The stories that weave us together… My two wheel story starts when I was three years old, my dad tearing down the driveway on his 1972 185 Suzuki kicking up dirt and disappearing onto the road. Me riding my 1972 sporty red Radio Flyer tricycle with white plastic tassels hanging from the bars chasing after him. As the story is told a neighbor saw me pedaling down the road by myself and gave my mom a call. Mom said when she got to me I was still going on my way with not a care in the world. My first solo half mile on the books at three years old. Go red Radio Flyer!
The mechanics of the bike along with riding was another love. My dad would tear down his bike in the living room and I would play mechanic and see how his parts would look on my lil’ tikes bike. I would sit quietly in hopes that he would ask me to tighten down a bolt with that shiny tool he called a wrench, or tighten a hose clamp with the screw driver.
As a young person I never had my own motorcycle, but I did have a blue Univega ten speed and she got me places. She was waxed and polished so many times it is amazing she had paint left on her. Not only did she look good she was at peak performance due to my constant wrenching. We road on long hilly country roads; to the beach, movies, school, Friendly’s and wherever else out of town that felt like an adventure. Adventure… two wheels… there seems to be a theme building.
As the years went by I traveled and moved all over the United States; I called myself a road dog. In the early 90’s I settled in Santa Cruz, Ca. and thirteen years later moved up to South Lake Tahoe where I fell in love with motorcycles all over again. My boyfriend at the time, Steve, was very much into dirt biking; he was part of Moto36, an AMA enduro race circuit. Steve got me started with a 150 Honda and for the next 15 years I completely immersed myself in the dirt bike community and worked my way up the chain of bikes. The boys had no mercy on me and taught me what it meant to put on the miles all day through rough terrain; endurance, persistence, speed, experience, and just plain grit and heart. We have been known to leave camp at sunup and roll into camp at sundown having covered a 100 miles of all variations of terrain and do it all over again the next day. I can keep up with most of the boys now on my 300 exc 2 stroke KTM, carry my own fuel and tools, fix my own bike, and get myself to and from perfectly self-contained with travel trailer and tools. They taught me well.
December 2014 I got a call from my brother in Ct. “Mom’s health is in danger, you might want to come home. Cancer.” Three weeks later I pull into my brothers driveway in Ct. in my 1997 GMC truck with my paint sprayer, sewing machine, mountain bike, and my KTM. I haven’t been back for 20 years and I don’t know how long I am staying but I have my essentials.
In February mom is diagnosed with a rare pediatric soft tissue cancer, stage 4. Taking a very aggressive approach she starts a one year course of action with heavy doses of chemo and radiation. By the middle of the summer we are in the thick of it; I don’t feel a lot of joy in my life… I am exhausted and hate seeing my mom suffer. I need some joy, a distraction, some sense of hope. In rides my childhood friend KC on his 2006 Street Glide. From that moment on almost all my free time was spent with KC on the back of the bike. I cried, laughed, prayed and meditated on the back of that bike. Those two brought sanity and serenity back into my insane world.
My moms health got better before it got worse and I needed to be on my game. For me to be the best daughter I could be I needed to admit I was powerless over alcohol and quit drinking. On December 25th 2015 I had my last beer at a Japanese restaurant. I made a plan that if I stayed sober for over a year I would reward myself with a Harley and the adventure that came with it. Mom and I started researching, looking at, and discussing what would be the right bike for me. I wanted a bagger; I wanted to put on some miles and do some camping. For my first Harley do I really go for the big girl? Then I thought about how many times back in the day I told myself I had wished I got a big girl dirt bike right away. With my moms reassurance I decided I had my big girl pants on and a bagger it was.
The next fall on October 17th my mom passed at home. It was a picturesque New England fall day, the air smelled sweet, the sun was warm, and the breeze cool. A perfect day for a long ride and a real good cry. The wind in my hair and tears streaming off my face I told my mom I would continue to live my life to the fullest. Keeping my sobriety I would get that bike, see new places and meet new people. Honoring the strong independent woman who helped to build the Throttle Gypsy in me. I would ride for her, for me, my sobriety, and for all those daughters, mothers , and sisters looking for some joy and serenity. In April 2017, 16 months into sobriety I purchased Aretha, and I started writing a new story. A story full of adventure and healing.
