I was first introduced to motorcycles through my godbrother Ruben. Ever since I was little anything he did I followed behind doing the same. He got a vw and raced it. I got a mustang and raced it.

When he bought his bike, cbr 600 rr, I was super excited. I told my mom I want one and I’m getting me one. His mom told him it was not lady like and don’t put ideas into my head. So I chilled for awhile. Then in May of 2008 he died in an accident on 287. I got a call in the early early morning from his cousin telling me he was dead. I was tore up and broken beyond belief.

As we prepared for his funeral I sat my mom down and told her I was going to buy a bike as soon as I could pay for it in cash. A family secret we did not publicly tell people was my mothers health was not well. She had been suffering/living with systemic lupus. At that time she had lost her ability to speak due to strokes she had in 2005 and was having frequent seizures among a plethora of daily ailments. Not to mention her dialysis.

My mother and I had our way of communcating through sounds and faces. She expressed to me she was ok with my desire and asked how I would learn. I told her not to worry I already had my endorsement since I had previously taken a rider course. Whoops I forgot to tell her that but heyyy at least I was safe. lol.

I got my first bike in 2009 and I was hooked, it was a 2005 gsxr 600. My mom saw it and approved. Although she was getting worse I wanted her to see me ride. I had a friend who would go out with me and he helped me to get her out of the house and I made a few passes so she could see. She was crying and amazed. She gave me the “mothers love hug” and was crying. At the time I didn’t know this would be the last time she would see me ride as she lost her fight in Feb 2010.

I ride for my godbrother who saw it in me and my mother who lived life to the fullest. I know both would tell me to remember each day is a blessing so live it true and to the fullest.

I grew up in an abusive household and was kicked out onto the streets at an early age. I spent many days not knowing where my meal would come from or where I was gonna lay my head. I moved in with a family member to finish school, get a job and get myself together. While continuing on my path to better myself and prove my father wrong, I had to battle my depression and insecurities. I was on the right path and I started dating a guy who rode a motorcycle.

One day he asked me to take a ride with him from NY to MD. I was terrified at first but then I said “you only live once”. He gave me a spare helmet and I got on the back of his bike. At first, I was terrified and kept my eyes closed tight. His only instructions were hold on tight and lean with him. Once I felt the warm breeze on my face after dealing with traffic, I fell in love.

I felt free of worries. I felt free of stress. I had a clear mind and enjoyed the beauty of the environment. No more thoughts of my struggles. No more thoughts of my father. No more daydreams of my past. No more depressed thoughts. Just the feeling of being free like a bird. I got addicted and wanted to go on more rides. Riding felt like the medication I needed to get me past my thoughts.

One day I asked his opinion about getting my own bike and learning to ride. He said “absolutely not, my place is on the seat behind him”. Needless to say I was signed up for the Tramas Riding School that spring. My coworker owned a few bikes. I explained my plans and he sold me a Yamaha YZF 600.

During the summer it was hard to find people to ride with me until I felt more secure. I grew impatient and since I had my motorcycle license, i started going on the road alone. It started with just around the area. Next my destination was to ride to friends houses and when I got comfortable I started hitting the highway.

Now…I’m crossing state lines and loving it. Not only did I love the ride but it taught me so much. I learned to love me more.

Well in the beginning it was just something to do with my husband. I never had a desire to ride a motorcycle let alone get on one. I RIDE for ME and thrill I get every time I mount up. I will tell every woman that ever thought about riding to try it, it may be for you or it may not but do it. When I’m riding I have a peace that comes over me that no one or nothing can take away. I get personal with my motorcycle when I’m on him or when I’m in the garage cleaning him up.

Your WHY need to be why you ride not someone else. The question is why do I still ride after so many close calls and I always say because MY ANGELS ARE SOME AWESOME ANGELS. God hasn’t decided to take me higher so I continue to ride.

Riding is a passion that I continue to visit weather hot, cold, or raining I love my Softail.

Well, in the beginning I didn’t know any females that rode. But I thought it would be cool. My brother and his friends all had bikes. I would ride on the back, but knew after a few times that I could not stand the feeling of someone else being in control. So I started to hound my brother to teach me.

At the time, he parked his bike, a 900RR, in a garage that was at the bottom of a steep hill. He told me if I can get the bike up the hill without it shutting off he would teach me. So I tried. The first time, I went up the hill and got stuck right in the middle so I rolled back down backwards. I tried again and the second time I made it to the top.

