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This Is What No One Tells You About Being A Woman In Your 60s | CrunchyTales

How Riding A Harley Davidson Saved My Midlife Crisis

2 min read

For years, I felt like I was stuck in neutral. The minivan, the PTA meetings, the beige walls that seemed to be closing in – it all blurred together into a monotonous beige existence. I was Stephanie, the fifty-something wife, mother, and volunteer, a perfectly serviceable role but one that left my soul feeling dusty and unused.

Then, on a whim, I turned on the TV and there it was: a gleaming chrome Harley Davidson roaring down a sun-drenched highway.

It was a cliché, I know. But in that moment, it wasn’t about the middle-aged biker stereotype. It was about the wind whipping through hair, the feeling of freedom, of being in control. That night, I dreamt of asphalt instead of carpools.

The next day, I found a motorcycle training course. My husband, bless his patient soul, thought it was a phase. My kids, well, they were just mortified by the idea of their mom in leathers. But there I was, the only woman in a class of burly men, perched nervously on a (surprisingly heavy) motorcycle.

Learning to ride was a humbling experience. The roar of the engine was intimidating at first, the clutch control finicky. But with every wobble and stall, a tiny spark of defiance ignited within me. I was Stephanie, the minivan driver, yes, but I was also Stephanie, the motorcycle student, the one who wasn’t afraid to take a chance.

The moment I finally mastered that tricky left turn, the world seemed to open up. The wind wasn’t just whipping through my hair, it was blowing away the cobwebs of self-doubt. On my first solo ride, I felt a sense of exhilaration I hadn’t experienced in years. Every twist of the throttle, every purr of the engine, was a reminder that I was still alive, that I was capable of growth and adventure.

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Of course, there were challenges. There were dropped bikes (thankfully at low speeds!), disapproving stares from some (mostly older) folks, and the occasional sunburn. But there were also triumphs, like conquering a long highway ride, or the camaraderie I found with a local women’s motorcycle club.

Today, when I look back at that beige station wagon, I barely recognize the woman behind the wheel. My Harley Davidson may not be the most practical vehicle, but it’s a symbol of my newfound freedom. It’s a reminder that it’s never too late to take the wheel of your own life, to break out of your comfort zone and chase the wind. So, if you see a middle-aged woman in leathers cruising down the highway, don’t judge. Just smile and wave – you might just be seeing someone in the midst of saving their own midlife crisis.

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About The Author

Stephanie Russell

Stephanie Russell is a foster volunteer who loves to make life-changing impacts on animals in need. Living in Manchester, a mother of two girls, in her free time she is in charge of a local book club and likes writing poems. Since starting to ride a motorcycle, she now believes the world is her oyster.

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