Sturgis via Canada
We were beginning another trip to Sturgis. We were off to what would be my first rally with my own Harley. My wife Julieann, daughter Samantha, and I were leaving Sacramento for almost three weeks of vacation in August. Our first stop was at my folks’ home in Seattle for a couple of days. We then planned a one-day visit with a great friend, Jack Ohl, in Spokane.
Next, we were to spend two days touring Canada’s Banff National Park and two days in Glacier National Park in Montana. Our final run would be to South Dakota, where Julie could visit her family. I, nobly setting aside all personal comforts, would have to make the ultimate sacrifice and run all over the Black Hills on my Harley during the Sturgis Rally.
At that time, I had a beautiful 1997 Heritage Softail Classic with Violet Pearl paint and the usual ton of accessories. It was my first Harley and I had been all over it like a cheap suit: riding, drooling, buying chrome, sitting in the garage sipping a beer and staring at it. I was hooked and hooked good. I was really excited about arriving at the Black Hills, getting that Hog off the trailer, and riding. We would finish the vacation with a two-day run home on the interstate.
The first part of the trip was nice. We had the Harley safely secured on an open U-Haul motorcycle trailer with four straps, three padlocks, and three chains. While I had a lot of security on the bike itself, there was only one lock holding the trailer to our Jeep, a fact I would come to sorely regret.
Samantha had a slick office and play area set up in the back of the Jeep with a laptop, games, books, a cooler, etc. This was somewhat removed from my childhood rides where I would park my little body on the rear window ledge of my folks’ two-seater, a 1930-something Chevy, and watch the Dakota prairies unfolding behind me. But you know what? I think I had just as much fun back then.
Julieann had a solid co-pilot and navigator set up that included maps, an itinerary, water, and reading material. I had the driver’s seat (thank you, Julie) and the Harley staring at me in the rearview mirror. We were happy campers, though we had no actual camping in mind since I was claiming a bad case of old bones.
We arrived in Seattle on schedule and had a nice visit with our family. Then on to Spokane to visit our friend Jack Ohl and tour his eclectic collection of buildings on his land overlooking the Columbia River. Jack’s place looks like a tiny little village. He has about a half dozen buildings up, planted in different orientations and on different levels, most with chalet-style roofs. They are all built within building code standards, that is, they are built small enough that they do not have to comply!
After Spokane, we moved on to Calgary via Banff. Banff is a beautiful park with majestic peaks and lots of flowers. Nearby Calgary is also a fine looking, clean town that appears to be growing fast. On our second day, we traveled into the heart of Banff and gorgeous Lake Louise.
We rode the gondola/ lift opposite the lake (It’s beautiful in “them there” hills, partner!), enjoying the scenery. Then we went to the chateau for lunch (delicious!). After lunch, we walked around the lake taking pictures, and then headed back to Calgary.
A Pair of Bolt Cutters Can Get You a Harley
We got everything situated at the Holiday Inn there and retired for the evening. The next morning, I woke up, looked out the window, and saw that the trailer (with Harley) was gone! I woke up Julie and Sam, called the front desk, then went out and saw that the padlock securing the trailer to the Jeep had been neatly cut in two places, probably with a bolt cutter. (In another numbingly strong vote for resounding naiveté, it never occurred to me that it might be so easy.)
It was mind-boggling. I had dreamt about having a Harley for most of my adult life. I loved it as much as you can love a machine and not be spooky. Okay, maybe I was a little spooky too (Julieann, Samantha, and son Tyler would agree). Okay, maybe I still am.
But hey! We are talking about one of the most beautiful, best-sounding machines known to humankind. These things are revered in museums, parades, and books, virtually everywhere. And mine was being revered in the hands of a damn thief.
I quickly called the Royal Canadian Mounted Police with a detailed report, then called our insurance company and posted photos with business cards in three likely locations: our hotel, the paving business adjacent to the Holiday Inn parking lot that looked like it had been open all night, and the nearby go-kart track Sam and I had visited the previous evening.
We still had the Harley and trailer attached when we visited the go-cart track, so I thought someone might have tailed us to the hotel from there. I posted notice of a $1,000 cash “no questions asked” reward and a picture at the track.
We were all a little shocked and couldn’t think of anything else to do, so we reverted to our original itinerary and headed for Kalispell, Montana, via Glacier National Park to spend the night. To characterize the whole situation as stunning would be a vast understatement.
Are We Having Fun Yet?
The Going to the Sun Road in Glacier National Park has to be one of the most spectacular roads in the U.S. or the world. I kept thinking, if I still had the Harley with me, I would just about have to yank it off the trailer and ride that road. We pulled off at one point to have a Kodak moment and found out our camera was missing, too! This was rapidly turning into the vacation from hell. Still, we were in awe of the beauty even though, in the back of our minds, we were wondering what the hell happened in Calgary.
After an uneventful night in Kalispell, we decided to shorten our stay and head directly for Rapid City the next day. I tried to hold my whimpering to every other mile marker.
