Wednesday, February 26, 2014

Motorcycle Burglarized

As I was walking past my Yamaha V*Star 650 in the carport at our new place, I hung my head in shame as I passed my neglected motorcycle. It was then that I saw that my saddlebags had been opened.

"Some fucking bastard has burglarized my MOTORCYCLE!!"

Nothing was missing from the bags that I could see because I had nothing of value in them. I'm smart enough to know that when one had bags that don't lock shut, one shouldn't leave valuable items in them. My motorcycle sits and waits for me patiently and now she has been violated. The idea that some thieving mother fucker has even touched my motorcycle infuriates me.

I had been considering trading her in on another motorcycle, but I've settled on keeping her. Since I've made that decision I've blessed her with her Indian Name. She is now Tatonka (buffalo); fierce, heavy, strong and longs to roam. I find it quite fitting. . .

Having the flu, moving into our condo, injuring my leg moving, unpacking, my daughter's visit; all of these things occurred in succession, so I've barely put 50 miles on my V*Star in 3 weeks. It seems criminal to not ride when the weather here is so nice! I had planned a solo trip from San Diego to Ojai, but I hurt my leg during the move and had to rest for a few days. I could barely walk on the morning I was to leave, so I chose to stay home and unpack the boxes and settle into the condo.

Then my daughter came to visit and since she's expecting her first child we drove my hub's truck for a few days. Although Olivia loves riding on the motorcycle, there's something about putting my pregnant girl on a bike that just doesn't sit right with me.

I was thrilled that we have been planning this upcoming trip with Trampy Joe and Diane for a ride up the coast. We planned on leaving this coming Friday for three days, but with the weather forecasting rainstorms for the whole weekend, we changed the destination to Prescott, AZ.

Biker-ChicksCautiously we monitored the upcoming forecast and last night, after my daughter headed home, we cancelled the motorcycle trip. Heavy rain for all of the areas we can travel is expected. We would have to leave a day early or two days later to make it out of range. The problem is Trampy and Diane have regular day jobs, so the weekend was our only choice. So that chance to ride has disappeared like the Cubs dreams of a World Series win.

Now I'm seriously behind on my work, broke as a joke, facing another few days with no riding opportunities and frustrated. On the brighter side I did have a phenomenal visit with my daughter and I got a glimpse of my new grandson, Jackson, in an ultrasound! Watching her board that train to leave broke my heart in a whole new way.

Change is on the horizon. We're settled into our new place and while it is comfortable, I miss riding my Tatonka. Settling in means less riding. Also, with Olivia expecting Jackson in June, I know I'll want to see her more. Having her leave only showed me how much I love her. I feel new feelings now that I don't quite understand, but like most people, change brings it's own set of fears. I don't quite know myself right now.

I'm sure a good long ride would set my heart at ease, clear my mind, and set me straight.

Patiently, my Tatonka waits.
My Grandson Jackson Sucking His Thumb During the Ultrasound

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Thursday, February 13, 2014

Valentine's Day for Motorcycle Lovers

Happy Valentine's Day from your girl Sash!

This is my baby niece Sophia (soon to be a Baby Biker Chick!) sending you a sweet smooch for me. Be good to each other and spread a little love wherever you go.

Hugs and Smooches from Sash and Sophia!

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Tuesday, February 11, 2014

Biker Chick Fight

The Sash in me has a very dirty mouth, is an angry, heartless, cutthroat woman, and wants to rip your scrotum off of your bleeding body.

"Fuck you! Suck my dick, you ass rat! I'll cut your fucking eyes out!"

This is pretty much the first thing that I hear in my head when someone crosses me. Cut in front of me on the road, fail to pay for a service our company has provided, ask for a discount when I've already given you the "Good Guy" price, throw your cigarette butt out the window into me when I'm riding, talk on your cell phone and weave between lanes. . . and you've got some Sash coming. And she's not a nice lady.

Sash has a place in my life. Sash is a rude biker chick with a chip on her shoulder, similar to someone with a Short-Man-Complex, she has something to prove. She's my protector, my warrior, my empowered self. I certainly don't have her wrangled in, especially when I'm emotional. Just try taking a swing at my hubs, or making my daughter cry, or breaking my friend's heart. Cut off my riding partner on the road and I'll cut your fucking heart out and throw it in your face. I won't just walk up and kick a dent in the fender of your car, I'll kick a fucking dent in your goddamned head with my size 7 steel toe motorcycle boot.

