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My name is Irina. I am Russian. I was born in the small but very beautiful country of Kyrgizstan, in Central Asia. The country is bordered with Mongolia, Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan. My family could not afford a car, so we bought a motorcycle instead. It was a Russian version of the WWII German BMW motorcycle, the Ural. Most Urals have a sidecar.
Kyrgizstan is mountain country: high blue sky, snowcapped mountain peaks, green pastures, rushing cold clear-water rivers and serpentine like roads. Warm temperatures in summer and mild winters allowed us ride our Ural almost all year around. Three kids and two parents in one motorcycle! I squeezed between my siblings in the sidecar, bumping each others heads in helmets, looking down the road you feel like happiest kid in the whole world.
My family used to like going to pick wild tulips in spring. Every spring hills and some parts of the mountains were covered with blooming red, yellow and white wild flowers over the green grass. I remember, when I was probably 4 or 5 years old, we went to pick some wild tulips. I was wearing my helmet (I was so exiting to get flowers first; I didnt take my helmet off!). I ran up as high as I could, grabbing the biggest flowers I saw and ran back down to where my mother stood. Of course, it was a big mistake. All I remember, was trying to hold my flowers as tight as I could and rolled down the hill over my head again and again. My father caught me somewhere at the bottom of the hill. I had maybe three broken flowers left. But the helmet I was wearing saved me. I got just a few bruises on my legs and hands. Im 100 percent sure that the helmet is someones great idea.
Many years went by. It was the time of the end of the Cold War. The Berlin Wall fell. Gorbachev and Perestroika. Many other good and bad things happened in my life and the life of my country.
I met a great man. He was from the U.S. Then everything was like in a movie: marriage, moving to the U.S. I had to learn everything from zero again. It was very hard but very enjoyable. My first driving experience didnt go well from the beginning (I met my first snow bank sooner than I was hoping for!).
In 1998 for the first time in my life I saw Harley-Davidson motorcycles. It was the 95th Anniversary ride. One stop on this ride was through our city. These great, loud, shiny machines, leather, flags, tattoos and everything else added to the image of Harley riders. This was the same image I got from watching movies back in the USSR. Speed, black leather, and roaring vibrations combine to radiate sexuality as much for the onlooker as for the rider straddling 700 pounds of shiny metal. Even saying the name is enough to bring visions of leather jackets and open asphalt. The ear can detect the distinct “potato-potato-potato” lope of Harley-Davidson motorcycles miles away. The sound is so recognizable by anybody who has any kind of motorcycle. As Harleys thunder closer, I could feel the deep shudder of the V-Twin engines without thinking, at some level, that these machines lend a unique definition to the word “cool.” Sure, the head–to-toe leather serves a safety purpose: If you wipe out, you dont want to be on asphalt in denim or corduroy. But its hard to wear a studded leather vest and helmet without giving off the not-to-subtle suggestion that, even though youre a cardiologist, school teacher, or social worker, you are still one bad individual.
These were completely different people from a different world! I just fell in love with Harley-Davidson from the very first sight. I went home and first thing I asked my husband was if we could have one. For some reason (I still do not know why), he said, “Yes.” He had owned motorcycles before; during college he had experience riding the two-wheel machine. After shopping around for few months, we bought a brand new Harley-Davidson Heritage Softail. All our life changed with it new friends, new roads, new states. Our first big trip was to Sturgis holiest place on Earth for “real bikers.” We got to see and experience a lot from the beginning of the trip, from pouring rain to nasty winds and some crazy bikers who wont follow any road rules. Then there was Canada. It was nice to sit on the back seat, able to take pictures, rest and not worry about what to do next.
One year later my husband talked me into trying to ride myself. First I tried to ride a Honda scooter. For the sake of other people (remember of my snow bank experiment) he took me to a local island, where I could not hurt anybody. I asked my husband to sit behind me. This way I felt calm and secure. Slowly (on grass) I took off and scared myself immediately. The hard thing was not the ride itself; the hard thing is to learn how to stop a heavy vehicle without dumping it over. Also, I tried to take a safety motorcycle class and failed it on my second day! I almost killed myself and destroyed the courses motorcycle. The instructor very politely asked me to leave the course and maybe try again next time. This was my very first year of riding experience; I never rode anything before.
