Your Stories

Age, has never been a roadblock for reaching my goals. When I was 51, I went back to college and completed my Bachelor’s of Arts degree. At age 54, I took a dog-sledding trip and slept in a tent in the snow for three days. Then, at 62, I learned to ride a motorcycle.

I have always been in love with cars and motorcycles—even as a child—I loved old hot rods and vintage iron. I began riding motorcycles when I was 16, learning to ride my brothers Yamaha 185 Exciter before I learned how to drive a car. When I was in college, I bought my first bike, a Yamaha DT Enduro.

I turned into the empty Walmart parking lot one chilly April morning and spotted my older sister, Liz, parked and waiting for me, a big smile planted on her face. Wearing a black leather jacket, black gloves and boots, a helmet, and sunglasses, she and I could’ve been twins that morning. She was sitting on her cycle, primed for practice.

Every year I like to do a solo ride, but in February 2011 I slipped on the ice and broke my leg and ankle courtesy of the cruel Wisconsin winter. In July of that year, two surgeries later, my orthopedic surgeon finally gave me the all-clear to ride again.

A few winters ago my boss bought a Vespa for the office. He referred to it as the “company vehicle.” He and I were the company, and he had no intentions of riding the bright-yellow scooter himself. Basically, he bought the machine for me.

In law enforcement, motor officers are distinguished as the top 2 percent in the field. Female motor officers, like me, are the top 0.2 percent (roughly) of law enforcement—now that is an accomplishment! Of course, getting there wasn’t a walk in the park.

This lovely poem from a reader is an homage to motorcyclists everywhere who “know that four wheels move the body, but two wheels move the soul.”