The Motorcycle That Changed My Life

People ask me all the time, “how did you get into motorcycles?”

Honestly… I wish I had some incredible family story.

I don’t.

My dad was an old-school rocker. If there was a guitar in the room, chances are he was the one playing it. Music was his thing but motorcycles never were.

My mom was an incredible athlete, an Air Force veteran who later became a corrections officer. Tough as nails, disciplined, and someone I looked up to in so many ways. But motorcycles? She had absolutely no interest in them either.

I didn’t have friends with dirt bikes or minibikes, and I had never even thrown a leg over an ATV.

Motorcycles simply weren’t part of my childhood.

Growing up, you were far more likely to find me on a softball field than anywhere near a motorcycle. If I wasn’t on a field, I was probably in a gym. Sports were my world. I was fortunate enough to become a two-time All-American softball player while lettering in volleyball, swimming, and track throughout high school. Competition was where I felt at home. I loved pushing myself, chasing goals, and seeing what I was capable of.

Motorcycles weren’t even on the radar.

But looking back now, I can pinpoint the exact moment everything changed.

I was probably twelve years old, sitting in the passenger seat of my mom’s old box-style Ford Explorer. We pulled up to a stoplight, and I happened to glance out the window.

Next to us sat an older biker.

He was probably in his late sixties. His skin was weathered from years in the sun. His arms were covered in tattoos. Today I know he was riding a Harley-Davidson Softail, but back then I couldn’t have told you the difference between a Harley and a lawn mower.

What I did know was this…

That guy looked cool.

Not Hollywood cool.

Not trying-too-hard cool.

Just… effortlessly cool.

He looked like he’d lived a thousand stories. The kind of guy who didn’t have to say a word to command respect.

I couldn’t stop staring.

Finally, I looked at my mom and said,

“That guy is cool. I want a motorcycle when I get older.”

Without even looking over, she replied,

“Over my dead body. Those things are dangerous.”

And just like that…

The decision was made.

Maybe it was pure teenage defiance.

Maybe it was that biker’s unmistakable aura.

Whatever it was, motorcycles instantly climbed to the very top of my “cool pyramid,” and that image stayed burned into my brain for years.

Fast forward to my eighteenth birthday.

I was officially an adult… or at least I thought I was.

With absolutely zero riding experience, I purchased my very first motorcycle: a red Honda Shadow 750 with ghost flames. Looking back this is probably where my love for flames silently started as well. 

To this day, I can still picture it sitting in the driveway.

I thought it was the most badass thing I’d ever seen.

There was just one tiny problem…

I had absolutely no idea how to ride it. I had never operated a clutch.

Never worked a throttle. Never ridden a dirt bike. Never ridden an ATV.

Nothing.

Looking back, it’s honestly amazing I survived.

I spent days riding around my yard and slowly working my way up and down my neighborhood street. Eventually, I ventured onto bigger roads, one mile at a time.

Was I good? Absolutely not.

Was I safe? Most certainly not.

Was I scared? Out of my mind.

But every ride, I pushed myself just a little farther.

A few more miles. A few more turns. A little more confidence.

Looking back now, I realize that’s really what motorcycling became for me.

It was never about speed.

It was never about looking cool.

It was about discovering what I was capable of.

Then, because apparently I’ve never been accused of making conservative decisions…

Less than a year later, I traded the Honda Shadow for a Suzuki Hayabusa.

Yes…

A Hayabusa.

Looking back, that transition was absolutely absurd.

Most people would’ve moved to something in the middle.

Not me.

My logic at the time was simple: if I was eventually going to want a bigger bike anyway, why buy something twice?

So naturally…

I went straight to full gorilla.

The Hayabusa stayed with me through the rest of college and became my daily transportation.

Rain? Ride.

Heat? Ride.

Need groceries? Figure it out and ride.

I have to admit…

Rolling onto my college campus on a Hayabusa definitely did wonders for my ego.

Watching my teammates reactions every time I pulled into the parking lot reinforced one thing in my twenty-year-old brain:

“This bike makes me cool as hell.”

Looking back now… It’s funny how confidence works when you’re young.

It was during those years that I also got my first real taste of the motorcycle community.

Local bike nights. Parking lots packed with varieties of bikes and people from al different walks of life..

Complete strangers walking up to admire each other’s bikes and talking for hours like they’d known each other forever.

I loved every second of it.

Eventually, the Hayabusa gave way to a 2009 Honda CBR1000RR. At the time, sport bikes were all I knew, and I couldn’t imagine wanting to ride anything else. I was married and my husband didn't know how to ride, but wanted to learn. So, we bought the bike. 

I don't have any great stories and really memorable moments with this bike.

Basically the only thing I recall is having my ex-husband as a backpack through town. There are still random pictures passed around from those days that I am sure he wishes would disappear. 

Then life happened my motorcycle story stopped. 

I became a single mom.

I was working shift work in law enforcement, trying to build a career, raise two daughters, and simply keep my head above water.

The motorcycle didn’t disappear because I stopped loving it.

It disappeared because life demanded my attention somewhere else.

For nearly ten years, I virtually never rode, unless it was hoping on someone else's to move it. 

There was never a day that I didn’t miss it. Never a time that I didn’t slow down when I heard a motorcycle ride by.

Never a moment that I didn’t stop and think,

“One day…”

But “one day” had to wait. My daughters came first.

Looking back, I think that’s one of the biggest differences for a lot of women.

We’re willing to put our dreams, hobbies, passions, and sometimes even parts of our identity on the shelf without a second thought if it means giving our children the life they deserve.

For nearly a decade, that’s exactly what I did.

And I’d do it again.

But eventually, life has a way of reminding you that you can’t pour from an empty cup forever.

By the time my youngest daughter turned ten, I was thirty-seven years old.

I’d been through some major surgeries. A few health scares.

Enough life experiences to realize that tomorrow isn’t guaranteed.

For the first time in a long time, I decided it was okay to do something simply because it made me happy.

So I walked into my local Harley-Davidson dealership…

Just to “look.”

If you’ve ever walked into a motorcycle dealership “just to look,” you probably already know how that story ends.

Walking through those doors felt strangely familiar even though I had never been to a Harley dealership. 

The smell. The sound. Rows of polished motorcycles and possibilities. 

It was like reconnecting with a part of myself that had been patiently waiting all those years.

That day, I left with a Harley-Davidson Low Rider S.

That first Harley opened an entirely new chapter of my life. 

I thought I was buying a motorcycle.

Looking back now…

I was reclaiming a piece of myself.

I had no idea that one decision would completely reshape the next chapter of my life.

Those adventures introduced me to some of the best people I’ve ever met.

They eventually inspired me to build custom motorcycles, start Rips Unfiltered, create content that reaches riders around the world, and ultimately attempt something I never would’ve believed possible…

It’s funny how life works.

That little twelve-year-old girl staring out the window of a Ford Explorer had no idea where motorcycles would eventually take her.

She couldn’t have imagined riding tens of thousands of miles across North America.

She couldn’t have imagined building motorcycles I’d once only dreamed about.

She couldn’t have imagined that one ordinary stoplight would quietly change the course of her entire life.

Looking back…

It was never really about the motorcycle.

It was about the freedom.

The confidence. The adventure.

The reminder that life gets a whole lot bigger when you’re willing to step outside your comfort zone.

That older biker sitting next to us at the stoplight had no idea a twelve-year-old girl was watching him that day.

But he unknowingly changed the course of my life.

And somehow…

Twenty-five years later…

I’m still chasing that same feeling.

See you on the next ride,

 

-JESS