THE LAST OF THE MOTOHICANS
A satire inspired by Chuck DeSario
For eleven days in August, I dodged and defied the deadly iron cages of cellphone-impaired KILARYDAs to make my
annual pilgrimage to Sturgis for the great gathering of the brave tribes of the proud RYDABYKA nation.
I rode my steel horse 2,365 miles from Miami Beach to Gillette, Wyoming, where I made my base camp. From there,
my travels took me 1,135 miles more through our sacred Black Hills and the scenic Badlands and Big Horn Mountains
of Wyoming, South Dakota and Montana. I then logged another 2,421 miles of saddletime returning home.
Each year on my long ride to Sturgis, I see fewer bikes and more trailers along the way. Couple that with the fact
that what actually takes place in the town of Sturgis, South Dakota is an increasingly smaller part of the overall
events agenda, and a credible argument could be made to change the name from "Sturgis Motorcycle Rally" to
"Black Hills Trailer Classic". Nevertheless, "Sturgis" remains the world's greatest motorcycling event. And despite
the fact that a growing percentage of those attending were NOTARYDAs, tribes of the RYDABYKAs continued to dominate
the two-wheeled landscape:
The KROMAPOSA Tribe
Members of the KROMAPOSA tribe purchase sixty grand plus chrome penis extensions from the Billys, Eddies or Paulies,
then have them shipped directly to the doorsteps of their secluded ranch houses, private lodges or high-dollar hotels
in or near Sturgis proper. They rarely venture far from town without their wrench in a chase car, and never mount
their shiny steeds in anything less than ideal weather conditions. KROMAPOSAs can often be seen wobbling their
gleaming chariots up and down Main or Lazelle ... dragging their bared legs and tennis-shoed feet for balance as
they make their way to the Broken Spoke or Full Throttle Saloon ... where their drop-dead gorgeous gold digger
raises her hot-panted ass off the bike (hopefully) just before the KROMAPOSA drops it trying to park.
The TOWAPOSA Tribe
Members of the TOWAPOSA tribe own top-of-the-line cruisers, full-dress touring bikes and Geezer-Glides, which
they proudly trailer wherever they go. No motorcycling event is too far away for these hardy long-drivers, who
truly "live to tow". TOWAPOSAs are the most rapidly growing of all the RYDABYKA tribes found in Sturgis. They can
be identified by the oversized HOG chapter patches that often cover their vests, and the Harley-Davidson
dealership shirts they always wear beneath them. TOWAPOSAs rarely ride alone, and groups of their immaculately
clean bikes can usually be seen parked in neat rows at all Sturgis area bars, restaurants and tourist traps.
Unless it's raining, of course, in which case you can expect to find them closely clustered under the nearest
awning, bridge or overpass.
The POPAWILI Tribe
Members of the POPAWILI tribe tend to be younger than most other RYDABYKAs. This is partly because they are often
rebellious youths who have broken away from the more conventional tribes, and partly because these Crazy Horsemen
ride like there is no tomorrow, which frees them from wasting a lot of time worrying about the concerns that come
with old age. Despite the shortened life expectancy assured by their high-speed stunting, this tribe's numbers
continue to swell as the attraction of the adrenalin rush brought on by doing 12 o'clock wheelies, biscuit-eater
stoppies and switchback burnouts outweighs the attrition of Natural Selection. Although spotting a POPAWILI
at Sturgis was once like finding a virgin in a whorehouse, the colorful blurs of their crotch rockets blazing
down I-90 are increasingly commonplace.
The ELDIWINI Tribe
Rarest of all in Sturgis are the
Should you encounter one, expect them to look lost ...
because they probably are ... most likely due to a bad GPS routing.
Sturgis is, after all, the Mecca of
"...the Hardly Maggot lifestyle biker, the chrome and leather crowd" that ELDIWINIs loathe and fear as much
as their guiding satellites do sunspots. Perhaps a result of in-breeding, many ELDIWINIs suffer from AMHA
(Alligator Mouth, Hummingbird Ass), the symptoms of which they regularly project across the Internet, but
rarely in personal encounters with the dreaded chrome and leather types. ELDIWINIs are easily identified
because they place blind faith in ATGATT, wearing all their gear all the time. They are most
likely to be spotted on the side of the road ... looking eerily astronautical in their Shoei brain bucket and
seven hundred dollar Aerostich suit ... with their Oxtar Matrix glove-leather booties planted softly beside
their fubarred foreign ride ... combining the marvels of satellite positioning and cellular communications
to report with four-digit locational precision the demise of their final drive.
The MOTOHICAN Tribe
Once as plentiful as the blades of grass on the prairie, the MOTOHICAN tribe is now going the way of the buffalo.
Like the bison before them, the thunder from the engines of thousands of MOTOHICAN cycles converging on Sturgis
every August once shook the very ground for hundreds of miles around. But alas, those days of unbridled freedom
and glory are waning, as each year more and more of these riders forsake the ways of their ancestors, abandon
the exhilaration of wind in their faces, and put their horses in their carts. Despite their dwindling numbers,
it is easy to pick the members of this tribe out of the crowd at the great gathering: Just look for the riders
with raccoon sunburns, blistered noses and grit-encrusted fingernails ... wearing well-worn leathers adorned with
serious pins and soiled patches ... smiling and sitting proudly on theirs, the grungiest of all motorcycles.
These will be THE LAST OF THE MOTOHICANS.
Until Next Time ... Ride Long, Ride Free!
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