I come from a background of violence. I'm not proud of that, but I've learned to stop pretending to be someone I'm not and embrace my own uniqueness. By nature, I'm a violent person. Through growth, hard work, and self improvement, I've learned to manage those emotions and be accountable for my reactions. I'm proud to say I haven't harmed anyone for quite sometime. But I often feel right on the edge of bashing someone in the head with a highball glass. (They're pretty hefty, easily accessible in a bar, and will knock a fucker out with one blow. Just FYI!) Sash is the fighter, the part of me who fears no man or woman, who's had enough of your shit and is ready to inflict pain. Much like a Mr. Hyde, Sash lurks in the dark recesses and wants to fuck your world up if you hurt me.

I'm learning lately to let her have her say, privately with my hubs Highway, or let her vent here in my writing, and then step back. I needn't respond to the person who has wronged me with such passion, as I've done most of my life. Being able to express those feelings, understand their origins, address that frustration and anger, and the CHOOSE how to react outwardly is growth for me.

I mean what I say when I talk tough, although I do my best not to follow through. It's not from lack of desire nor courage. I don't fear getting in a fight, or even getting the shit beat out of me. Sadly, that's happened more times in my life than I can count. I'll recover and if you don't kill me, I'll come back for you. I avoid following through because I want to change my behavior and be a kinder person.

That's what falling in love will do to a person.

Being in love with Highway has changed that angry, spiteful person I've always been and makes me want to be a better human being. It's softened my heart and helped me feel good feelings again, for the first time in nearly 20 years. I lost someone I loved very, very much in 1997 and after that I didn't care about anyone but my daughter. My heart was so broken I wanted to die, so I shut off all of my feelings and just went through the motions of life. I married a man I didn't love and lived a life that was an act, just to get my daughter raised. Once I met Highway I felt something for the first time after all of those years. It made me want to live again after being dead inside.

I still have a long way to go, but I'm doing my best to keep Sash in her place. In my life now, I'm capable of being emotional, expressing my feelings, and addressing my hurt without slitting your throat. Just don't push me too far, because you might meet a very angry side of me who's just dying to hurt you, and hurt you very, very bad.


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Friday, February 7, 2014

Motorcycle Contest for a GoPro Hero3 plus Silver Edition

Friends and Followers ~ Could you please vote for my photo on the Helmet City contest they are having on Facebook? Please go to this link, click "View Entries" and search for my photo (the one you see here) and simply "Like" the photo. (It turns out I'm WAAAAY at the bottom of all the photos! So please, search to the very end!

You can vote once a day, and also encourage your friends to vote too. I'm hoping to win the contest and receive a GoPro to shoot motorcycle videos! Last year we attempted to shoot quite a few videos and they all came out blurry and jiggly because I didn't have a proper camera.

Thank you in advance for your votes and I more than anything, I appreciate you reading my site!


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Tuesday, February 4, 2014

Tapping A Motorcycle Helmet Community

Motorcycling early morning, even though I couldn't determine where this cop was, I knew there was one up ahead because the oncoming riders tapped their helmets for miles and miles. In the carpool lane on Interstate 15 heading north out of San Diego, one rider after another tapped his helmet at me in the oncoming lane.

A Toyota Pathfinder blew past me at nearly 90 mph and I knew he was going to be sorry. What he found was a cop waiting in the wings. Once this happened I thought the danger of a speeding ticket was now behind me, thanks to the Pathfinder driver, but not so. Another rider and yet another rider tapped his helmet at me as I continued to ride. I must have been half asleep, because it took about 10 more minutes for me to realize that the cop I was looking for must be traveling directly ahead of me. As I had promised my hubs Highway when I left that morning, I kept within the speed limit and relaxed my riding.

"Be careful today, OK? I don't want anything to happen to you," Highway said.

It startled me to hear this, actually, as this was so uncharacteristic of him. Not much of a worrier, Highway rarely expresses this type of concern. With a few extra hugs and kisses, I bid him farewell.

It wasn't until I had ridden another 10 miles with riders tapping their warnings at me all along before I saw the CHP in question. Exiting the freeway, then turning around and getting back on in the other direction, that cop was in a hell of a hurry after some other poor bastard to deliver his dose of ticketed misery.

