September 2009
RickNY’s Big Day Out where all the boys and girls came out from NY and NJ to play! Riding was done, crashing was done and my first tandem wheelie was caught on tape (see 4:30 mins)! Way to go Alie for being so brave and watch out for our full length feature Alie and Leah show in 2010.
My final day in Sturgis I received a curious message: “Want to go to South America this weekend?”
“Sure,” I said in my head to this mystery person, I mean I will have to juggle a few things, but I’m sure I can pencil it in.
Pure Bred Riders, one of the most OG stunt crews ever have been doing a stunt show in Guyana for years and this year they were bringing a new commodity: a GIRL who could not only ride, but one that could stunt. I was more than happy to sign on for a trip to South America to ride and hang out with some stunting legends, including one of the first female riders, Jessica Maine.
I flew back to NYC and had a handful of days to prepare. I learned a few show tricks I had never spent the time to practice and brushed up on waving on one wheel. Friday night Anthony and I tore all the pieces off my F4i that make it my F4i. Chain, sprocket, 12-oclock bar, cage, clutch lever and cable, handbrake master, line, caliper and caliper bracket went into bags and then into my Ogio bag next to my helmet and armor. We hopped on a plane to Guyana and then the reality set in. If there’s one thing in life I know I can do it’s ride a bike, but what if I crash? What if I can’t wheelie…what if I suck? What if people hate me and kick my shins while throwing rotten tomatoes!?!?”
I guess these are rational fears we all have before embarking on something entirely new and foreign, but like most things in my life, I pushed the fears of crashing and burning while dripping in tomato paste away and threw on a confident smile. After 20 hours of bike disassembly and flying we arrived in Guyana, feral dogs mulled around the airport parking lot and I struggled to understand the English dialect. We jumped in a car with our escort and sped through the darkness.
Squinting I was able to make out faint images through the muggy darkness: houses of Asian, African and European styling, propped high on stilts, open windows with curtains blowing in the breeze. A lumber factory, a beer factory, a cow meandering down the middle of the highway; occasionally we would pass a house with a eating and drink establishment under it and the familiar sound of music and laughter would float through the foreign air. The street by our hotel was packed; we rolled near the entrance gates and were met with flashes and blinding camera lights. Smiling and answering some questions for the cameras we slipped into the hotel, which seemed to be exclusively reserved for the riders. After a quick interview we dashed up stairs, I changed into a dress and we joined the club-like party downstairs near the pool. A DJ announced my arrival and in a whirlwind of introductions it’s possible I met most of the important figures from Guyana –and all their cousins.
After pleasantries we retired to our air-conditioned room to pass out. The next morning we went straight to the mechanics shop –under his house of course. My bike was waiting for me there, a shiny yellow F4i and reversing the previous night we re-assembled my stunt piece. The bike was together, but running horribly, discovering that gas in Guyana is around 80-octane we urged the promoter to find us something to give the bike a little pep.
We all arrived at the stadium, a looming 4 sided arena which apparently sat 8,000 spectators. As I popped my bike up on one wheel, I wondered just what I was in for that evening. That afternoon we rested and our car came around 7pm to take us to the stadium. The traffic was backed up well beyond the entrance and our driver honked wildly to get us to our show. We were stopped by security, our driver began to scream, and there will NOT BE a SHOW without them -motioning back to us. The guard shined his light upon our extremely out of place white faces and immediately let us move forward. The entrances were mobbed; we filtered out of the van and were escorted through the masses. Entering the stadium was more like entering a 3 hour long dream. It was overflowing, literally, with people in the trees and on the rooftops outside. A subtle nervousness tried to creep upon me but soon was vanquished as my fellow riders excitedly reassured me. I was here to ride and that’s not scary –it’s what I do!
Local talent was warming up the crowd and we enjoyed the unique and beaming pride of the Guyanese people, then it was show time. After interviews, photos and announcements we were a go, my first wheelie was a bust…but after that I was on track. It was all or nothing. My bike was running like doo-doo, but I trusted my skills and I have to say I could not have been happier with my riding. The crowd was wild, the other riders were wild, and the night…was wild. After the first set I burnt out my tire and subsequently ended my run as the tire machine was completely mobbed with fans and could not be accessed. After the show, people poured onto the black top. The crowd acted like an ameba, surrounding us for at least an hour requesting photos, reaching wildly at us for souvenirs and tearfully shaking our hands. My favorite were the little girls, exclaiming how cool it was to see a girl rider and my dreams were they might go home with a little more hope and inspiration then before.
People might think wheelies are useless, or worse, that they are destructive and evil, but I must admit there’s nothing like a wheelie to bring a simple and very pure happiness. Guyana seemed to be a country struggling to find themselves, tortured and monopolized by other self-serving countries for decades the Guyanese have a long journey ahead of them. I think wheelies are just what the Guyanese need, the encouragement to do what they want, to crash and get back up, to keep trying and to most of all remember: life is good.
Anthony and I flew home the next day. We returned to our 9-5 jobs and chatted around the water cooler, when asked what did you do this weekend we broke the mold of “went out to dinner,” “cleaned the bathroom,” and “went to a bar” with…“Oh, you know, I did some wheelies in Guyana in front of 10,000 fans.”
It was like any other day in South Dakota, I rolled out of bed, had breakfast on our sunny balcony prepared for a day full of riding, logged into my gmail and …there…it…was. A casual, well-wishing note from everyone’s favorite European stunting legend: AC Farias.
