I’ve been helped by acts of kindness from strangers. That’s why we’re here, after all, to help others.
~Carol Burnett
After my initial visit to South Dakota, when I’d decided to move to the western part of the state, I planned a return trip. I’d only spent time in Spearfish and Rapid City, both of which I thoroughly enjoyed. But were there other areas worth considering?
I decided on a swing through the southwestern part of the state and started making plans for the last two weeks of July. I was surprised that motel reservations were hard to come by in some places, and a few prices were surprisingly high compared to my previous spring visit. South Dakota sure was popular as a tourist destination in the summertime!
And so I left the sweltering, humid heat of a New York City summer. As soon as I exited Rapid City Regional Airport, the magnificent views of the distant mountains soothed my soul. Amazingly, I also found my body reacted beneficially to the dry weather. Yup, this was definitely the place for me. As a matter of fact, in case I decided to stay for a longer span of time this visit, I intentionally left my New York City return date open.
Scratch one off my bucket list — I finally got to see Mount Rushmore! Scratch another off the list — the monumental mountain carving of Chief Crazy Horse. And then I embarked upon a carefree, lovely, meandering, circular drive farther south that took me through a number of South Dakota’s famed westernmost Black Hills sites and towns.
I’d stayed a couple days longer than expected, and as time progressed I suddenly found it difficult to extend my motel reservations. And then, my last night before departure, I simply couldn’t find a room anywhere. I’d never run into anything like this before. I’ve been fortunate, for work, to travel the world, and I’d always been able to secure a reservation somewhere — even in the most remote places. But there didn’t appear to be a single available room in the entire western half of the state! What the heck? I called motels, hotels, inns, B&Bs — nothing! I had a very early morning flight — and here I was trying to book accommodations over an hour away.
What in the world was going on?
After being turned down on the phone yet again by a B&B owner over a good hour’s distance from the airport, I finally asked, “Is there a convention or something in town tomorrow? All rooms everywhere seem to be taken.”
His matter-of-fact answer: “Honey, it’s Rally.” As if I should have just realized it.
Pregnant pause . . .
Me: “It’s what?”
Him: “The Rally. It’s Rally time. Don’t tell me ya never heard of it. What rock you been hidin’ under all ya life? Beginning August is always Rally time. You’re not gonna find a room within four hours of Sturgis this time of year.”
Me: “Sturgis? That’s near Spearfish, isn’t it?”
Him, losing patience: “Yeah, that’s near Spearfish. Sturgis is Rally headquarters.”
Me, totally stupefied: “What’s this Rally?”
Him, dumbfounded: “Lady, where are you from? You don’t know about the Sturgis Rally?”
Me: “Haven’t a clue. What are people rallying for? Is something political going on?”
There was an audible groan over the phone. “It’s not a political rally, lady. It’s a motorcycle rally — the largest in the world! A couple hundred thousand of ’em.”
Well, that would certainly explain why I couldn’t find a room . . . Now I would probably have to sleep in my car at the airport the night before my flight. I explained I was planning to move to the state and asked if by any chance he knew anyone at all who had a room available . . . and it was his turn to pause.
“Look,” he said, “you have to understand you’re not goin’ to find a room anywhere. These dates are booked up a year ahead, from Rally to Rally. And, by the way, that’s why prices are higher — this is prime time.
“But since you’re gonna be a neighbor, so to speak,” he continued, “I can offer you some South Dakota hospitality. Won’t be fancy because I’m completely full, running my tail off.”
“Anything, please. I’ll take anything at this point.”
“Okay. My son is bunking with a friend over in Sturgis. You’re welcome to use his room. I have no idea what condition he left it in. I’m not even goin’ to charge ya for it — I don’t have time to clean it up. But at least you’ll have a bed — ya won’t have to sleep in your car. The airport is crazy now with everyone arriving and all the motorcycles being flown in.
“Whenever you get here, just drive up to the main house and go inside — the door’s unlocked. My son’s bedroom is up on the second floor. It’s the first door on the right. The bathroom’s down the hall — take a towel from the linen closet. And whatever ya do, be careful driving here. There’ll be motorcycles swarming all over the place.”
And so I spent the eve of my first world-famous Sturgis Motorcycle Rally in the empty dormered bedroom of an eight-year-old boy, rumpled Superman sheets and all. With playthings scattered all over the floor protected by superhero figures lined up along a windowsill. With a blue-and-yellow wallpapered wall depicting our solar system, and Little League trophies on a couple of shelves. With an orange plastic basketball hoop dangling from the ceiling.
Sometime during the night, I was awakened by the bedroom door being nudged open. A huge, furry dog bounded onto the bed to snuggle . . .
When I left at 5:00 a.m. to make my early flight, the house was silent. I hadn’t seen a soul since I arrived the night before. The bikers had been out partying then and were fast asleep now. I put fifty dollars as a thank-you on a kitchen counter with a note — in case my move wasn’t yet finalized, I asked for reservations for the following year.
Well, now, I really did have to see just what this huge Rally was all about . . .
. . .and thank my anonymous benefactor, his son, and their big, furry dog — in person — for all their very kind hospitality.
~Marsha Warren Mittman
