We arrived a day early, only to find our campsite was not available.
“There are a couple of spots near the highway,” the owner told us.
That or nothing, and nothing stretched for a hundred miles.
We pitched our tents near an old billboard. Hundreds of other tents, packed like sardines in a can, littered the grassy pasture we called home. We were all here for the same thing.
As my mind quieted, I noticed the incessant roar of Harley’s racing down the road. No sleep for me tonight, but that didn’t matter.
This was Sturgis.
This story was inspired by Rochelle Wisoff-Field’s Friday Fictioneer’s a weekly challenge to write a complete story in 100 words or less based on a photo prompt. Thanks to Jan Wayne Fields for providing the photo, Lights of Sturgis. The photo reminded me of my own Sturgis experience. I was there for the 75th anniversary in 2015 when over 750,000 bikers and friends descended on the small South Dakota town and the surrounding Black Hills. Below is a photo of my home that week (it was really next to a billboard and the Interstate), an a glimpse of down-town Sturgis during the rally.