As a non-stunting person may not realize the depth of this email so let me construct a metaphor: Wiping the sleep out of your eyes you log into your gmail and notice a new message from “JC: Son of God.” Curiously you open the message and find that JC just decided to tell you personally to have a nice day and that you rock and to check your fridge because its full of fishes.
OK, so maybe AC Farias hasn’t walked on water, but seriously, you should see him on a bike!
Thanks AC :)
Mid-July I was contacted by Mirrorball, a New York City ad firm, with a question: would I be interested in becoming the Team Leader for the first ever all-female Harley Davidson Street Team? The team would promote the 2010 Harley’s at Sturgis, doing my 2 favorite things all day long; riding and talking about bikes. Like a fat kid asked if he would like seconds, my answer was yes.
So my journey into working with all my primary passions in life commenced; bikes, culture, sociology and people with an unharnessed passion to do what they love. Our first task was to recruit a team of lady riders, with all the right qualities to make the 2010 bikes look amazing, spend countless hours a day both on the bikes, riding the unforgiving roads of the Black Hills and chat up anyone in our path about the gleaming machines.
From Washington to California to Florida and New York, I contacted every biker I know and then some; the consensus: “Cool idea…don’t know any ladies with those skills and requirements, would you take me in a wig?” Nervous I would end up with a team of cross-dressing men, I scoured harder for the handful of precious days allotted to finding the team. Feedback increased as each day that past more and more applicants filtered in. By the end of the week I had a pool of applicants who I had personally filtered to meet our personality and riding criteria’s. We sent the girls along to Harley and the next day, we had our team.
The next week was a whirlwind of paperwork, details, building a schedule and addressing odds and ends which allowed us to fly out 2 days before Sturgis officially launched. The first day was nothing short of The Real World: Sturgis, 7 girls arriving where they would call home for the next 10 days, a house nestled in the Black Hills with a sweeping view of Rapid City and the plains, several balconies, a hot tub and a three car garage to house the 10 Harleys we would be handling for the next week. That night we stormed into Rapid City for a meal at the nicest restaurant in town. It was a sight: 6 girls giddy with disbelief about the pending adventure, 6 totally different personalities, and 6 radically different backgrounds, brought together and harmonizing beautifully thanks to our common passion for motorcycles.
The next day we were fitted for wardrobe and learned about the fleet of 2010 Harleys we would be responsible for showcasing. The bikes were as unique and beautiful as our lady riders, and the Harley legend was proven as it was clear each lady fell in love with a bike which seemed to be made just for her.
Friday was our first day riding the bikes, our first day riding together as a team and for me, the nerve-racking moment of truth that would reveal if these girls we chose could…or couldn’t, ride to the necessary caliber. After some time-consuming helmet malfunctions we were safely geared up and ready to hit the road. Our navigation support and security man, Sid, explained he would take us through the hills for a twisty ride to grab some lunch and spend a few hours in the saddle getting acquainted with the Hogs. As we hauled out of Rapid City, the sight in my rearview mirror was one of the most beautiful I have ever seen.
Six ladies on gleaming Harleys, in perfect formation, confidently cruising along and that’s when I knew, the ladies were superstars and this team would undoubtedly be a positive image of the competent and skilled female rider we had hoped for. We flew through the plains and up into the ragged mountains, past Mount Rushmore feeling united and ready to take on the world’s largest motorcycle rally.
Throughout the week our days involved, many hours on the road and an equal amount of time chatting about the bikes. Riders all over the Black Hills mulled around the 2010 models, throwing a leg over to compare and contrast the machine to theirs. There were a lot of questions…the storage size in the Trike’s trunk, the CIs in the CVO Fat Bob, the seat height for the Fat Boy Lo, but the most common question was: “YOU GIRLS rode in on THESE bikes!?!?”
We would proudly respond, YES! The female riding team reached demographics both obvious and unsuspecting; Harley guys always want to talk to girls who ride bikes, there’s no real persuasion necessary there. But often these male fanatics would grab their female counterparts, pulling them over to us and the bikes and say that this lady had been begging for their own bike for years, or had a desire but fear was holding them back from hopping on their very own Harley. This moment was a fetish for every team member, the moment where we got to hash out fears and apprehensions with other ladies, to explain our journey into bikes and encourage them to realize their own dreams. Each night back at the house over dinner we excitedly shared our experiences from the day and moments where stereotypes were smashed and hopefully a future female rider was created.
A highlight of the week was our photo shoot on Main Street Sturgis with Bill Davidson. A section of Main Street was closed down and photographer, Peter Yang’s crew constructed a lighted set which drew tons of attention to the bikes throughout the shoot. The whole team was placed around Bill, on the 2010 Harleys to promote our co-sponsor Pepsi-Max.
Beyond photo shoots and cruising past Mount Rushmore we were able to do what I love best about bikes: meet people you would never otherwise come in contact with. We spent time at the Hot Springs Veterans home, chatting with the vets and even honored with leading their yearly ride out of town. Many foreign enthusiasts chatted with us about Harleys and American culture. We met women on bikes they built themselves, people riding a bike with a complete buffalo covering it, families all on their own bikes, and couples with a small pack of dogs strapped onto the back. From the micro example of our team to the larger picture at Sturgis; the spirit of pursuing a common passion regardless of who you are, what you do or how you prefer your burger, one sign was loud and clear: WE’RE HERE FOR THE RIDE, causing all seven of us girls to ride from sunup to sundown with a giant smile on our face.
