Eight years ago, I gave up riding my own motorcycle when two separate non-motorcycle-related accidents within one year resulted in torn tendons on both ankles. It was my confident walking stride that was my downfall – literally. My husband calls it my authority walk. But that long stride in 4-inch heels ain’t great when you step on a random peanut shell at Texas Roadhouse or hurry in off wet pavement onto a linoleum floor. The first was painful, but the second, just a few months later, meant that I couldn’t put my feet down at a stoplight and be sure that they were going to hold me (and my 630 lb motorcycle) up. After the second time that they, in fact, did not, I opted to tuck in behind my honey when we headed out on two wheels. Hey! Nothing wrong with mobile spooning, right? Except, it really isn’t the same.
Fast forward eight years, riding up to Cave Creek, AZ, with friends, and I kept seeing women, about my age, rolling by on Harley trikes. Not the big, clunky ones with full fairings and wraparound trunks that look like lounge chairs on wheels, but sleek, pared down sporty trikes that just screamed ‘fun.’ I leaned forward to yell into my husband’s ear (he likes LOUD pipes), “I could do that.”
Well… don’t say anything about wheels and motors together in the same sentence around Steve unless you mean it; a week later my 2019 FLRT Freewheeler was parked in our garage! HA! He’s a good guy. <3
Of course, I was dragging my heels (not the 4” ones), because I did NOT want another vehicle payment. My thought had been to save for a solid down payment in order to keep the payments low. But Steve had another idea.
When my dad passed away a few years after my mom, we ended up with his van. It was getting old and unreliable, so, eventually, Steve traded it for a jeep. Which he loved. But when I said I might like to be back on my own wheels again, he gave it up in trade for my trike. He said he had been feeling like the van should have gone to get something for me. Family stuff means a lot to him, and he saw it as a part of their legacy.
So, I got my trike. And, in a roundabout way, it was from my mom and dad. I’m not sure my dad would have approved – which he would say never stopped me from doing anything 😉 – but my mom would have hopped on behind me at least once, just for the experience.
And that’s where the idea for this blog was birthed – and by Steve’s suggestion! I named my trike, Nellie, for my mom, and I often talk with her as I ride. I miss her. And I want to take her with me to enjoy this experience. I know she will always be on my shoulder, as well as in my heart.
Ride, Nellie, Ride: a woman’s contemplations on the Harley experience.