Russians are very stubborn people. Soon, I was scooting around the neighborhood on my scooter with my husband behind. Im sure, he looked funny behind me, but he didnt mind it. That fall he bought me a 2000 Harley-Davidson Sportster. At the Harley-Davidson dealer, I took my brand new Sporster for a spin. The first thing I did wrong was I tried to stop the bike without using the clutch. Of course it went down. The first time I rode by myself it was pouring rain and on winding roads. I did it. No problem. Since then I felt very confident about myself. I was ready to take another chance at the riding course. Two days before my course started something terrible happened. It was September 11 and everything was postponed.
Luckily, the next spring, I got a chance to take the safety course again. I told my instructor (the same one who kicked me out before), “I am back and this time I will stay until you teach me how to ride motorcycle!”
All summer and fall we were riding our bikes everywhere. We went to a Milwaukee rally. We went on a four day trip to the Upper Peninsula. Great place! It is a very beautiful where the roads look like they were designed for motorcycles. I put on more than 8,000 miles in my first year with only a few months of a riding season (we live in Wisconsin), making me feel very good about myself. I love to ride my Harley. My husband and me just cant get enough of it.
The next fall, I bought a Harley-Davidson Heritage Softail. I hope I will have many great and safe riding seasons ahead. Good luck to all of you.
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Gosh, after being sent home after the first morning class and told by instructors, “You just don't get it…” everyone's kind words here helped so much! I was the only lady in the class of six men and after dropping the bike once, and inadvertently hitting the throttle, I was pushed to the back of the class. Not only was I nervous because of the few mistakes, everyone else (all guys) watched each mistake.
Appreciate all words of inspiration and hope in my first learning to ride.
This is Irina's proud husband (or great man as she called me in her story — she tends to exaggerate). What she left out in her story is how she learned to ride the Sporty. I rode it home after she dumped it at the dealer. The next day, she asked me to take her to a nearby county park so she could practice riding on grass (to cushion the fall). What I found out when we got there was that she refused to ride it solo. I had to ride “bitch” for moral support. This was an 883 with a solo seat. I was riding on the rear fender with no foot pegs. My butt is still sore today! She never even told me she had submitted this story until after it got published. Sneaky Russian!
Awesome story, I am with you. I had an 800 Suzuki Intruder I dumped twice and managed to pick it up, last winter I got a Softail Deluxe and I love it. Ridden more so far this year than the last three together due to the awesome ride of the Harley-Davidson.
Very enjoyable tale to read. You certainly have come a long way from the little Russian girl bumpin' heads with your siblings in a sidecar. A “real biker” indeed. Keep logging those miles.
Thank you for reading my story. I want to update it. We were at Montana's National Rally in 2006. I tried demo ride on Street Glide and fell in love with this bike. I bought 2007 Street Glide at the Black River Falls Dealer in Wis. in the same year – 2006. I rode it to Sturgis all way. Rode through Needles Highway and feel like a “real biker” now. Ride and enjoy every moment behind handlebars!
–Irina Christel
Like the cigarette commercial stated, “You've come a long way baby!” To find new worlds and new visions should be an inspiration to many, not just to women riders. Your article is well written and very interesting. As a member and past officer of the same H.O.G. Chapter, I feel fortunate to know you and am honored to call you a “fellow rider,” and I hope that you do have many years of seeing our beautiful countryside and enjoying the open road on the back of your coveted Harley-Davidson. Ride safe, ride free, have fun, and enjoy every mile as you make your own memories.
Irina,
We enjoyed your story very much. Please keep writing about your adventures.
What a pleasant surprise to read an inspiring article from a fellow HOG chapter member. As a fellow Sportster dumper, converted Heritage Softail rider, I can see I'm in good company. You go girl!
Thank you for sharing your story. It is stories like yours that encourage me to get on my own two wheels and start to enjoy life by seeing what is out there.
Great story and awesome looking bike Irina. Our daughter lives in Green Bay, Wisconsin, and just bought a Heritage of her own. Her dad and I are look forward to the three of us riding our bikes throughout the Upper Peninsula this summer. You're right — the roads are incredible and scenery, especially along Lake Superior, is breathtaking.
Fantastic story! You are an inspiration to anyone who wants to learn to ride. I have a Heritage too. The thrill of logging in all those miles on the asphalt can't be beat. Ride on!