Tag: travel

Freedom, empty space, and other patriotic thoughts from Wyoming

The ride down to Devil’s Tower from our chateau in the Black Hills demonstrates one of the most dramatic changes in landscape I’ve witnessed in two hours of highway.  One minute high in the trees and rocky hills, with the snap of a finger you find yourself on the barren plains of Cattle country almost immediately on crossing the South Dakota/Wyoming border.

But in the middle of the desolate and dry landscape of Eastern Wyoming, there’s an anomaly.

photo by Kelly Soprych

Unlike its fellow national monuments of bronze and stone depictions of dead presidents, Devil’s Tower is not contrived by men.  There was a placard somewhere along the 2+ mile hike around it that said something about molten lava and volcanoes, but I like the Lakota legend better:

Seven sisters were out playing when a bear started to chase them.  They climbed on a rock and the spirits rose the rock to the sky, where the sisters were turned into the constellation Pleiades.  The bear scratched and clawed at the rock, but was unable to reach the top.  

That’s way cooler than lava.

It’s hard to explain the gravity of a place like Devil’s Tower, but even more profound are the thoughts that come with a solid four days of moving Westward. People historically moved West for freedom, space, and opportunity.  They were motivated by gold, coal, oil and land, and maybe they still are.  Whether it’s gold or a job at Wal-Mart that pushes Americans Westward, I was starting to lose hope that there were still open spaces in this country, in spite of its size.  I live in a constant state of claustrophobia, seeking Starbucks after Starbucks, with people living literally on top of one another and paying the highest prices for the least amount of space.

But after a pit stop at the first and last gas station on the way from Devil’s Tower to Gillette, WY, there wasn’t a Starbucks in sight.  In fact, there wasn’t a single building – or even a vehicle for that matter – as far as the eye could see.  In that moment I’ve never felt more vulnerable, or more free.  I imagine it’s as close as you can get to witnessing what it was like for those first settlers moving West over the open prairie in search of, well, nothing… 

…and actually finding it.

Beer, tattoos, boobs, and Jesus

photo by Kelly Soprych

That pretty much sums up Sturgis, SD and the Black Hills Motorcycle Rally. The juxtaposition of sex and Christianity is confusing. The storefront windows with naked women getting their boobs painted is even more confusing.

The Sturgis rally is like nothing I’ve ever seen.

It’s sort of like the Gay Pride Parade but with no parade and more bandanas. Oh, and a LOT more motorcycles. The Sturgis Motorcycle Rally is solid proof that the Wild West still exists. It’s a whooping good time is what it is…. a chance to completely let down all your defenses and, if you choose, get laid in almost any location or situation. And now that I’ve seen it, I can say that I have, and I probably don’t need to go back.

One of the reasons I like vintage pin-ups so much is the suggestion of sex without the reality of it. Let me be blunt: women in chaps, a beaded top, and a muffin top isn’t sexy, but Sturgis is a man’s game – that’s for sure – so what do I know…

The “welcome women riders” tent had pink studded t-shirts for sale, a bike on training wheels where “girls” can try what it feels like to ride a real motorcycle (!), and a tent selling low-calorie beer.

But,

taking in the whole scene was WELL worth it, and all the vendors, purveyors, and even the attendees were actually really nice. I think Sturgis really wants its tough, Wild West persona, but it’s more like a bunch of dudes who love motorcycles and music, and are looking for an excuse to let their hair down with like-minded men (and a few women too).

The prices were cheaper than any other festival-type-thingey I’ve attended, the weather was fine, and if you find yourself near the Black Hills the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally is a must-do for your bucket list. Just don’t forget to bring cash and your ass-less chaps and beaded top.

Starbucks Around the World: Gillette, WY

There haven’t been too many opportunities for an overpriced, high quality cup of coffee on my journey cross-country to Sturgis, but an excursion to visit friends in Gillette, WY afforded an entirely different landscape, a scamper through the mud for charity, and not one but TWO Starbuckses.  Gillette boasts all the typical sites of a small American town – the Wal-Mart, the Applebees, and the Quizno’s, but there’s something different about it.  The people are genuine, the sunsets are out of this world, and there’s a refreshing underbelly of liberalism.  I don’t quite know why Gillette is the shining star of the high plains that it is, but in any case the iced coffee was a good one.

Starbucks Around the World: Sturgis, SD

I wasn’t AT ALL expecting to come across a Starbucks at the Black Hills Motorcycle Rally in Sturgis, SD.  A five dollar latte just doesn’t really “go” with the whole – tough guys, topless women, Harley scene at the rally.  So I literally squealed when I saw this little green flag with that beautiful siren proudly flying on Main Street in Sturgis.  It wasn’t exactly a Starbucks, it was a beverage vendor who “proudly serves Starbucks coffee.” Usually I would scoff at this, but the vendors were a really nice guy from Michigan and his dad, and he gave me this vanilla frappuccino  free just because I’m from the Midwest.  So that gets you a healthy tip, and a big thumbs up from me.

