The title is from a Neil Young song, a favorite of mine which begins: “We’ve been through some things together with trunks of memories still to come, we found things to do in stormy weather, long may you run”. The song was the title track of the Stills-Young Band album of the same name from 1976. A lot of people think he’s referring to a pet or lost love but the song is actually an ode to his first car, a 1948 Buick Roadmaster Hearse.

My V-Strom is now pushing 8 years of nearly daily duty and is showing signs of wear and tear. Back in 2005, once I had decided the V-Strom was to be my next bike, I took to calling dealers looking for one in red and black. I finally found one that was kept in a back store-room. It was covered in dust; apparently someone had thrown a rock through the dealership window, which bounced off the rear luggage rack and then the gas tank. I thought, “every great story has an interesting beginning.” So I bought it and waited for the replacement parts to come in.

Back in 2010 I was broadsided by a deer and thought Big Red was headed for the junkyard, but my brother and I tore her down to the frame and built her back up again. As a result she’s now got character: a slight deflection in the nose and some hairline cracks in some of the body plastic. I’ve come to know all the ticks and rattles she’s likely to make and I can tell you where every scratch came from. There are even boot scuff marks on top of the left side case from thousands of dismounts that alone tell a tale of hard use. Both of us carry visible, and some hidden, scars that tell a story.

Big Red has seen me through thunderstorms so severe we had to take shelter wherever we could find it to keep safe. We soloed 1,200 miles on a ride where my hands were so swollen I could hardly open the cold beer my sister handed me when I arrived, with knees so stiff it was painful to walk. We’ve ridden through nerve-wracking snowstorms and sweet-smelling spring mornings; through miserable heat and freezing cold; over mountains and through streams; country roads and city streets; ridden away from hurtful distrusting relationships and into a caring, trusting, loving one; visited my mother’s home and my father’s grave, and stopped to admire hundreds of glorious sunsets.

I’ve never been emotionally attached to a car, but I will miss this bike when it’s finally time to give her up. She’s got 54,000 miles on her now; who knows maybe we’ll get to 100,000. It would be fitting that I be the only rider in the life of Big Red. There’s nothing like a new bike, but nothing as irreplaceable as an old friend. After 8 years and so many memories I can easily see what prompted Neil Young to pen his elegy to “Mort,” the hearse he had driven from Toronto to Los Angeles in 1966, the trip that launched his career.

Long may you run.

Enjoy and ride safe.

Interspersed with the author’s own personal story of triumph, growth, discovery and overcoming adversity on her path to discovering her true calling are 49 other stories written by women who explain how integral motorcycling is in their lives and how they got their start.  The stories come from women of every profession and background from a stunt woman and mother of 3 to a policewoman responsible for training motorcycle police, to the world’s fastest woman on a motorcycle, as well as politicians, activists, authors, artists, businesswomen and musicians. Each shares her unique story in her own words.

Some of the stories involve women who were raised riding while others tell a tale of discovering it later in life. Having discovered riding at age 33 I can relate to the women in the book who shrugged off convention, faced their fears and refused to quit until they became competent riders. I run a motorcycle group with over 100 members, 30% of whom are women and I’ve had the opportunity over the years to hear some of their stories which mirror many of those shared in the book.

On a personal level the motorcycle has been an agent of change in my life as well so much of the book resonated with me. I saw a lot my personal history in the stories, particularly the learned fears and personal traps I’d set for myself that stopped me from becoming all that I was capable of becoming.

People take many paths to empowerment. Sadly, some never make the journey to becoming what they truly are meant to be; but for many the motorcycle is the catalyst for that change which then spills over into other areas of their lives. The women in this book illustrate that point beautifully in story after story. I was moved and inspired and often nostalgic when thinking back about my own fumbling beginnings on the bike, what riding has meant to me and how it has changed my life.

A common sentiment by the women who share their stories is that they reject being called “brave” or “courageous”. They own that they have all the same fears as everyone else; but of course the very definition of courage is the taking of action in spite of fear. So these women in fact personify courage and bravery; yet they are like so many empowered people: humble and quietly inspiring. Another common thread is that each woman, once empowered, felt the strong urge to pass that feeling on, to “pay it forward”, and help others feel it too. Once again that is a sentiment I connected strongly with.

I highly recommend Women, Motorcycles and the Road to Empowerment to not only women riders; but to everyone who rides or knows a rider, anyone who is considering riding and particularly to anyone who is unfulfilled in their current place in life, feels the universe has more in store for them and wants some inspiration to begin their own journey towards empowerment and personal growth.

