Prayer and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
Every August, Native Americans and bikers collide in South Dakota.
By Christopher Percy Collier | Online Only | Aug. 31, 2009
Silence is golden. These words may well sum up the collective sentiment of the 30 or so tribes of Native Americans who head to Bear Butte, S.D., to worship every summer. Once there, they must endure a pop-culture phenomenon: the annual Sturgis Motorcycle Rally, which brings about 400,0000 motorcycle enthusiasts to Sturgis (pop. 6,442) for what has become one of the largest bike rallies in the world. During Bike Week, as it's called, motorcycles line the main street of the town. Black leather is the fabric of choice. Chain wallets, long beards, and tattooed biceps are in full display. And at rest stops, videos of bikini-clad women at Sturgis are sold along side videos of a sister rally held in Daytona Beach, Fla. But however outlandish this scene may appear, the presence of bikers around town is not among the primary gripes for Native Americans who sojourn here at the same time. By and large, their point of contention revolves another excess: noise. In Bear Butte, it isn't just limited to thundering motorcycles; it includes an arsenal of sound—musicians howling from stages with massive sound systems, helicopters buzzing overhead, even guns firing—within a mile of a site that has been a destination prayer site for American Indians for more than 10,000 years. Due to the increasing pressure of development on Bear Butte, it has been nominated to be included on the National Trust's list of America's 11 Most Endangered Historic Places last year. As Nancy Kile, a volunteer with the Association for Mato Paha Preservation, notes, "During the rally, there's just a constant roar." Bear Butte, a 1,000-foot-high rocky protuberance eight miles from Sturgis, was added to the National Register of Historic Places in 1973 and is a National Historic Landmark and a state landmark. But to Plains tribes like the Cheyenne and the Lakota who come here each year, it's sacred ground, a place where countless Native Americans, including Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull, worshiped. Native Americans prepare for their ritual visits here up to a year in advance, saving money and making travel plans. Upon arrival, they begin a four-day fast. Then they spend time in a sweat lodge near the base of the mountain, followed by prayer along the 1.7-mile trail leading to the top of Bear Butte. "When tourists come to the park for recreation, we educate them that others are here to worship," says Kile, who also works in the education center at Bear Butte State Park. "Most people are respectful of this. They relate it to their own experience of going to church, so it's a no-brainer." However, the noise emanating from certain activities—which can be heard at most any spot within the park—is a different story altogether. Though noise has long been of concern to visiting Native Americans (the rally will celebrate its 70th anniversary next year), the issue became particularly problematic in 2006, when a tavern, the Broken Spoke, billed as the "world's largest biker bar," opened its doors less than a mile from the park. Soon after, nightly concerts were held here during Bike Week. Also, a sideshow attraction cropped up that involved the regular shooting of a 40-caliber gun. And, starting in 2007, helicopter rides were offered over the mountain during the day and night. As a result, while Native Americans attempt to immerse themselves in prayer and meditation during Bike Week, loud music bounces off the mountainside, the thwacking sound of helicopters echoes across the land, and the blasts from gunfire rattles the nerves of all within earshot. "It certainly makes it hard to concentrate on worship," Kile says. "When you're fasting, all sounds becomes more acute." The solution, as advocates for the protection Bear Butte see it, is to create a buffer zone of up to four miles around this sacred ground that would reduce noise by restricting land use in this area and specifically prohibit the issuance of liquor licenses. In 2006, a bill addressing these concerns was voted down. And while there is hope that renewed efforts to put easements on surrounding acreage may prove successful, there is no guarantee that silence will befall this land any time soon. "It's a very tough situation because there aren't really any zoning regulations out there to control growth and development" says Jennifer Buddenborg, program officer in the National Trust for Historic Preservation's Mountain/Plains Office, who has been monitoring the issue and toured the facility in June with park representatives. "In the West, there can be the mentality that people and businesses should have the freedom to do whatever they want with their land, which makes situations like this problematic." Meanwhile, plans to expand the Broken Spoke venue and others like it are already under way. "We're dealing with an over-saturation and some very disturbing urban sprawl. These big barn-like structures are erected quickly, and they sit vacant all year until the bike rally," Kile says. In numerous places around the country, debates ensue with regard to appropriate sound levels. Train conductors are asked to adhere to approximately 2,000 whistle bans nationwide. In national parks like the Grand Canyon in Arizona and Crater Lake in Oregon, battles are being fought to prohibit noisy helicopter tours, a fight that also involves the FAA. Meanwhile, in communities such as Reston, Va., even ringing church bells have been silenced for exceeding a certain sound threshold (55 decibels, as established by a local ordinance). At Bike Week this year, however, Native Americans were not the only ones looking for quiet. At precisely 2:59 p.m. on Tuesday, Mayor Maury LaRue sought a moment of silence for veterans of the armed services. She got it. For approximately 60 seconds, heads were justifiably bowed in reverence, and all noise ceased. It was a golden moment indeed. But to the Native Americans in prayer on Bear Butte, this decibel drop was likely far too fleeting—especially given what followed. As the crowd looked towards the sky, just as planned, a B1 Bomber thundered past.
Mato Paha, South Dakota, a prayer site
Credit: National Trust for Historic Preservation
Christopher Percy Collier is an award-winning journalist who writes for the New York Times, Travel + Leisure, National Geographic Traveler, and other publications about travel, outdoor adventure, food, health, sustainable living, entertainment, advertising, business trends, and the environment.
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Comments
Submitted by Max at: October 10, 2009
I don't understand why the bike rally can't be scheduled for a time and place where the noise-making won't be obnoxious. This situation doesn't necessarily have to be an "either . . . or," does it? This sounds like something that could be mediated or resolved. Perhaps the helicopter flights and gun-firing could be eliminated from the rally, or replaced with something else. The bike rally brings a lot of money into Sturgis, and everyone who has ever had or ridden motorcycles knows about it. So I empathize with the bikers, and also understand the Indian concern. I just think this can be a "win - win" situation if some parties would be willing to undertake the necessary mediation and plans for accommodation. I don't think the bikers should be chased away. I think they should be approached and asked to sit down with locals in the Indian tribe and other locals, if necessary, and find a way to co-exist. After all, this isn't a year-round or constant thing. It's just a huge biker party, and not all bikers are boors (though some are). So work with the positive ones.
Submitted by Lewis Grimm at: October 6, 2009
If, as the article describes, the noise issue is associated with the single week during which both the biker rally and the Native American gathering take place, it would seem to me that a modest time shift by the organizers of the biker rally of 1-2 weeks either side of the long established Native American worship period might address much of the problem. If the Native American worship period is more extensive, the article is somewhat unclear on this, the resolution might be more complicated. It is also unclear if the comment that "...In 2006, a bill addressing these concerns was voted down..." applies to a failed legislative action at the local, state, or federal levels. Knowing which level of government took this action would be beneficial. Finally, since "...Bear Butte ... was added to the National Register of Historic Places in 1973 and is a National Historic Landmark and a state landmark" there would seem to be both federal and state agencies which could take a more decisive role in seeking an accommodation of the issue.
Submitted by White Mountain at: October 6, 2009
Thank you for writing such an empathetic article. While I do not observe the traditional religion of my people, I can certainly understand the desire for respect of that religion. We of the Lakota have long battled for respect. Respect of our beliefs, our people and our land. It is my hope that your article will help engender reciprocity among all who seek to acknowledge a greater power. Sincerely, Tonya White Mountain