I heard my first set of straight pipes on a shovelhead when I was seven years old. From that point on, all I ever wanted out of life was my own Harley, especially a shovel. I loved the sound, the look… everything about them. Motorcycles weren’t a thing in the house I grew up in. When my mom was 9 years old, she was a passenger in a car involved in an accident that killed a motorcycle rider. Her hand went through the windshield of the car and her pinkie finger on her right hand was severed. From that point on she feared bikes and made it clear that no one in her family would have one. When I was really young, my dad brought a Goldwing home. My mom said no way. He wanted it and she was adamant that it just wasn’t going to happen because he had three kids and she thought he’d die on it. Too much risk. They argued and dad went away to work for the week, as usual. She sold it out from underneath him while he was gone working out of state that very week. When my brother was 15 or 16 he bought a dirt bike, but it was too big and he never rode it much. He wasn’t really interested in it. I sure was, but it was far too big for me because I was only 8 or 9 at the time.
I was pretty much obsessed with Harleys throughout my high school years. I loved the look of bikers, loved bikes, but never really had the opportunity to ride much. My first ride was on the back of an old iron head Sportster with my brother-in-law, Rick. I was hooked! We almost wiped out at the bottom of a hill in soft sand, but it was still the greatest thing ever!
Got my first motorcycle at 21 when I lived in Texas, a 1969 iron head hardtail Sporty. Didn’t really ever ride it much because it was a headache with my ex. Never took a motorcycle rider course or got my endorsement. Really learned to ride on my second bike, a 1972 FLH, in short order… with a drunk guy (my former husband) on the back. Somebody had to get him home from the bar. Not the easiest lesson, but made it home every time. We picked up a 1965 Servi-Car trike one day and restored it. I rode that quite a bit until the axle broke and the wheel fell off. Eventually it got to where the ex didn’t want to ride anymore, so my sole transportation was the FLH because he would take our only car to work. I rode pretty slow around town for a few months, but became comfortable pretty quick. We spent a number of years riding with an AMA club in Texas. When I left him I had to leave the bike. I came north to where I grew up, enrolled in college, and bought a 1982 Yamaha 550 and finally got a motorcycle endorsement. At that point I just really wanted to ride and couldn’t afford a Harley. The Yamaha was a good deal and a solid bike that I rode that for a summer or two. In 2002, Les, the man who served as my dad, came home from Arizona with a custom Shovelhead in the back of the truck. I stood there and cried. It was a mishmash of parts and years, but it was a pretty shovel, mostly S&S. Dad thought he was buying a Harley and I never had the heart to tell him that it was less Harley and way more S&S because he would’ve felt cheated and would’ve agonized over it the rest of his life. I love that bike to this day. I rode it for the next 16 years every day that I could, which was often and a lot… daily in the MN summers and even in winter, if the temp was over 40 and the streets were clear. It’s still in my garage and needs some serious clutch work. I’ll get to it when I have some extra cash. Last year I bought a 2011 Street Glide with 8700 miles on it. I’d been wanting something I didn’t have to work on quite so often. And frankly, I’m getting older and wanted some comforts for trips… like a windshield. I ride long distances pretty often and the shovel is comfortable, but not as reliable as a newer bike.
This is my 28th year of riding. I’ve had one bad accident and several minor ones, lost my fiance, a brother-in-law, and a lot of friends to bike accidents. I still can’t imagine my life without riding. It’s the thing I love most. If I die riding, I die happy.
