Trust And Submission – Motorcycle Accident

Smasher And Deucez TRMC
Smasher And Deucez TRMC

I have been around the Motorcycle Set here in Seattle for a little while now. I started off by riding on the back and now have a Harley of my own. There are so many women with guys who ride that will not get on their dudes bike. This has always been pretty crazy to me – it’s what he does and if you want to be with him you better do it, or someone else might. I have often said that riding on the back of a bike is an exercise in trust and submission, a lesson a lot of woman can stand to learn, on and off a bike. To just give up and know he will care for you. To move your body and mind in concert with him helps you learn to let him be the man. Sadly it seem a lot of woman can’t do that and given a recent event my commitment to that philosophy is going to be tested.

On Jun 22 I was riding on the back of my dude Smashers bagger from Tacoma. We were with other club brothers and sisters. As we came around a corner on Route 7, I felt him get on it, nothing unusual, he is a confident 35 year veteran rider. In that split second I knew something was going wrong, the bike shook and the guardrail was coming right at us. I grabbed on to him harder and locked my legs into the bars.

The next thing I remember was my sis Lovely running past me, and some woman I don’t know holding me forcefully to the ground. I looked back to where Lovely had disappeared. I could see the love of my life about 20 feet away not moving, without a helmet on. I later learned it was completely destroyed and came off in the accident. My head started spinning, the greatest sense of panic and fear I have ever felt washed over me. He was just lying there in a ball. I started screaming SMASHER!!! SMASHER!!! LOVELY tell me he is alive.

SMASHER is my life; if I have any consolation for going through all the things in my life he is the million-dollar prize at the end of that. He loves me, cares for me, most of all he entertains my bullshit and holds a steady kind hand on me to keep me in line. In those first seconds the sense of possible loses was overwhelming. I managed to fight the woman holding me off and get up, even though I was pretty injured myself. In my fog all I could think was I had to get to him and hold him, if these were his last moments I wanted him to not be scared and know I loved him more than anything else. As I started for him I could see him start to move struggling to sit up and Lovely close to his face talking to him. I was still screaming SMASHER, MY MAN, SMASHER! I check my phone, saw it was not damaged, (OTTORBOX) I hit speed dial for his mother.

She answered, I quickly said we were in an accident, as I got up to him, he was fully sitting up but very disoriented. I handed him the phone, “Smasher it is your mother, talk to your mom”. He did for a few seconds, someone handed the phone back to me. From here on there was a lot of confusion, ambulances, club members, strangers and police. I recall the police wanting to do a field sobriety test on him, a guy who had lost his helmet in a motorcycle accident, me absolutely going nuts on them and Lovely trying to calm me down. I wanted to ride with him in the ambulance, but they wouldn’t let me. I wanted Lovely to take me to the hospital, but there was an ambulance there for me also. Through the confusion I was convinced to get in my own. I would not let them put braces on me or tie me down.

All things considered we were pretty lucky. I have a good size road rash on my leg and my hand. I am having some trouble with my fingers on my clutch hand moving exactly correctly which is most noticeable when I type. Sadly I was not dressed for the ride, it was not planned, I had just come from a job interview. I was wearing a full-face helmet, no gloves and dress pants.

Smasher was hurt a bit more, because his modular helmet was destroyed on impact. He cheekbone was broke, ear almost ripped off and some road rash on his arm. If he had, had a half shell on he would be dead, something to consider brothers and sisters. The biggest effect of him being knocked in the head is struggling with getting angry quick and even now after a month he feels dizzy if he moves his head quick.

You can read more about my experience at Tacoma General Hospital here…

You’re asking if we are riding again?

Well yes, we are, mostly him though, he started off immediately riding the piglet (my sportster) most days when he went back work. He bought his totaled bagger back and fixed it enough to ride it as soon as he took it off the truck. Duct tape, no crash bar and purple flame bags on a black bike, most importantly stereo works. Last weekend was Sun and Surf in Ocean Shores and he was committed to riding, though the original plan was to take my piglet down on the truck. I don’t feel apprehensive about getting back on my own, but can’t yet because the lack of strength in my clutch hand. I didn’t ride on the back of his bike to the event; 2 hours on the back with my leg still healing and bent would have never worked and I don’t feel ready for freeway riding yet.

