A steady stream of tourists are coming through. Most of them meander by, but some linger a few days in the Hills, enjoying the scenery and shops minus the congestion. I think these tourists are the smart ones. They’re the less hard core bikers, usually, and friendly. I’ve already met people from all over the country: Wisconsin, Minnesota, Michigan, California, New York, Illinois, Arkansas, Alabama, Texas, and even Canada and Australia.
Today a man came in and exclaimed how shocked he was at the normalcy of our town being used to it only during the swarming rally. I was surprised he thought it was “just like a normal town.” Because when I look down Main Street, I see a few T-shirt shops, banks, and bars sandwiched between empty buildings with two or three people strolling down the sidewalks. Hardly thriving; more like dying.
In my short existence, I’ve seen the rally leach away business after business from my town. Each store opens for a few months, then dejectedly closes it’s doors, poorer for the effort. Afterwards, some wealthy out-of-state gluttons rent the spaces for more than any non-rally affiliated store could muster. So the spaces sit all but a few weeks of the year, empty. And Sturgis’ vitality pathetically drains despite the efforts of city counsel members and citizens to bring some life. In the end, it’s all about money. Sturgis could not survive without the rally; that’s a fact. They’re practically synonymous. And important people get rich off of the rally, so it lives on, unhindered.
As the progress towards the storm travels forward, I’ll watch and wait. Soon I will see the eye of the shadow that has caused this town to decay with my own eyes, the exposed form of what Sturgis strives to be every other day of the year, barefaced and unashamed.
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