From the time I arrived 11 days before the official Sturgis Motorcycle Rally in South Dakota started, straight exhaust pipes and modified Harleys dominated my senses. At first it was an ebb and flow of exhaust sounds as bikes came and went. I could almost tell how far away they were, and which street each bike was on. As the Rally got closer, any ability to distinguish the quantity or location of bikes vanished into thick air. By the time August 3rd hit it was as if all sound rose to a glass ceiling above town where it would turn into an invisible, booming cloud of noise.
As riders filled the campgrounds and any rentable (and not-so-rentable) spots in and around Sturgis, I often would find myself stopped at a light, then startled to see that I was in the middle of dozens of motorcycles that had pulled up around me. Being on my own cruiser and with a helmet on it was hard to distinguish what I was hearing, so I parked my bike for a few days to walk.

I’m standing on the corner of Lazelle & 4th Street looking like a lunatic not moving to cross the street. Just standing here staring at bikes and listening. The light turns from yellow to red and riders roll off the throttle giving me a false sense of brief peace. Some riders downshift to brake, the RPMs of their engines pop back up momentarily, the gunshot sound of back-firing follows them. Within seconds there are over 20 bikes staged in a haphazard fashion, staggering left then right as my eyes follow the lineup backwards. A random trike adds mass to the mix.