For a lot of years, the rally was the yearly high point of my life, riding these roads, listening to the thunder of all the engines, meeting people who had something in common with me, a love of whatever it means to be a biker, or at least act like one. After 30 years of riding Harleys, I no longer care whether someone is a "real" biker (whatever that means) or just another person who loves motorcycles, for one week it's for the most part just good people getting together to have a great time. Some of us just go further into the lifestyle than others. I remember when I was voted into a motorcycle club 25 years ago. I didn't even have any tattoos. Now I have a life member card from the same club and more tattoos than I can count. I wonder what drove me so strongly into this motorcycle world. Was it wanting to be independent, which is kind of the biker image, or was it was wanting to be part of a group of like-minded people? Motorcycle clubs are actually pretty regimented, much the reason that all the members who assert their independence really do look very much alike.

One of those 'I want to be different but also want to fit in' things that seem to puzzle educated members of academia who study why people do what they do. Sometimes, there's just not an answer, it's just what it is. I read somewhere that you never see a Harley parked outside a psychiatrist's office. While that may not be true, its idealistic notion is accurate. No matter the problems of life, the demons that one fights during the periods of darkness when the soul wants to just quit, the pleas to God to just rescue what's left, it's been Harleys that have always brought me peace. I'm not even sure what the pull is toward the one brand of machine above all others. Perhaps it's what I was told many years ago by my cousin, another old Harley rider. When I asked him why he rode a Harley, he said, "That's what God rides. If you were God, wouldn't you ride one?" I don't know, I talk with God a lot, but I am starting to think that God likely does ride a Harley. And I know that if I were God, I'd live right here in the Black Hills of South Dakota. I lost my past life but gained a new one. If you are up here for the rally, please ride safe.