4/22/2017
This weekend I rode 250 miles from northern Virginia to Lancaster, PA for the Fox Run, an all-women motorcycle camping event.
I rode with four women who, not an hour beforehand, had been virtual strangers. We crossed state lines through sweltering heat and sporadic rain. At gas stations, we would laugh at each others’ sunburns and helmet hair, swigging water out of plastic bottles. With every mile, through congested city streets to breathtaking rural farmland to twisty forest roads, I felt a growing excitement for whatever lay ahead.
Words cannot describe the feeling of pulling into camp and instantly being surrounded by sisters, many of whom traveled there on their own bikes from destinations like Philadelphia, Brooklyn, and Jersey City. The sound of engines filled the air, along with the ring of laughter as reunions occurred and introductions made.
Over the course of two short days, I rode all over the area with newfound friends. Lancaster is Amish country, so we passed by many a horse and buggy--something I never thought I’d do on a motorcycle! I faced my fear of sharp turns, of which there were many. Back at camp, one of the women at our site showed us how to build a fire from scratch, and each night we stayed up later than the night before. (Because time obviously fails to exist when you’re camping in the woods with 300 women.)
I’d never done anything like this before. Since I got my first bike 4 years ago, I have primarily ridden by myself. In Austin, I had friends who rode motorcycles, but rarely attended motorcycle events. I was too busy, too awkward, or there was something wrong with my bike. The excuses were endless. It took moving to an entirely new state and not knowing a single soul for me to jump off the edge and do something this uncharacteristically impulsive. I’m so glad.