I did ride with him while we were down there, though I was pretty scared. Sometimes even sitting on the couch I can see that accident getting ready to happen and I just shake.

It was pretty hard thing get on the back on, hard to give up that trust, hard to submit, but he is my man and I will follow where he leads, that is the natural correct order of life. Even on his duct taped Harley with mismatched bags!

Why I Ride… All Ova

Why I Ride

Initially when I began writing this piece, I got deep with it. I got into the pivotal moments throughout my life that led me to my journey on two wheels. And although the stories were deep and touching, the reality is, I ride because I am an a$$hole. I love the freedom that comes with the wind in my face, and the middle finger to all those that don’t feel I should be doing it. The more society frowns on something that has no logic behind it, the more I embrace and seek it.

Society does this great job painting this picture of what we should “look like” and how we should carry ourselves. They give us this book of “norms” and tells us, “live your life this way and end up successful and accepted in society”. Problem is most of it lacks logic. And if it lacks logic. I defy it, making me an a$$hole.

I hear men often say a woman needs to know her place. It burns me because I personally believe my place is any where I chose to place myself (within reason and logic). Riding a motorcycle is no different. Motorcycles start and ride without testosterone, so hearing so many males amazed that women ride and ride hard, baffles me. Hearing people say a women can ride a motorcycle, but she will never have male genitalia annoys me. Hell, I have a vagina, have carried a child for 9 months, endured 36.5 hours of labor without an epidural, and suddenly something like getting on a machine is something I can’t do. Whatever….

If there is no moral dilemma or code broken, and it make no sense in its existence, I will challenge it. I challenge it primarily because societal norms typically exclude the ability to advance certain classes of people. Women and minorities have all been held back by societal standards. So I chop away piece by piece at the foundation of any standard that does nothing to empower and instead creates a “faux” glass ceiling.

Early on in life, I had an infatuation with fictional characters. Pinky Tuscadero on Happy Days, Batgirl on Batman, Christie Love on Get Christie Love and Foxy Brown from her many Blacksploitation films. I had an infatuation because these women were opposite of what society dictated women should be, yet empowered and strong. I always wondered why any woman would want to be a Damsel in Distress when there were so many notably strong competent women kicking ass in the world. My studies of African American history as a child revealed other monumental strong and historical women and people of “color”. The accomplishments of Harriet Tubman, Sojourner Truth, Angela Davis were so much more intriguing than the June Cleavers and Mrs. Cunningham’s of the world. So why would I ever want to settle for “pin curls and pumps”?

Besides all of what I stated, my parents also taught me that there was nothing I couldn’t do. They instilled in me to never allow my gender or race to block me from getting what I knew I could. So my entire life has been built on taking challenges and winning. That spirit infused with my first experiences riding on the back of a motorcycle created the woman rider I am today.

Although my first encounters on a motorcycle were typical “riding b!tch” to a man, feeding his ego, I soon understood out there were real live Pinky Tuscaderos and Batgirls. They were real women riders that had just about as much passion for riding as men. Suddenly I felt empowered to take on riding.

My first experience riding on my own came after I had returned from an emotional “b!itch” ride to Myrtle Beach the year my father died. His death triggered anger in me. I had anger that no one could stop. I literally had over 30 fights that year, had been arrested numerous times and lived in courthouses fighting Assault charges. I had men and women trying to knock me down to make a rep for themselves because my reputation was “That b!tch is crazy. She straight doesn’t give a f#ck about consequences.”. I had been shot at, a gun place to my head for refusing to back down and sliced with a razor. And no matter I went through, nothing seemed to phase me. Nothing was enough to scare me.

But I saw my mother grew weary. She had lost her husband and was widowed at 45. My then boyfriend scooped me up and took me on a 10 hour ride to Myrtle Beach, and that changed my outlook. When we came back he taught me to ride. I couldn’t afford a bike, being that I was a single parent. So whenever he came around, he let me ride his motorcycle. He was killed the next year and that put a halt on my riding.

