Black Hills Rally And Races
Black Hills Rally and Races
"Wooey. Sure Was A Lot Of Bikes, Huh."
RALPH SPRINGER
WHEN LOCAL businessmen smile, policemen wince and ordinary townspeople shrug their shoulders, you know that Sturgis, South Dakota is waking up once more for an annual pilgrimage of the faithful, known as the Black Hills Motorcycle Rally and Races.
Fortunately, the 1971 edition of the Black Hills classic saw nearly everyone smiling, including the local police, as record crowds of road riders, chopper buffs and professional and amateur racers converged for a full five days of motorcycling.
The Black Hills Rally and Races (or more properly just "Sturgis" to the legions who have attended the event since its birth in 1940) is a veritable motorcycling microcosm. An amazing variety of events, from state police-escorted pavement tours to dusty, sweatin-the-stands, half-mile pro dirt track, is offered.
Even more amazing is the location of this eclectic, hectic almost-a-week. Sturgis is a nondescript little burg located amidst the scenic Black Hills of southwestern South Dakota. Nearby lies a variety of tourist traps: Mt. Rushmore, the majestic national monument hewn from solid granite, and a plethora of glaring wax museums, burro rides, tram rides, helicopter rides, genuine authentic made-in-Taiwan Indian relics, and innumerable little shops selling tie tacks, ashtrays, color slides, bookends, glasses, pillows, scarves, medallions, bumper stickers, decals and assorted other Americana.
Towering above all the commercialism are the Black Hills, whose scenic splendor draws road riders from all over America for the annual tour. On the first organized day of activity, Sturgis is wall-to-wall motorcycles. The main street ebbs and flows with chromed out, decked out and, occasionally, freaked out street machines of every possible make and model. At a signal they all grumble to life and, following a state police car with a revolving red beacon on top, file out of town and into the Black Hills.
They come from everywhere, these two-wheeled tourists. The Rapid Riders M/C rumbles by. There goes a contingent of Rocky Mountain Ramblers followed closely by a clean-cut group of Honda-mounted Wheels M/C men. Sidecars are sprinkled throughout. There goes Jim and Doris in their HarleyDavidson chair, the one with the neat, spare spoked wheel on the back. Another sidecar nimbles by, a happy middle-aged lady clutching a yapping poodle (really!). AMA pins of different vintages sparkle in the hot Dakota sun, off leather caps and leather vests. Looking as out of place as Raquel Welch in a nunnery, a gaggle of choppers bob-tail by, riders casting surly glances left and right. And so it goes. A never-ending stream of Harley-Davidsons liberally sprinkled with Moto-Guzzis, BMWs, Honda Lours, Yamaha 650s and the usual cross-section of small-bore Yamahas, Hondas, Suzukis and Kawasakis. As the last faltering rider buzzs out of sight, a state policeman tips up his hat. "Wooey. Sure is a lot of bikes, huh?" Yep.
But the Black Hills Rally isn't all rally. The competition is there for the choosing. Hillclimbing your bag? They've got it. The locals assaulted a marked out hill on a variety of machinery, but the heavy hillclimbers from the East brought big Harley rigs. Gordon Miller from Sacramento, Calif, churned over the top on a stretched-out Honda 750 Lour. Everyone oohed and aahed. It was spectacular.
Two nights of crash-and-burn amateur short track drew standing-roomonly crowds and riders from as far away as New York and California. Then a chokingly dusty motocross was held the next day. The professionals took over for the final two days of racing.
In the pro short track, easy-going National No. 76 Charlie Seale from Lantana, Llorida ("That's right up close to West Palm Beach") banged his way into the main event and won easily on a 250-cc Bultaco. Charlie turned out to be the hero of the weekend. A privateer who concentrates on the often dreary but sometimes lucrative mid-western and southern fair circuit, Seale, wife, BSA and Bultaco were nearly unbeatable. Seale's wife is included because she is one of the best one-woman cheering sections going today!
However, Saturday's four-star halfmile looked like a rodeo. Clouds of dust erupted as bikes broadslided over the dry, slick Sturgis Lairgrounds oval which features wide, sweeping corners and short, stubby straights. Portland, Oregon expert Sonny Burres took the main event from National No. 12, Larry Palmgren, a Sturgis veteran. Seale motored around the last place, unhappy about the lack of track preparation which resulted in clogged eyes, nose, mouth and carburetors. "Hell, I couldn't see what was happening in front of me for the dust. I caught a glimpse of the number two man once and I'm sure he was in the same fix as me!"
Sunday brought more dust and more unhappiness. But Charlie Seale merely shrugged at the condition of the track. In the main event, he got off in 6th place. After one lap he took over the lead, forcing his BSA deep into the corners, flinging his bike sideways to pare off some speed and then twisting on the throttle, keeping his mount sideways, driving onto the straightaways feet-up. At the checkered flag, Charlie Seale was way out in front. Ageless Darrell Dovel from Georgia trailed with Burres and Palmgren behind.
Seale wearily packed up, collected his $200-odd dollars prize money and, with a friendly wave, pulled onto the interstate highway headed east. "See ya in Kansas," he shouted. Headed for more dust, more unhappiness and, hopefully, more $200 paydays.
In Sturgis, Jackpine Gypsys M/C officials and members watched as the last of the bikes burbled out of town. The streets were heavily littered. Local campgrounds were empty landscapes of chiken bones and beer cans. Businessmen smiled, police winced, ordinary townspeople shrugged their shoulders. "Wooey. Sure was a lot of bikes, huh?" Yep.