Julieann, in her thoughtful way and knowing we would eventually get an insurance settlement, suggested that I pretend I had simply sold the Heritage and was in the market for a new one. I am sure she suggested that because she could tell I was still in a pretty serious state of shock. Here I was, heading to Sturgis to enjoy the rally with no Harley. This was a sorry situation, like standing beside the perfect fishing stream with a perfectly good license but no pole, only worse.
By this time, we were certain the old Harley (be still, my pitiful heart!) was hidden away somewhere being modified or stripped or on its way to some remote location in Canada. I was pretty fired up about Julie’s idea to look for a replacement, so we started stopping at Harley dealers on the way to Rapid City, South Dakota. These included Missoula and Bozeman, Montana; Gillette, Wyoming; and Sturgis, South Dakota. But we had no luck at any of them. There were no Heritages or Road Kings for sale.
Luxury Rich Red Pearl
Our final stop was the Black Hills Harley-Davidson® dealer in Rapid City. We had a good selection there and finally settled on a 2000 Road King Classic with Luxury Rich Red Pearl paint. It was a beautiful bike with no miles and priced well over MSRP, since the dealer was terribly busy taking full advantage of buyers with Sturgis fever! This was a true example of capitalism at its best, folks.
In the end, I was the winner, though. I loved that bike, and I put 28,000 miles on it in the couple of years I owned it. It was worth every inflated nickel.
I made a sorry, futile attempt at negotiating and managed a paltry discount on accessories. There were a few things I had to have right away. It is a given law of physics that it is impossible to pull a brand-new Harley off the showroom floor without first adding several hundred to several thousand dollars’ worth of accessories to individualize it a little. This phenomenon is also known as “shopper’s heaven.” Julieann limited me to three bags full on this. As in, “Yes, Sir. Yes Sir. Three bags full.”
Over the next week, we had some terrific rides in the Black Hills area with two to four other family members and their Harleys. The new Road King ran like a charm. I immediately liked it better than the old Heritage (and felt a little guilty about that). It was a lot smoother ride, and the dual caliper front brakes made it seem much more sure-footed than the Heritage.
Julieann and Samantha also joined me separately on some of the trips. We went through the Badlands, Needles, lots of Black Hills canyons, Iron Mountain Road, Mount Rushmore, and squeezed in time for one beer stop to have our beer-a-day quota.
None of these sights compared to Sturgis itself for sheer spectacle, though we saw more natural beauty in “them there” hills. Sturgis had all the bike manufacturers, specialty vendors, and half a million bikes or so. It was truly an amazing sight.
All the people there were pretty well disposed, maybe because most of them were gray hairs or wrinkles like me, ogling babes, watching bikes, and enjoying the sounds of those Hog pipes. If you don’t understand the “wrinkle” part, it goes like this: old person “wrinkle,” young person “squeeze.” Simple.
Throughout the week, I was also busy equipping the new Road King with more required accessories such as a more fuel-efficient (read “loud”) exhaust system, a custom seat with passenger backrest, some tacky looking grips, braided leather covered chrome levers, and so on.
I was in my glory and all the shenanigans I had dreamed of as a kid. Yes, it was the old saying, “It’s never too late to have a happy childhood,” come to life. It was a full week for riding, gawking, and shopping for toys. It is safe to say I was healing rapidly.
An Old Flame Recovered
The day before we left to return home, we got a call from “Constable Palmer” of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. He declared that they had apprehended the criminals and had recovered the motorcycle and the trailer. Palmer said the motorcycle was “in great shape.” We were pretty happy to get the news – my first Harley was back in the family. But now I had two! The old one would eventually have to go.
We later learned that there had been a high-speed chase of a man who, it turned out, had a sawed-off shotgun. He had led his pursuers straight to a warehouse that revealed the Harley, secured with the crook’s own combination lock. The warehouse also contained two more accomplices and three truckloads of stolen goods. I asked if there was a swift and merciful execution of the culprits, and Constable Palmer said they “unfortunately” did not have those types of laws in Canada.
We headed home with the thought that things were working out okay after all. We had left the new Harley with the local Rapid City representative for Allied Van Lines. They were to truck it home to Sacramento while we took the Jeep.
Meanwhile, I offered to send up some vigilantes to deal with the thieves, and the constable reluctantly declined. Later, I learned only one of the persons was charged with an offense, something like possession of stolen property. But, “Wait a minute,” I was thinking. “What about stealing the bike in the first place?! And what about the high-speed chase?!” I concluded that it is hard to get accurate information passed across the border. In fact, the notorious Constable Palmer may have been doing some serious embellishing. Aw, what the hell, at least the bike was coming home.
Eventually, we worked out arrangements with our insurance company to recover the Heritage and settle on the damages the thieves had inflicted on the bike. Our company, USAA, was terrific in its handling of the traumatized Harley owner (me). A little later, I sold it on consignment through a local Sacramento Harley-Davidson dealer.
I was a little sorry to see the Heritage go. She was my first Harley, and she was beautiful, although as a genuine fanatic, I think all Harleys are beautiful. I know, I know, I have mentioned this before. You will have to look somewhere else if you want an unbiased opinion.
Through all this, my resolve to make another trip to Sturgis deepened. By God, I was going to ride the new Harley to Sturgis and back, and I was going to be much more careful about security.