I went on through life, living a life that was “acceptable and successful” based on societal standards. I had a 6 figure job, a husband ,a house and luxury autos. We had a great marriage. He didn’t cheat on me, but I did. I wasn’t happy. My life was “vanilla”. He knew I loved motorcycles but assured me that as long as I was his wife, I couldn’t own or ride a motorcycle. So eventually, I asked him for a divorce. I couldn’t live a lie any longer. I craved everything society said was no, tattoos, motorcycles, and traveling the roads.

We separated and I bought my first motorcycle in 2005, a few months after we separated. It was a GSXR 600. Once I got back on the saddle, I felt free. My violent tendencies minimized. I found peace and serenity on the open road, often alone. Singing at the top of my lungs on back roads in the Poconos and most scenic roads Pennsylvania offered. I soon began getting up on a Saturday and riding further and further alone. One Saturday I rode solo, to Myrtle Beach, checked into a little dive hotel and turned back the next day and rode back.

So why do I ride, I ride because I know it pisses folks off, it challenges everything society says I should be, but most importantly it is the “music” that soothes the savage beast in me.

The Bosozoku Girls

The Bosozoku Girls Written by: Contro-versial

Bosozoku girls have rejuvenated a sub-culture that has been in rapid decline since the 1980s in Japan

The Bosozoku Girls Bosozuku (‘violent run tribe’) consists of biker gangs which rebel against the strict rules of Japanese cultural in favor of a life on the road. Also known as the ‘kaminari zoku’ (thunder tribes) when it began in the 1950s, the group focuses on disrupting traffic in any way possible including running red lights, driving recklessly including speeding and traffic weaving, illegally modifying their bikes and ignoring noise restrictions.Members are traditionally characterized by their modified motorcycles which often include elements from American choppers and British café racer style bikes, as well as their elaborate costumes.

The Bosozoku Girls The women of these Japanese gangs say they are breaking away from gender stereotypes by challenging the domestic roles expected of women in modern Japan.In their own words, they are all about proving that ‘Japanese women can wipe their own ass’

Many of the female members were introduced to the gang culture from ex partners before deciding they wanted to ride as well, the video explains.The gang’s activities are focused on road disruptions: running red lights, driving recklessly including speeding and traffic weaving, illegally modifying their bikes and ignoring noise restrictions, particularly when modifying their bikes. But they have also been linked to gang violence. The girls are also out to prove that the subculture is not a dying one, despite Japanese National Police Agency reports stating that the number of recognized Bosozoku members nationwide, hit a record low of 7,297 in 2012.

The Bosozoku Girls This is down from the recorded 42,500 members at the subculture’s peak in 1982, according to the Japan Times.

The reduction in member numbers is considered to be a result of a police crackdown and subsequent road traffic law revisions in 2004, which gave more power to police.

Motorcycle gang members are so used to evading police, whom will target riders just for wearing a identifiable Bosozoku uniform, that members bikes are designed to help lose police cars in a chase. For this reason, handlebars are bent downward and inward in order to allow riders to weave between traffic.

1000 Cuts for Women in an MC

1000 Cuts for Women in an MCI have learned that sometimes being in an MC means death by 1000 cuts. I say this because you do not have the power to prevent those countless cuts from happening. Even the tiniest of things can easily build up to something massive – making one feel as if they are facing death by 1000 paper cuts.

The cuts started early. You’re discouraged and humiliated when first starting to learn to ride in a group. As for myself, I can remember standing on the side of a freeway terrified, cars rushing by, and everyone screaming what a failure I was. Yet, my thoughts were how was I going to kill myself and everyone with me?

Few people give you credit for how scary it actually can be when you are first starting out on a motorcycle. By nature, most women are not in the business of risk taking, especially when it comes to physical challenges. Initially that is a pretty big hump – not only to face but to conquer. To this day I still get anxious riding with others, even though I have gotten comfortable at doing it on my own or with my guy. A paper cut for every ride.

Another dilemma is that the majority of current MC’s have next to no women in them. There are men who are supportive of a woman who is attempting to prospect and fit in, without displaying any interest in them on a sexual level. However, the women who are companions to these men constantly see you as a threat. Of course you must be there only to find some man to be with, particularly their man. Another cut.

