Growing up as a child, I remember every summer standing near the gates watching the groups of motorcycles riding pass. I would stand there in awe up until the very last bike passed. I would then tell my best friend, “that’s gonna be me someday. Im gonna be the only female riding with the guys.” She would laugh and tell me how crazy I was.
As I got older, the passion to ride grew stronger and stronger. In 2004, my cousin had a terrible motorcycle accident. He actually died 3 times and was bought back. He suffered a fractured skull, broken neck, broken knee cap and broken elbow cap. Hospitals said he would never walk, talk, let alone ride again. I vowed at the time that the only way I would ride was if he survived and rode again. Through the power of prayer & family, he pulled through and started riding again. Cool.
Next on my list was to have my cousins best friend, now my President, teach me to ride. He agreed. Before he had a chance to start my lessons, he went down. Broke both of his fibulas. He swore off riding. Said he was done, would never touch another motorcycle. In my mind, down went Frazier. That was it. No riding for me. I would just buy a motorcycle for the sake of saying I had 1. A few months later, I go on fb and what do I see, this guy, now My President, had just brought a new motorcycle. Booooooooooom, I’m back on track.
I bought my motorcycle in 2011 and havent stopped riding since. It’s in me. It’s in my blood. I love riding.