Well Sturgis Rally 2025 is in the books. I am beginning my journey toward Kentucky in the morning. I’ll back up though and give a recap. As usual, the only reason I would go to this event is supporting a charity. This time it was Motorcycle Missions (MM).
It was my second event with them but was quite different than the Milwaukee event, the Harley Homecoming. Sturgis is the largest motorcycle rally in the world, started in the 1930’s by a fella known as Pappi Hoel. He was a member of the Jackpine Gypsies, a motorcycle club that put on events, including a Hill Climb event called the Black Hills Motor Classic.
Since it was in Sturgis, South Dakota, the event’s name eventually morphed because there are a lot less syllables in the word “Sturgis.” The city also became involved as the rally grew, making it an official event. For a town of about 7,500 people, there aren’t many times a half-million bikers will descend on your town. And, unlike the movie’s portrayal of bikers, by the 1980’s there were a lot of people with Baby Boomer money, empty nests, and a Harley. You can probably smell the money just thinking about it.
In any event, the rally is more about riding Harley’s and drinking beer, going to concerts and bike shows, and similar such biker activities. Many rally-goers are unlikely to know there’s any racing happening at all nowadays. Since about the late-1980’s, the rally also started to spill out into the surrounding parts of the Black Hills. Suddenly places like Deadwood and Custer (and even towns in neighboring states) started needing a plan to let hundreds of motorcycles park on their main street, divert traffic, hire extra staff, and even create events to draw more bikers their way.
My ride out was done with as much interstate as possible, with just shy of 1,500-miles required to get me there from Lexington, Kentucky, where I’m based this summer. I made it to Rockford, IL on the first day, just short of the Wisconsin border. Day two things got even flatter and straighter as I moved into Minnesota on I-90.
The Chieftain turned 50,000-miles that second day, and by random chance I was only about 30-40 miles from Spirit Lake, Iowa, where the current Indian Motorcycle factory is located. I over-nighted in the small town of Jackson, MN. I never saw the actual town; the motel was right off the freeway and sat surrounded by other hotels, gas stations, and the usual fare found in nowhere’s-ville, USA when you stop for gas.
Day three was straight into Rapid City, SD, where my friend Denver lives. Less than an hour from Sturgis, it was not only a great base of operations, but Denver has lived in the area on and off since the 1980’s, so he is an expert on the rally, its history, and the surrounding roads, towns, and events. We met through Veterans Charity Ride (VCR), and had both worked for that event piloting sidecars or leading group rides. Fate had put us together again, as both Denver and I started volunteering with Motorcycle Missions at nearly the same time.
Rally time
Most of the rally was of course spent helping MM set up and operate during events. First up was meeting at the AirBnB they secured for everyone, just outside Lead, SD (pronounced “Leed”). There were enough people coming in that it was more of a friendly atmosphere and not like a large amount of work was coming our way, but I still knew what was ahead for us. Or at least, I thought I did.
The first event was the Flying Piston Benefit located in the free admission zone of the Buffalo Chip. I was familiar with this massive biker haven from their partnership with VCR. This particular event was an early morning breakfast fundraiser for another charity, but they were donating to MM. That meant no booth, but instead roaming around and talking about MM, as well as passing out flyers for our own free breakfast later that week.
Other than my shoes being absolutely useless for more than 20-minutes on my feet, the event was a cake-walk, but my poor sleep the previous night had me feeling like I put in a 12-hr day. I got back to Denver’s house and napped some of the afternoon, yet still managed to sleep like the dead that night.
Hare scrambles
Day two was supposed to be a combo; I was looking forward to some flat track racing on a mini-bike before we set up the booth for a pool party. This was at the Full Throttle Saloon, another mega-church for the biker set (bars, campgrounds, pools, events, concerts, gift shop, bike shows, etc). When we arrived it turned out not be be a flat track race, but a Hare Scramble. These events are usually timed and run a set course through open terrain and trails, with the rider doing the most laps being the winner.
Since we were on small bikes the loop was only about 1.8-mi instead of the usual 20-30 mile course. Just the same, flat track races usually only last a few minutes, and now I was going to be out on a bike I’d never ridden for an hour! I know there are pictures out there, as I did eleven or twelve laps and there were at least seven photographers I passed each lap. However, I don’t have any so just let me say it was exhausting.
The course was laid out that morning and no one had run it, meaning there were no tracks. You just look for two small orange signs that make a gate, go between them, then look for the next gate. The area was mostly shin-high grass too, so you were just going full throttle and hoping there were no ruts, holes, or rocks in front of you. The first lap was hectic.
Because the small Honda I was on had big-ish sized wheels, I was in the “open” class. This included Harley’s with off road set ups, 2-stroke motocross bikes, and some 450cc machines. It’s a little like when a small Cessna airplane has to share a taxiway with a 737. Once they got away and I hurt my wrists, knees, ankles, and back slamming into deep holes hidden under the grass, I found a bit of a rhythm.
Just the same it was hard work, with high speed stuff, a hill climb, a jump, railroad ties to hop over, and plenty of muddy parts to poke through. By the time I hit the half-hour mark I was doubting I’d make it, but I couldn’t face myself if I gave up. For the last 10-15 minutes though I could see the rider behind me wasn’t going to catch me, and I couldn’t catch the one in front of me, so I was able to back off and just bring ‘er home.
