Sturgis is like many small towns in America; a normal, quiet home for residents where nothing ever seems to happen. For seven summer days in early August though, this sleepy town is transformed into a loud, leather bound Mecca for motorcycle enthusiasts from around the world. Rock music blasts from corner store rooftop speakers. People are everywhere, often spilling out into bike lined street. Ladies in body paint and pasties smile and wave for the many cameras and growling engines rumble down Main Street, their roar becoming even louder as each creeps past you like a growing thunderstorm moving across the South Dakota prairie. This can mean only one thing. The Sturgis Rally is once again upon us.
Sturgis is like many small towns in America; a normal, quiet home for residents where nothing ever seems to happen. For seven summer days in early August though, this sleepy town is transformed into a loud, leather bound Mecca for motorcycle enthusiasts from around the world. Rock music blasts from corner store rooftop speakers. People are everywhere, often spilling out into bike lined street. Ladies in body paint and pasties smile and wave for the many cameras and growling engines rumble down Main Street, their roar becoming even louder as each creeps past you like a growing thunderstorm moving across the South Dakota prairie. This can mean only one thing. The Sturgis Rally is once again upon us.
Joe