Sturgis or Bust!

photo by Kelly Soprych

There’s something about road trips that makes me more more patriotic.  Especially if I don’t have to go through Indiana or Nebraska (no offense, but your states are pretty boring to drive through).  Taking a road trip on a motorcycle, however, has been downright religious.

I have the luxury of riding as a passenger, so I get all of the rewards of traveling by motorcycle with none of the responsibility, and fewer bugs in my teeth.  When asked what I was going to do for 2 days sitting on a bike, I jokingly said I’d find the meaning of life, but when we hit a thunderstorm and continued to ride through it, I got into this weird meditative place that was a combination of “don’t fall off the bike Lauren” and pure contentment.  Don’t get me wrong… raindrops going 65mph feel like little shards of glass hitting your face that is anything but pleasant. But my face, hands, wet feet and sore butt eventually settled into the rain and embraced it as part of the journey.

I wondered if the Buddha would have come up with something different had he been riding on a motorcycle through the rain instead of sitting under a tree.  Either way, the message is pretty much the same: Sit still, follow the path and eventually you’ll reach clearer skies.

I knew that riding motorcycles was cool, but getting a taste of the culture surrounding it is downright awesome – and not unlike the kinship I experience as a bike rider.  But to return to my point above there’s something distinctly American (in a good way) about traveling in a pack of strong, independent women across beautiful landscapes with the wind in our faces and the clouds so close you could reach out and grab ’em.

And don’t worry, mom, I’ve been wearing my helmet.

Preparing for Sturgis, and other great reasons to buy chaps

I’m about to embark on a trip I NEVER imagined I’d take.

That’s right.  I’m headed to Sturgis next Saturday!  Because, you know, I totally embody biker chick.

I’m so excited to visit a part of the country I’ve never seen, and on a method of travel I’ve never done.  I’ll be hitching a ride on the back of a Harley to journey the 1,000 miles from Chicago over two days.  I’m pretty sure my adductors will be ripped by the time I get back, and I’ve got my vintage helmet and goggles on the way from Amazon.

To chap, or not to chap? Lubbock, TX, 1940–photo by Hansel Mieth

What exactly does one wear in Sturgis?  I’ve been using Pinterest to gather ideas and inspiration for all things South Dakota, but perhaps what I’m most torn on is chaps.

  • Do I buy them?
  • Can I pull them off?
  • Would I regret not having them?

I can think of a lot of reasons to have chaps in my life.  Like Halloween and leather parties*.  With their anti-chafing capacity I may just start working out in them.

But seriously, what do you think?  Do I make a lukewarm attempt to fit in by buying something I’ll likely never wear again?  Sometimes when I try to fit in I actually fit in less than I would by otherwise just being myself.

The question that I’m posing to the universe is: Are chaps one of those things like fringe that simply fulfills some sort of style code or do they actually serve a purpose that I’ll find useful on this adventure?

So far my plan is to try and make it out there in jeans, and if my pants (and inner thighs, for that matter) suffer to the point that chaps make sense, I’m sure that the variety increases the further West I get.  But I could certainly be persuaded to buy them now if someone with experience said I should have them to save me 1,000 miles of discomfort.

Thoughts?

*Disclaimer: I have not been, nor do I intend to go to a leather party.  But then, I never thought I’d be going to Sturgis either.

Recipe for the Perfect Picnic

Brie.

Grapes.

Italian bread.

Wine. Red.

Add a little greenery, the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, a bumpin’ twitter feed and a few thousand of my closest friends, and this is the making of a beautiful evening.  

People do it up right at The Ravinia Festival.

There’s the mad dash from the gate. The in-fighting over the shaded spots close to the Pavilion.  The pop up tables, real crystal, and vases of flowers.  Everything you’ve heard about Ravinia is true.  It’s at times chaotic and dripping with wealth, but the North Shore folks in khaki pants and claustrophobic lawn quickly fade away once the music kicks in.  You settle into your bottle of wine, gaze up at the trees, and all your worries melt away. 

For just ten bucks, you can sit in the most beautiful back yard in the tri-county area and hear some of the best musicians in the world.  This particular Sunday it happened to be Idina Menzel with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra.  Admittedly sniffly, and suprisingly crass, that bitch can sing.

What a glorious way to spend a summer evening. 

Lauren relaxing on the lawn at Ravinia Festival