Reflections: Babes Ride Out East Coast 3

At this point it’s a matter of odds, five ladies, five motorcycles, four problems. I’ve been the only one that has avoided a minor to major catastrophe and I have that sinking sensation that my minutes are numbered.

The first is an almost-broken-off key in a gas cap with no spare on board. The second is a faulty front tire -- not a flat front tire, a faulty front tire. As in: this only happens to one in every then thousand tires produced manufacturer’s defect tire. The third is a tip over in the gravely parking lot where said faulty tire was replaced. The fourth, two foot peg assembly bolts trying to leap to their freedom at highway speeds (luckily they were trapped by the shift linkage). While on the roadside repairing these bolts we also jump a dead battery.

I’m not superstitious, I don’t carry a lucky charm with me on the motorcycle. I don’t have a dangly bell to ward off “road demons” BUT this is odds and I’m now starting to tense up at the thought of, “I’m next.”

I’ve always been a natural worrier. It has impacted my life in so many ways for a very, very long time. Which is why long distance motorcycle travel seems like the least logical choice for a favorite past time.

Long distance motorcycle travel requires you to be equal parts maniac and masochist. When I started riding I checked the weather constantly, worried about getting stuck in a storm. I now find myself smashing camping gear, two completely different sets of armored riding gear, and of course heated gear (never leave on a trip without heated gear) into giant water proof bags knowing that at some point there’s going to be rain…  lots of rain… there is always rain.

You start to find yourself saying things like “200 miles? Oh we are really close” and “four changes of clothes will be plenty for a two week trip right?” When you come back to work after your vacation and you can’t shut up about the camping and the weather and the miles, your co-workers look at you as if they are contemplating committing you to a home for the clinically insane. All of that worry is eaten by many many miles.

Eventually and inevitably you will find other like minded morons who are just as ate up as you are and want to face all of the challenges that long distance motorcycling can offer. That’s exactly what I’ve found with my four companions on this trip. Four other incredible women who jumped at the chance to ride 1700 + miles for just 48 hours of hang out time, karaoke, and countless laughs.

In the last 100 miles of our day I reflect on the misfortunate series of events. None of them caused any injury, none of them took over an hour to resolve, and not one of us lost our cool. We identified the problem, fixed it, and voila! Back on the road. We supported each other, offered encouragement, and earned a few badass points along the way.

Ten years ago I would have worried myself sick over a 150 mile trip, now I’m able to shrug off 150 miles of downpours and mishaps. The challenge is the reward; the journey is the destination. But it does help when the other side of that journey is a kick ass weekend filled with 300 plus amazing female riders.

I did finally get my bad luck... in the form of almost dying by boat trailer, but that’s another story.