It is problematic when men do not take you serious, or for that matter, don’t even listen unless you are screaming. But now they say you are crazy. You learn pretty quick to be a bitch, be ignored, or worse yet, be pushed around. What you are left with is years of pushing yourself to hard because you believed you had something to prove to others. Numerous paper cuts for prospecting.

Now you are going to functions on the set. The men consistently make cracks and tell stories about how their wives/girlfriends don’t understand why they do this thing called motorcycling and give them shit about being in an MC. The men constantly justify their exclusion of their significant others, so they can run around and misbehave with impunity. Yet I take issues with the negative comments. The comments are clearly intended to be a joke they can all identify with, and most of them do as the population is largely male, strait and generally misogynistic. For those of us who are not men, it’s an ever present signal that we’re not considered a part of the brotherhood, that maybe we don’t actually belong like we originally thought we did. Very few of the women have the ability to stick together and maintain a united front for the protection of one another. The competition for male attention, not necessarily sexual, and need for their approval stands in the way of almost any real sisterhood. The heavy drinking easily can make you feel unsafe and put you in harms at events. A paper cut for every event.

You may work extremely hard, such as in in my case, and get into an MC to then find yourself consistently faced with someone in authority patting you on the head and dismissing any argument or concerns you have about things going on around you that are wrong. Dismissive of you as though you were nothing more than a child —something they would not do if you were “one of the boys.”
The cuts still keep coming.

Then there is a problem with your reaction to any given situation and this reaction becomes the focus of concern and not the situation at hand. How many time have I heard, “well yes that was fucked up but your reaction was wrong” for this reason or another. More times than not, once you calm down you may see they were actually correct in regards to your inability to maintain your composure. This leaves you feeling even more self loathing because of the constant feeling of failure in trying to negotiate the land mines if this MC life. When one feels so embattled, wrongly they may lash out in every direction in an ill guided attempt to find relief. Even with the self knowledge that you never set out to mess with someone maliciously is no consolation. The ever present feeling that you can’t get it right is exasperating. The cuts keep coming.

Some of these same men, who are supposedly your brothers, take to talking about The physical attributes of you such as, the way you dress or how much you weigh. This in turn can make a woman not only uncomfortable but lead to self doubt in herself. You are asked to cook and serve food for functions you should be participating in as an equal member of the group, but instead you’ve been placed in the stereotypical role of female duties. The brothers make sexually charged comments about woman around you and expect you to participate or at least behave like this objectification is cool. Others say that you don’t ride enough even though they hardly ride themselves. A thousand cuts for the riding world.

Every time you push to make things better or different, you are guaranteed a patronizing response from some man. If I had a dollar for every time someone suggested that some demographics just aren’t biologically predisposed to being a good club member, I’d be rich. On more than than one occasion, I’ve had people try to engage me in arguments about the importance of diversity only to later claim they “were playing devil’s advocate.” I’ve had people derail diversity discussions to victim blame and try to speak for the minority that they were not a member of. A paper cut for every time you speak up.

Before someone suggest that these patronizing responses are just jerks and not the general feeling, understand that is not the case. I get these responses fairly regularly. From my own club brothers. From people who know me. From prominent members of the community. From people who should know better. The cuts are deeper when they are people you hold to higher regard, in large part because they are so unexpected you have no way to anticipate who, when or where you will hear these comments.

Cuts, the deep and painful ones, that I have received I can’t even feel safe writing about here – because they’re either too personal or I fear the consequences…

When ever I talk about this, someone always tells me I’m just looking for things to get angry about. Downplaying my pain. As though my feelings are invalid. Perhaps they don’t understand that that was one of many things that happened that day or that week or that month or for the duration of my MC time. That you can’t detach and view these things in isolation. That no matter how tough you get, how thick skinned you are, paper cuts still hurt. I’m not the only one in bandaids trying to stanch the bleeding and focus on being in an MC because it truly is the thing that I love. I am terrified of the day that it becomes terminal. Death by paper cuts.