I carry a laminated card in my tank bag with some of my favorite quotes printed on it. One of them is by Robert Louis Stevenson who said: “To be what we are, and to become what we are capable of becoming, is the only end of life” . Each of the stories presented in this book reminded me of that quote, which is so much a part of me. This book is a gift Liz Jansen has given the world.

Ride safe.

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I sometimes listen to music when I ride alone. Everything and anything from the classic rock I grew up with (AC-DC, Boston, Thin Lizzy, Van Morrison) to contemporary artists like Blue October, Amos Lee and Band of Horses. Bach and Yo-Yo Ma are sprinkled through my playlist too.

Every once in a while I hit a point in a ride when a certain song gets its turn just as I reach a particular stretch of road at a certain time of day under the right conditions, and it all clicks. A flawless moment grabs me and the world ceases to be anything beyond my senses, and I’m where I should be at that moment.

This morning I left for work on a typical Wednesday. The temperature was in the low 50s, and it was cloudy and damp. I hit a part of my commute where a profusion of lilac had begun an early bloom. As I rode with my shield up, Bijou by Queen started playing in my helmet. The song was featured in an IMAX film called The Alps that I saw a few years back. The film was about climber John Harlin III who was planning to climb a route on the north face of the Eiger, the same route that claimed the life of his father some 40 years earlier. Bijou is a soaring display of Brian May’s guitar playing and every time I hear it I get chills.

As I rode along, the temperature was cool enough to wake the senses and the air thick enough to hold the fragrance of lilac, freshly cut grass, and all the other sweet smells of spring in the palm of its hand. May hit his solo and with the steady, smooth hum of the V-Strom’s V-twin beneath me, I do believe I got lost for a while in the sheer bliss of sensory overload.

When I hit those points, the best thing about it is realizing it while it’s happening. I used to get the same feeling running or occasionally hiking or climbing. The feeling that you are one with the activity, that you’re getting it right, you’re in the groove, completely focused and yet lost in a daydream of motion and memory, scent, sight and sound.

The greatest rides are the ones where the problems and static and noise of everyday life are either behind you or in front of you – you’re on a different plane and there’s no space for the cacophony of a harsh world.

Few things take you to those places; but music, motorcycles, and of course, love can. I have those rides a lot; it’s probably what keeps me coming back for more.

Ride safe.

 The grimy, unloved, outlaw, kidnapper Smalls is often referred to as an “apocalyptic Harley riding biker” but the bike in the film is not a Harley, it’s actually a Honda VT500 (shadow) with some sound editing work to make it sound more like a Harley. I’m guessing it’s size makes Cobb look more menacing and the Honda was most likely cheaper than a Harley would have been; which meant ruining it in the film would save some money.

Raising Arizona is one of my favorite films. Another hilarious Cohen Brothers classic.

I am a huge fan of mountain climber and author Jon Krakauer. He is the author of Eiger Dreams, Into the Wild and Into Thin Air (the thrilling first hand account of the Everest tragedy of 1996). Into the Wild, which he wrote in 1996, was made into a film in 2007, and has one of my favorite movie lines: “it’s not always necessary to be strong, but to feel strong”.

I love the line because it perfectly describes the feeling of both climbing and motorcycling. In fact, it describes any physical and mental pursuit that expands the individual in some way. When we ride, we’re using all of our senses while balancing and controlling six-hundred to eight-hundred or more pounds of man and machine that is bound to earth on a mere two square inches or so of rubber. Not only that, but we have to control it while we navigate traffic, road and weather conditions, and share the road with other vehicles that outweigh us by three-thousand pounds at the same time.

Motorcycling is a balancing act that demands deftness of touch, courage, dexterity, focus and nerve that most people would rather make excuses to avoid. I have heard more people tell me why they don’t ride than I have heard people tell me why they do. Maybe it’s just difficult to convey our love for riding to people who find it so unfathomable. Part of the attraction, for me at least, is the challenge: I must get it right – there is no alternative. You simply have to be strong.

Twisting the throttle breathes life into a very powerful machine and that strength flows through us as we ride. Ralph Waldo Emerson said “We acquire the strength we have overcome,” mastery over a machine gives us the strength of that machine. It is a tremendous source of power and much like climbing, puts the fate of the individual completely in his or her own hands. Riding demands bravery, courage, resolve and strength; if only over the small spark of fear that can occasionally creep into our minds.

I have a little ritual I do on the last stretch of my commute where I stand on the pegs, take in some fresh air and sort of celebrate a successful ride and the strength I feel. I believe that’s what Krakauer was getting at. It is not always necessary to be strong, but to feel strong.

Ride safe.