I was excited and kept pushing for more, so he decided to let me go up and down the block with him on the back a few times and then by myself. The next day I went to Orchard Beach and rode around in the parking lot learning how to switch gears and so forth. That same day I rode back to the garage on my own and the rest is history.

I ride because its my passion and the only thing I love as much as my children, family and self.

As I child, I was a tomboy and liked to play with the little boys and do what the little boys liked to do. I tinkered around with things and rough housed with the boys proving that I could play as rough, or harder than, they could.

I was around people that rode motorbikes. My step-dad rode a bike and was in a club. My uncles, and cousins rode bikes. So, I was fascinated by them. I was always ready to get on and ride. I got my first burn on my leg when I was twelve years old, but that didn’t stop me from riding. I was just ready for the next ride.

When I got older, my first boyfriend rode a motorcycle, a Goldwing. He used to pick me up all the time, and we would be in the wind, day and night, hot or cold. It didn’t matter as long as I was riding. So, finally he taught me to ride on that big Goldwing. Right after I learned, I got pregnant with my son. Brought everything to a halt. But, in spite of that, I still had that drive to want to ride.

I could hear a motorcycle in the neighborhood, and my antennas would pick up on it and try to locate it. I would pull my car over on the side of the road, just to get a ride on a bike. I never asked his name, phone number, or tried to get with him. I just wanted to ride.

I was riding with another fella one day. We were flying up this long country road. We got to the top of the hill, and there was nothing but gravel and fence line. There was no way, we would be able to stop without wrecking out. I just prepared to fall, and stay away from the hot pipe. No serious injuries. Got up, dusted myself off, and was ready to ride again. I always knew one day, I would ride.

I finally got the chance in 2001. The opportunity to get my own bike. I was so excited. I didn’t think I would remember because it had been a minute since I rode myself. But I picked it back up. The guys I rode with showed me no mercy. It was either keep up or get left behind. It was challenge at first, but I did it. My first bike was a ZX600R (Ninja).

Then I rode with the funeral escort service for a minute on the police motorcycles (KZ1000). I thought that was neat. My next bike was ZX9 (Ninja), and then I went to the Busa. I’m on my second Busa now.

I don’t ride just for the look, to be cute, or sexy! Well, that’s an added incentive. But, I ride, because I enjoy it. The adrenal rush!! There’s nothing like it. I will never stop riding until I’m just too weak to hold that piece of iron up. I might change bikes, but the thrill of the ride will not stop.

Riding has been in my family for years… Both sides have had motorcycles in their past.. My great grand father on my dads side rode and my uncles on my moms side built bikes as a hobby…

I fell in love with them when my brother bought his first “crotch rocket” when i was in my mid-teens… I didnt start riding myself until my late 20s… I bought a 1972 Honda 550four at auction and loved that POS for two seasons.. then life happened…

A major move… Kids… A rough break up… Once i was out on my own i didnt know how to handle the anxiety of being alone for the first time in my life… I always had someone with me and doing everything on my own with two small boys was overwhelming… So i started drinking, a lot.

Every chance i had when i didnt have my boys i got drunk… When i did have them i always had a bottle of wine to sip on… One day i really sat back and looked at my life… What i was putting myself through… What i was missing out on as far as my boys were concerned and i hated what i saw… So i started trying to figure out what i could do other than drink my life away….

I went to help out at my church for a community event one weekend and there were some Ruff Ryderz there volunteering and thats when it hit me… Imma get another bike… I would never drink and ride and i know it’s something that will make me happy long term instead of just for a few hours…

Three years later i barely touch alcohol. My passion for riding has taken me places i never thought I’d see… I got to live out a dream of mine that I’ve had since i was a teenager and that was getting on the track…

My boys are getting more and more interested in bikes.. And i’ve made so many meaningful relationships with people i never would have met if i didn’t ride…

Riding literally changed and probably saved my life….

I don’t really have an inspirational story on why I began riding. There was no life changing event that put be “behind bars”.

I have always thought motorcycles were the coolest things on the road but my parent were EXTREMELY OPPOSED to me riding. Even in my early adulthood, their opposition made me reluctant to get a bike as I didn’t want to make their lives even more stressful than I already have. I can admit I was a very difficult child to raise.

After I grew up, got married and had a child, I realized that my desperate need for an adrenaline rush wasn’t going anywhere. I managed to convince my husband that I needed a motorcycle. I explained that it would save money on gas for my morning commute so it was an “economical” move. Somehow, to my surprise, he agreed.