Why I Ride… Brown Suga

Why I Ride... Brown SugaThis first story has special significance for me. This is not my story. This is a short story my sister shared 2 years ago amongst a group of women. This special sister was passionate about riding. She epitomized what sisterhood is. You could not have found a better friend on the set and I was privileged to know her and share a special bond with her. My sister now journeys with me every time I throw my leg over my iron and twist that throttle. This is for you Brown Suga…

“I will share a story…When I was about 10…my Aunt pulled up to our house on this brand new Kawasaki. I was hooked and wanted to ride. My straight laced mom said HELL NO!! Not until u are old enough to buy ur own bike. Needless to say I thought she was gonna have a mild heart attack when I came home after college and bought a bike…LOL.”

Take a Deep Breath, Calm Down

Take a deep breath, calm downWritten by: Contro-versial

Every time I get on (my bike) I pause for a few seconds, there is an instant rush of adrenaline that makes my hands shake a little. Its not fear- its joy and excitement. Its respect for the machine. My dad told me “its not if you go down, it’s when you go down” I already went down, got that covered. I am still here.

When I am on my bike, I don’t give a crap about the everyday problems and issues I have to deal with.  I am free.

I don’t have to talk to anyone, except a few hand signals and an occasional head nod.  It charges my battery, it frees my mind, and it lets me be me for a few hours. Riding is my church, it is my faith and I practice it faithfully.

After a few miles my hands stop shaking, my breathing becomes normal. So focused that I can smell the colors of the road and hear the sun set or rise. That is the moment I am free. It’s just me in that Helmet, and that is perfectly fine. I have a deep love for this life; I will honor and defend protocol/traditions because its is the foundation of the house we live in. Knowledge and intelligence do not discriminate, but ignorance does. Know and understand your lane, than ride the hell out of it.

Never A Lady On Her Back

Never A Lady On Her BackWritten By: Bessie Truth

It’s a man’s world. You can’t deny that. If God were a woman He would’ve chastised Adam for listening to Eve but instead he punished Eve by giving us the curse of painful child birth. Ask me and men should be pushing babies out their penis but again, no one asked me so I’ll keep that opinion to this page.

But in understanding that this is a man’s world we should also accept the fact that the MC is not just a man’s world, but it’s also their cave. It’s where they believe and know they run things, they set the rules, they can break the rules and basically they ARE the rules.

So where does that leave us as women?

It leaves us where society has always afforded us…right where we stand and the first step we take having been exposed to those rules will determine how much respect we’ll get or not. It’s no different in the MC community.

We’re guests here and the master of the house has his rules but what women need to understand is that he has rules for the men in that house too and we as women can’t say “those rules don’t apply to us” because we chose to come into this house. We walked in and now we’re in they’re house and we should follow the rules and honor them if we want to stay in that house.

But y’know what…

When I’m in the bathroom I’m looking in the cabinets to see what’s up with you. I’m looking at you and how you move in your house and I wonder if that creaky door has been creaking for how long? Do you keep your house clean or messy? Is the landscaping outside beautiful but the house inside a pig sty?

I take what I see and I absorb it and move accordingly. ’cause you keep your house messy doesn’t mean I’m gonna come in and mess it up too. ’cause you allow for dirty dishes in your sink doesn’t mean my motorcycle is gonna follow that. We both know where the dishes belong and if you don’t do right, doesn’t mean that I won’t.

Ladies, there’s no laying down on the job when you claim to be a biker. There are protocols that determine whether you are or not and you follow them.

It might be there house but find your place in that house and pretty soon the King of the Castle will be asking where he put those keys….and of course he’ll be asking you for them.

The Rose

The RoseWritten by: Rebel Biker Chick

When I look at an old school biker and his ole lady, I see a rose. Roses are difficult to grow, as is a bikers relationship. He is the blossom, the part of the rose that the biker world sees. She is the stem, the part that holds him up.
The blossom should be full, and vibrant. The stem is a big part of this. She keeps him grounded, rooted. Bringing him the nutrients he needs to grow……trust, care, support, strength and love.
The stem often goes unnoticed by those looking at the rose, though it is the life line to the blossom.
So as I look at a biker and his ole lady, I know what she had dealt with and been through. I know how he had depended on her for strength and support. She gives her all to see him excel and be respected, in turn he protects her with all he has.
When the stem is cut, the rose soon dies. This is why a rose has thorns… protect the stem, so the blossom can bloom.