"What the devil do you mean, you may not go?"

Sam and Ann made their way through the diner's Wednesday night crowd to Sam's favorite window booth.

The waitress was clearing the mess from the table that the previous Castro group had left. Her spiked, orange-colored hair gave her a Statue of Liberty look but the nose, ear, eyebrow, lower lip and who knows what else piercings suggested a manikin's head used for jewelry sales.

"Well, Sturgis is a long way from San Francisco," Ann said, "And I can't plan that far in advance."

Just after they sat down, Ann got back up and headed for the ladies room.

Sam stared open-mouthed across the table at the booth's naugahide backrest as if watching a silent movie. He seemed engulfed in a noiseless void within the busy restaurant. The words, "I can't believe this," crawled from his throat.

Sam remained involved in the action playing out on the naugahide when Ann slipped back into the booth and picked up a menu. Still spaced, he closed his mouth and focused through to his consciousness enough to say, "Ann, sweetheart, what's gotten into you?"

"My girlfriend may be getting married in early August, and, well, I can't commit right now."

"But it's the sixtieth anniversary of the rally."

"So you've said, Sam. So you've said."

"And..."

"I know, Sam, it's the millennium, too. You've mentioned that a few times."

"But it'll be the biggest rally ever." He sat forward on the edge of the seat and gestured like a politician at election time. "There'll be more bikes, leather, noise and people than the 1990 record breaking fiftieth year rally. Rooms are already booked for sixty miles around Sturgis."

"Sam, it's just that I may have competing activities this time."

Sam slid across the seat to rest his back and muttered, "Geese. I've already reserved our old space at the campground."

Ann's forehead wrinkled as she frowned. "Just a hair presumptuous of you, don't you think?"

"I figured we'd ride two-up so I went ahead and booked a motel room in Wells, Nevada and a fancy hotel in West Yellowstone, Idaho. Just like you'd want."

"Whoa. You've been scheming all along, haven't you?"

Ann peered over the edge of her menu as Sam continued lawyering. She moved her head in an almost imperceptible side-to-side motion and shifted her body on the seat. "My butt can almost feel that ride already," she said.

Sam opened his menu and looked through it as if it were plate glass.

"I just thought... well, we had such a good time last year... I thought we'd go again especially since it's the big anniversary rally. This time I thought we'd ride through Yellowstone and over the Beartooth Highway. You'll love it, Ann. Just imagine, above the tree and snow line at eleven thousand feet and watching snow sublimate into fog right before your eyes."

"Been there before, huh, Sam?"

"And I promised myself I'd do it again. It's another one of those must-see rides. Think of alpine tundra with lots of wildlife and absolutely inspiring mountain views."

"In fog, Sam?"

"Depends. It may be foggy at eleven thousand feet when it's rainy but there'll be bright sun at nine thousand. You remember how gorgeous Yellowstone was."

"I also remember how cold that cabin was without any heat, wherever that was."

"Route 14," Sam mumbled, loosing himself behind his menu. "Well, this time the hotel in West Yellowstone has nice hot tubs where we can soak until our skin shrivels like raisins. Guaranteed no shivering. And room service, too."

"Have you been taking a sales or marketing course behind my back?"

"Come on, Ann. You're not gonna be my Y2K bug for the year 2000, are ya?"

Ann began humming as she again reviewed her menu. Sam always grew suspicious when she hummed.

"A hot tub sounds like fun and you know I love the desert and mountain landscapes but..."

"On the return ride, we should do Glacier National Park and the Going To The Sun Highway," Sam said. "Just think... 55 miles of great mountain scenery and maybe some black bear sightings. And Montana has super, high-speed roads."

Ann took a sip of her water and placed her closed menu on the worn Formica® tabletop.

Sam leaned toward her. "And just think, sweetheart, since you bailed from getting that tattoo last year, you could get it at the sixtieth anniversary-millennium rally. Super timing."

"You mean that dragon inked down my back?"

"No, the ankle rose."

"Hum…"

Sam sat back. "I can smell those juicy BBQ ribs, burgers, sausage-onion-pepper sandwiches, tri-tips and all that good stuff, already."

"Let's, order, Sam. I'm suddenly famished. I'll talk to my girlfriend about her schedule."

"Yes. The Sturgis 60th. It's two-up for the rally of the century."

This first appeared in the 2000 Winter/Spring edition of Sturgis Rally News