Bakersfield.com

    Sturgis is a small town about 25 miles north of Rapid City, South Dakota. A little over six thousand people call it home and enjoy the benefits of the clean air and beautiful country next to the famous Black Hills.
   During the first two weeks of August the population swells dramatically.  Somewhere in between three and four hundred thousand people will be visiting, eating, drinking, camping out, and they will all bring money!
   The Sturgis Motorcycle Rally has been held there since the late 1930s. Motorcycle races, hill climbs, concerts, and several drinking establishments, are just part of the fun.
   Local clubs, community organizations, and churches use this time to raise a little money. The way to a biker’s heart is not only through his motorcycle but through his stomach!  Every morning breakfast is served everywhere, schools, churches, and meeting halls. I usually eat at the local High School; the Marine ROTC puts on a great “all you can eat” breakfast for six bucks! And it is close to where I camp.
  But my favorite place to eat is a 30 mile ride, approximately eight miles south of Deadwood on Hwy. 89. The town of Brownsville, not even a town really, and not even on the map. A store with a post office and a gathering of ranch houses is about it. A quarter of a mile west on a dirt road is the Brownsville Volunteer Fire Department Station and Meeting Hall.
    Firemen and there wives put on a breakfast every morning and all proceeds benefit the Brownsville Fire Department. I am a retired Bakersfield Fireman and I like to support the cause and hang out for a while at the Fire Station. Eggs, sausage, firehouse coffee, and homemade rolls baked by the ladies, are all there for your enjoyment. Firehouse chatter and the smell of the fire engines parked on the apparatus floor bring back memories and make me feel at home.
   I was sitting at a table by myself shoveling in some of the best breakfast around when an old cowboy walked through the door.
     His mere presence commanded respect, all the fireman and all of the ladies went over to him, calling him by name, it was obvious to me he was well known in these parts.
  His clothes and cowboy hat were well worn but clean and pressed, his boots polished and of course he had a shinny belt buckle. He paid his money and was told to sit and his food would be brought to him. His slow, stooped over walk brought him to the table next to me and he sat. He seemed to enjoy all the ladies bustling over him, making sure his coffee cup was full and his food was to his liking. I wouldn’t have minded that myself.
    After cleaning my plate I was enjoying a final cup of coffee and I couldn’t resist approaching him. “Mind if I sit down?”
   “Go right ahead, Sonny” He points to a chair next to him, smile on his face. (I haven’t been called that in decades!)
   “How long have you lived in this area, Sir?” I ask.
 He immediately replies “I was born about thirty miles east of here in 1917.” I was amazed and quickly trying to do the math, yup, 91 years old.
  “What did you do here?” Thinking about it that was a stupid question and I hoped he wasn’t offended.
    His speech was slow and deliberate as he spoke of himself. “I’ve been a cattle rancher all of my life, and I’ve ranched as much as 200,000 acres just over the Wyoming border. About 15 years ago I bought a “retirement” ranch. (Said with a smile) I have 90 acres just a couple miles from here and run 15 head of cattle, just for fun.”
   We talked about ranching and a few things in general before he asks me where I am from. “California” I say. He inquires if I had ridden my motorcycle all of the way. Here is my chance to brag a little. “Of course” I refuse to mention my sore derrière.
   “I have two sons in California” twinkle in his eye. “One works for Governor Schwarzenegger and the other is a Chaplin for a prison near Bakersfield.” I could tell that he was proud of himself, his family and his accomplishments.
     After 20 minutes of conversation I received a handshake and told him it was a pleasure to talk to him. I felt lucky just having talked to this great American.
     People with his morals, his work ethic, and his family values are all too rare.  I am afraid they are disappearing as we speak. People like him are what made this country great!
    We could try to be like him but most of us, including myself, would fall short. What a great generation he has come from; the sacrifices and hardships they endured, including defending this country, would cripple us today.
    Take care, my Cowboy friend, hope to see you next year.