However, running the booth afterward was mostly done by me sitting in a chair and watching other people. Both the race and this pool party we were working had been organized by Mama Tried, which has been putting on bike shows and their Flat Out Friday races for probably a decade by now. I was happy to see the organizers were easy-going guys, as the outward facing optics sometimes look like it’s all hipsters just trying to look cool for Instagram.
Nope, they knew how to have fun and were willing to put on events with no real idea who will show up; they just like doing cool stuff.
Full Throttle
We were back at the Full Throttle Saloon the next day, setting up a booth and entering a bike in the Trask Performance bike show. Trask is best known for making turbocharger kits for Harleys, and one of MM’s builds was equipped with one, qualifying it for the Performance Bagger category. We didn’t do a huge amount of business but that meant I could sit down, as my body was aching everywhere from the previous day’s shenanigans.
I had some free time so Denver and I went poking around the place. The main bar inside is full of old manufacturing equipment, converted into tables or art pieces. tables were made from massive sprockets and pulleys, huge lathes, presses, and breakers were everywhere. It was beautiful to my eyes, which appreciate vintage machines and industrial art. There were also dozens of bikes hanging as displays, along with a vintage cab-over semi (yes, hanging from a wall) and several vintage welded to plinths.
I avoided the gift shop but did go through where they sell booze from their own distillery. Yes, when you get a brand to grow as much as Full Throttle Saloon, you slap that name on anything a biker might have interested in. Booze is up there with bikes and boobies.
Time off, or not
The day off to go riding and take in the rally turned into a bit of a mess, but did work out in the end. Denver and I were getting ready to head out when I noticed a bulge in my rear tire. Fortunately I had already sent a tire ahead, just in case the current one needed replaced. I was planning to mail it home since there was just barely enough tread to make it, but this bulge indicated a failure with the tire’s carcass. It needed immediate attention.
It’s usually about a $40-$50 job if you bring the wheel in off the bike, but the pop-up shop in Sturgis wanted $125. We went over to the Indian dealership (only a few hundred feet away) but expected them to be booked up. Since Denver was a regular they decided to take on the job anyway, stating it would take house to find the time, but it would be done today… for the standard rate of $50. So much for the dealerships being “stealerships.”
So instead of being out on the road, we walked Sturgis proper. People watching, overpriced food and drink, looking at the usual generic T-shirts and patches, and of course checking out bikes. Main street (the whole town really) is wall to wall noise as different bars and storefronts compete for your attention and dollars. Some places are only open during the rally, and all of these places make at least 75% of their annual income from the 10-days of the official event.
Sturgis is normally considered neutral territory, so the outlaw clubs don’t wear their colors in town. However, there are two 81 Support stores selling merchandise (81 translating to H.A., or Hells Angels), so this was the first year I saw outlaw patches on Main st. The red-and-white weren’t the only ones though; I saw the Outlaw’s MC and Sons of Silence MC flying colors as well. Some kind of truce or general understanding must be in place though, as there were no news agencies jumping aboard to try and make a fist fight sound like open warfare.
The tire was swapped after about four hours, so we went back to Denver’s and installed the wheel back on the bike. It put up a fight but eventually went in, and the test ride showed instantly how much better a motorcycle handles when on new tires. Still, the cheap Kenda brand tires I use are only about 60% the price of the factory recommended Dunlops, and the rear did last 10,800-miles, with the front tire being the same age and still having a fair amount of life left.
The big day
Our own event was the last piece of action. Pancakes & Pistons is MM’s free breakfast and bike show. This was the first year so attendance was sparse, but brisk for a brand new event trying to get noticed above all the noise. There are literally 4-6 free breakfasts every day just in the town of Sturgis. We were in Outlaw Square in Deadwood, about 40-min south of Sturgis, but still in the heart of the action.
I worked the usual booth while other volunteers manned the griddles. I was running on coffee and determination at this point of the rally, but there was a steady stream of people coming through all morning. That’s a mixed blessing since it keeps you busy so you don’t notice how sore your feet are, but it means staying on your feet, which makes you feet sore.
Photo: Dalton Campbell
Still, it felt great, as we sold a lot of merchandise, passed out a huge amount of flyers and other material, and there was a band playing after we officially wrapped up our event that was pretty good. I had a few drinks as things were wrapping up and my body hurt less with each sip. That ended up meaning I was not going to be able to ride any time soon, but there was a cool gathering up the hill at one of the houses.
I ended up having a whiskey along with some hot dogs and chips, which meant walking around town for about an hour with Denver before I could safely swing a leg over the bike. That put us riding home in the dark though, meaning both deer and drunks were harder to spot. We kept it to the speed limit (which are lowered during the rally on most of the main routes and interstate) though and were able to avoid trouble.
To be continued
That wrapped things up officially, but while most the crew started for home, I met up with one more friend from VCR and it happened to be a great way to cap things off. That story is worth telling, so I’ll put it in my next post. It let me rekindle some of my old passions, let me meet some cool people, and really let me connect with the heart of the rally in a way I didn’t think possible. Until next time though, keep on doing what you do. I’ll be working my way back to Kentucky by the time this goes live, so I’ll hopefully have a few photos from the road to share along with my wrap up of the Sturgis Rally.
Johnny Killmore 
Rockford, corporate home to Sundstrand Aviation. A company I worked for and my dad retired from, but in Denver.
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