Your Stories

To some, the age of 50 is anticipated with dread. Me? I started planning my 50th birthday celebration a year or two before I even reached that age. I considered 50 a milestone to celebrate—a time to revel in the joy of feeling young and alive with endless possibilities!

After riding behind my husband on his Harley for more than 16 years, I decided I wanted to try riding on my own. While searching online for advice, I discovered Women Riders Now. I pored over each article, starting with “What To Expect,” which was so helpful. Yes, you will dump the bike, and yes, you will be nervous. OK, I needed to remember that.

I understand why it’s hard to explain the life-changing experience of riding to people that haven’t even been on the back of a bike. I used to be that woman. In 1995, I had my first ride on the back of a friend’s sportbike, going 110 down I-5 north of San Diego—definitely a thrill. A month later, a stranger took me for a short spin on his Harley, and I loved the rumble beneath my thighs.

Its a hot summers day and Im waiting at a red light. I turn my head left to follow the roar of 10 bikes and 12 riders as they zoom past me on Route 21. That looks like so much fun, but Im 54 years old and I dont know if I could learn to ride a motorcycle, let alone pick it up from the kickstand.

There are two types of women who commandeer their own motorcycles, the pulp celluloid fantasy: buxom, cigarette wielding, bad ass babes, or the ones in reality: large and in charge, could kick my ass 10 ways to Tuesday and appear to patronize the same barber as my father. I am neither of these. I am your typical aspiring adult: urban-living, liberal arts diploma-wielding, edgy preppy-wearing, considering a dog getting-female in her early 30s.

I dont ride a motorcycle to build or create an identity for myself. I am who I am whether I ride or not. I dont ride to prove that women are strong, brave and adventurous enough to ride motorcycles. I was those things before I began to ride and I think most women are, whether they like motorcycles or not (and still, the bravest, most challenging thing Ive ever done is raise kids!).

I grew up with many brothers and a dad who always had Harley-Davidsons and hot rods. It was inevitable that I would own both. My first motorcycle was a mini bike with a metallic silver seat cushion, the kind you pull the rope to start. I got my first hot rod when I was 15, a 1966 Ford Mustang.