Bessie and Me: Shifting Gears

  An audible gasp escaped from Della’s mouth with the same velocity as if she had been punched in the gut, robbing her of air. Her hazel eyes flashed green with alarm and flew from the doctor to Bree who perched serenely on the edge of the exam table her cascade of graying hair fell in waves down her back. The flimsy patient gown seemed to swallow her slight body whole, one thin bare shoulder peeking out of the too big neckline. Bree’s facial expression was frozen in a tight, thin lipped half smile as she received the news. Dr. Jordan, supposedly the best oncologist in the Chicago area, delivered the diagnosis in a kind but wearisome tone as if he did this too many times already today, “I’m sorry Ms. Maxwell your recent CT scan reveals the cancer has metastasized to your liver, meaning it is no longer confined to the pancreas.”      Bree’s shoulders drooped slightly, her chin jutted forward valiantly, and her voice quivered as she spoke, “My liver? That’s not encoura...

Setting the scene: Della, Tish, and Ann have left Chicago on their bikes on a journey west to scatter their friend Bree’s ashes in Sedona. A trip along Route 66 from its origin in Chicago to the Santa Monica Pier in L.A. on their motorcycles was the foursomes’ dream. When Bree was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer her dying wish was for her three friends to make the trip in her memory with a stop in Sedona to scatter her ashes among the mystical red rocks. This scene picks up on the three women – Della - who carries Brees’ ashes in her tour pack, Tish and Ann – approximately 300 miles west of Chicago on their first day out. ~ Della thought a little commune with nature would do everyone good. At the previous rest stop (Jesus… how many times would Ann signal she needed to pee?) Della suggested a little side trip to St. Genevieve outside of St. Louis to enjoy a short hike and a stretch.  Ann: Oh! how fun!  Tish: (after a major eye roll in Ann’s direction) Sounds Great! Della tapp...

"Embrace uncertainty. Some of the most beautiful chapters in our lives won't have titles until much later." In the last few months I've been asked from several readers and followers, 'How do you plan your trips?' I also see the question asked numerous times (like over and over and over and over...) on the various biker-related groups on social media.  Penny Tours I confess: I'm not much of a planner! I ride in the spirit of the intrepid Bessie Stringfield, a pioneer of the sport of motorcycling who in 1930 became the first black woman to ride solo across the U.S.. Bessie was notorious for her 'Penny Tours.' She would toss a penny in the air and wherever it landed on her map of the U.S.....that is the direction she would travel. And yes; I've done the Penny Tour many times. Just a few weeks ago in Indiana; I had a 'free' day between events and tossed the penny on the map of Indiana. It landed in the northern part of the state near the ...

"A woman in harmony with her spirit is like a river flowing. She goes where she will without pretense and arrives at her destination prepared to be herself and only herself." ~ Maya Angelou I'm drawn to women - like myself - who are free spirits, adventuresome, and authentic.  From June of 2020 to June of 2021 Bessie and Me have logged over 23,000 miles to research my work in progress #Scattered and promote my book Riding Soulo . This past year as I've traversed the country on two wheels, I was fortunate to meet so many incredible women who inspired me! As Central Florida slowly came out of quarantine in June of 2020 I made the decision to travel west to Sedona, Arizona (not realizing much of the southwest was still under quarantine and closures). My current writing project is a fictional tale; the ending takes place in Sedona and I've never been to Sedona. I wanted a genuine 'Sedona' experience...mystical vortexes, psyches and spiritual healers, a comm...

"Perfection is the highest form of self-abuse." ~ A Very Wise Woman    Non-Perfect Sugar Cookies It starts the end of September when the glossy 'women's magazines' line the checkout aisles, their covers depicting Fall decorations; pumpkins that could have been carved by Michelangelo, outlandish Halloween snacks that require hours of assembly, and air brushed sugar cookies that no one in their right mind would dare eat. The publishers of these glossy rags ramp it up for Thanksgiving with dinner tables that look like they were painted by Normal Rockwell himself. And boy, by December they are in full swing with the message: if your holiday table or house doesn't look like this... you are less than perfect.   When I was young and stupid I drank the Kool-Aid. One year I bought several expensive hand stamps with ink and a roll of plain white butcher paper. Proceeded to hand stamp/decorate all of my wrapping paper because that is what one particular 'women's ...

“We carry the lives we've imagined as we carry the lives we have, and sometimes a reckoning comes of all the lives we have lost.” ―  Helen Macdonald,  H is for Hawk My spirit animal made its appearance yesterday. Yes. I have a spirit animal - it is the hawk. The hawk makes its (I refer to the hawk as 'it' because I have no idea if it is male or female, I like to think it is gender neutral) appearance shortly after a loved one has died. My dear friend Charmian passed away last Thursday. No, I don't believe the hawk is the loved one. Thats not exactly how spirit animals work. If you read my book 'Riding Soulo' you know I devoted a chapter to Spirit Animal. My friend Butch had just died in a motorcycle accident - I was devastated of course. I was traveling on Bessie and planned to embark on the Circle Tour of Lake Superior after visiting family. The appearance of the hawk on a desolate county road at dawn surrounded by cornfields was powerful medicine for a grievin...