Travel | Your LifeMy favorite bartender, a ponytailed, tattooed man-mountain named “Bullfrog,” slammed his Red Bull, crumpled the can and swung a leathered leg over his Harley. It was 3 a.m., and I was leaving a bachelorette party at a downtown DC bar. Bullfrog was leaving for Sturgis, S.D. and its annual orgy of motorcycle riders. For one August week each year, some 600,000 “hogs,” “choppers,” “trikes” and even the high-speed neon “crotch rockets” normally snubbed by traditionalists nearly double South Dakota’s population. Riders of …