SPRINGFIELD, MO — I’m doing deliveries, minding my own business. A black, tinted full-face helmet and ripped tight jeans on a motorcycle at the intersection of cross traffic catches my attention. Wait, is that a… female biker? Yes!
Later that same day, another woman, on a “crotch rocket” huddled over and determined to beat traffic, and she’s winning!
Not long after that, westbound on East Chestnut Expressway. I hear Frankie Valley’s “December 1963 (O What a Night)” at full volume. I turn to my left. A thin build, tanned beauty with in a little black helmet, her thin, bare arms raised skyward. Feet planted on either side of her throbbing Harley Davidson. Stopped at the light. A look of sheer bliss on her face. She’s rocking her hips, singing full tilt to the song, “O what a night, late December back in 63…”
I roll down my window to give her a thumbs up, but she ignores me, enraptured. The light changes. She roars off, music drifting downward as she gets away. I long to follow her. She’s so free, so utterly divorced from her surroundings.
A young schoolgirl notices her joy and volume from the sidewalk and gives biker woman a huge smile and a wave.
The feeling is mutual, kid. It’s a sight to behold. As I said, I’d have followed her, but I was on a delivery to a paying customer.
Move over, guys. The girls are taking over!
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