With help from one of my buddies that has been riding for a long time I bought my very first bike…2005 Suzuki GSXR 600. A few days later I decided to ride it to work (my first ride outside my neighborhood). That’s when everything changed. I became HOOKED…no other way to put it. I absolutely fell in love with everything about being on the bike. I love the short rides as much as the long ones. I enjoy the scenery, the feel of the wind, and most of all I loved the adrenaline rush I feel every time I’m on my bike.

Today I’m on my 3rd bike. A 2001 GSXR 1000, his name is TheBeast and we have a very special relationship. He definitely takes me to my “happy place” every time we spend time together. The longer trips tend to be a little bit uncomfortable on a sports bike, so a Harley Davidson is definitely in my future.
One thing I can say with complete confidence is that NOT riding will never be an option for me as long as I’m breathing.

As a child growing up in the suburbs of Long Island, NY I was always fascinated with motorcycles. Not because there were many around me, my next door neighbor being the only person I knew with a scoot, but because the notion of me on one fit with my rebellious nature. To say I was a handful to parents was an understatement. My mother refused to let me have a moped or dirtbike due to my reckless behavior and other such wonderful characteristics I displayed throughout childhood – broken bones at 3 different times and stitches all before I was 12. Thus, I was left to fantasize as I watched biker movies, which were fairly violent and raunchy, throughout the seventies and eighties.

In my early teens my neighbor, Love Smith, took me for a ride on his Harley Davidson. It was black, loud, huge and I was enthralled. I knew one day I would own a motorcycle. Maybe not the one he had but a bike nonetheless.

I finished school, went off to college, had my first child, settled into life in Harlem, NY and began my professional career. Then I turned 30. I felt that I had done all that was expected of me, from my parents standpoint, and had been a good mother to my daughter. It was now my turn for something special. New credit card in hand and off I go to purchase a motorcycle.

I didn’t know anyone who rode other than a few of the guys from the neighborhood who knew how to ride or were riding dirtbikes – none owning a motorcycle. I took one of these guys and to the bike shop we went. I purchased my first motorcycle, sportsbike, and had him ride it back to my block. My lessons consisted of going up and down the sidewalk, around the block several times and then I was on my own. With many mistakes to come I had to self teach myself other skills, leaning in a turn and not drifting into another lane being a very important one. I was a natural on a motorcycle.

I’ve owned two sportsbikes, Kawasaki ZX6 and ZX10R, and currently own a Harley Davidson Fatboy Lo. The sportsbike provided an adrenalin rush never before felt. I remember when I hit 100mph for the first time on the 6. I remember topping out at 187 on my 10. The rush from white lining between tractor trailers going into curves shook off most men who attempted to race with me. Yes, in the streets of NY I was that chick. Then I moved on to my Harley, Mr Dirty Dirty, and was provided a different type of rush. When I step off my hog I am as bad ass as they come, in my mind of course.

Now I’ve ridden all across the country, on my 10 and on my hog. My tires have touched the 48 continental states of America. I have ridden into Mexico. I had to rent in Hawaii. Alaska will be my next big journey. Solo cross country trips are becoming a staple of mine so I no longer count them as accomplishments. Just another road trip.

However, as I’ve been riding for the past 15 years, the reason I ride has taken on a different meaning for me, a metamorphosis so to speak. I used to ride for the thrill and excitement. I’ve always been a passionate rider. I was given Biker status, after my first solo cross country trek – 30 states in 21 days that included the Iron Butt challenge of 3000 miles in 72 hours. I thought I had arrived. But I began to realize something far greater than me – the inspirational women I came into contact with.

I know women who have physical ailments, such as Lupus, who ride. I had the honor of riding with a woman who had 12 brain surgeries and rode with a neck brace to keep her head steady on a trike – she could no longer ride any of her 2 wheeled hogs. I know women who can not enjoy the life on a bike such as we do for a variety of reasons. And I ride for each and everyone of them. I have seen women buried because of their love for riding and I lost a very close and special friend, Brown Suga, last year. They can no longer ride in this world, only in spirit. I ride for them knowing they are the wings beneath my tires. I ride for the women who can’t take the time off or have spare money, to traverse the country as I have done, because they are the primary care givers of their family and that comes first. The little girls who come talk to me as I sit on a curb by my scoot eating lunch in an unfamiliar state. I ride for them. All the women who give me the thumbs up, wave or take a pic as they see me and Dirty Dirty, fully packed, on the highways far from home. I ride for them. The women, young and old, who have been told they can’t do something, that’s a mans thing and any other type of put down to keep a woman in place and secluded from the world. I ride for you.

I RIDE FOR US