For the rest of that 75 mile ride, I wished I could tell the riders who warned me how much I appreciated them. Most riders will tell you that this is a great community we belong to, but never have I felt more embraced than this day, from the beginning with my hubs loving concern, to the care of the other riders I met along the way.


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Monday, February 3, 2014

Follow the Leader

The Tecate Divide doesn't sound like such a cold place, but don't let the name fool you.

"Why should I take two pairs of gloves? I always pack too much crap. No rain in the forecast. . . these mesh gloves are fine," I told myself.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

With temps down in the low 40's (F) at 4,140 ft. elevation, The Tecate Divide demanded winter gloves. I looked over at Highway and deeply coveted his black, waterproof, lined Alpine Stars. Once we reached the eastern side on our ride from San Diego to Yuma, I was overcome with gratitude for the 60 degree temps. My hope was that the weather would warm up before our return trip.

After a few great days relaxing in Yuma, we mounted up and headed to my least favorite store, WalMart. Cold weather will push a person to some extreme things, I suppose. Not only had I left behind my warm gloves, but my rain gear as well. Highway had just checked and a storm was stretched from El Centro all the way to San Diego, over 120 miles long, and exactly where we were headed. So off to WalMart we went to improvise and adapt.

I hated the idea of being cheap, but I wasn't going to drop $150 at the Harley dealership for gear I only needed once and wouldn't wear again. And it turned out that Wally World had a few things we could use. Some camouflage, waterproof, fleece lined pants, a few packs of Hot Hands, rubber gloves (to work as glove liners in case of rain) and a sauna suit. If we did indeed hit a storm, Highway would wear the sauna pants over his jeans and I would wear the sauna top under my leather jacket. I donned my new camo pants, we hopped on Interstate 8 and headed west, back toward San Diego. We agreed to stop in El Centro for fuel, lunch and, if the need arose, to change into the rubber gloves/sauna/rain gear.

Scarfing lunch, filling our tanks and checking the weather, we were ready to hit that last stretch. The sun was shining and the weather radar indicated the storm had passed, so we both decided against the "rain gear" and hit the Interstate again. As we merged into the lanes, the smell of gasoline overwhelmed me. I looked down to see gas leaking from my gas cap, spraying all over me. I slammed my hand on the cap, passed Highway to get his attention and pulled the bike onto the shoulder. We stopped at an opening of an offramp, off to the right shoulder, out of danger. While tightening the cap he assured me that he had perhaps overfilled it, but I would be fine now.

He mounted his bike and began to pull back onto the Interstate. I saw him pass me, looked back over my left shoulder, throttled my bike to take off and realized he was stopped right in front of me. Screaming, I ran right into the back of his bike. Somehow I managed to keep from hitting him straight on, veering to my right but still keeping my V*Star upright.

Squeezing the clutch and front brake, I felt a slight impact, banged my elbow on his trunk, twisted my left knee as I threw it on the ground to keep the from dropping, mashing the rear brake and then slamming my right foot down with a BANG!

Then the screaming a sobbing began.

I'm ashamed that I reacted so badly, but I was utterly terrified. My mind was racing with the possibility that I could have hurt him. I was sure if I had hit him hard, he would have been pushed into the lanes and hit by oncoming traffic. It was that thought that flooded my senses and caused me to start shouting. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to articulate what my fears were, but I spewed accusations at him, blaming him for the whole thing. When I regained myself, we both just started the bikes again and took off.

20 miles later I pulled past him, motioned to him, and pulled over, yet again. He reluctantly lumbered to my bike, most likely expecting another outburst, as I flipped open my helmet.

"I'm so sorry!!" I bawled. "I was so afraid I would hurt you!!"

Explaining my fear, he patted my back and gave me hugs. There we sat on the roadside, in the middle of nowhere, as I fell completely apart. Highway understood my fear, reassured me, and offered to help in any way he could. After a few minutes I looked into his eyes and asked for only one thing.

"Take me home now, please?"

I will follow him anywhere. Perhaps in the future though, I won't follow so closely.

My turn signals will need to be adjusted now, but that's the only thing that hit Blackbird. Amazingly, they both work fine.

Blackbird's only damage sustained is a large scratch on her right sidebag from my turn signals 


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About Sash

People call me "Sash" because I'm a former beauty queen in my old home town. My father used to ride in an MC which got me interested in the culture. After my last divorce I said "goodbye" to Susie Homemaker and became the rude biker chick I always felt inside. (Read more...)