For Black History Month, a personal ride to sites of courage, tragedy and triumph

When I learned of this History Ride created by the Red Tails MC of Fort Wayne, Indiana, I knew it was something I wanted to embark upon. I knew I'd want to present it to my followers during February, Black History Month; a month in which we take time to appreciate the African-American pioneers who have impacted our history and culture.

Editor’s note: Kimba Reams is a member of the RevZilla Rider's Alliance, a team of everyday riders from across the nation, from all walks of life, on all types of bikes, that represents and embraces the diversity of the RevZilla ridership.

The History Ride consists of seven stops in four states.

• The beautiful National Underground Railroad Freedom Center in Cincinnati, Ohio, shares the stories of the Underground Railroad and inspires visitors to take courageous steps of freedom today.
• The Martin Luther King, Jr. National Historic Park in Atlanta preserves Dr. King's legacy both historically and educationally.
• The Rosa Parks Museum in Montgomery, Alabama, shares her courageous story that started the Montgomery Bus Boycott in 1955.
• The Tuskegee Airmen National Historic Site at the Moton Field Municipal Airport in Tuskegee, Alabama, was the primary facility for training African-American men and women for the U.S. Army Air Corps.
• The Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, Alabama, was the site of the "Bloody Sunday" attack by police on peaceful civil rights marchers in 1965.
• The Sixteenth Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, Alabama, was the city's first Black church. As a center of activity during the Civil Rights movement, it was bombed by white supremacists in 1963, injuring 20 members of the congregation and killing four young girls.
• The National Civil Rights Museum at the Lorraine Motel. King stayed at the Lorraine Motel many times when he was in Memphis, but in 1964, while he was there to support a strike by sanitation workers, he was assassinated.

Each of these locations has a significant meaning to my personal history as an African-American female. By visiting them, I would not only be doing something that brings me immense joy, riding, but I'd also be reeducating myself. Back in my day, the school's Black History curriculum was minimal. Students had to take the initiative to venture out on their own to learn what the school books neglected to teach. I can only hope that’s not still the case today.

Although I'd previously toured the MLK Center and the Rosa Parks Museum, I was looking forward to visiting them again. I knew this would be a monumental ride that I was about to embark on. I am grateful for all those who came before me that played a role in paving the way for justice and equality for the generations to come.

The ride, personal and historical

As I was mapping my course, I realized I had a windsister named Ursula, AKA Phoenix, in Memphis. I enjoy connecting with my wind sisters and brothers on my travels, so naturally I reached out to her. As I began sharing all of what my voyage would entail, I could hear her excitement, so I invited her along. She eagerly accepted and we planned to travel during the week over a course of three days. Having decided to begin the journey in Memphis, I rode out early on a Tuesday morning. The trip was just under 490 miles and would only take seven hours. I decided to ride directly to the museum and meet Phoenix there.

When I met up with Phoenix at the Lorraine Motel, we spoke with Jacqueline Smith, a woman who has protested outside the motel for the last 33 years. Smith worked and lived at the motel for 11 years until her eviction by the state of Tennessee when it permanently closed the premises. She believes the museum should focus more on the work Dr. King did when he was alive versus his death. She feels the profits from the motel should be used to house the homeless, assist the elderly and provide them with healthcare. I couldn’t help but respect Smith's firm resolve.

We visited the site, took notice of the wreath in front of room 306, marking where Dr. King was murdered, and said goodbye to Jacqueline Smith before we left. That night we stayed in Memphis at Phoenix's home. I checked the weather app and saw rain in the forecast, but Phoenix and I are both seasoned riders and weren't deterred in the least.

Since four of the stops were in Alabama, we decided to knock them all out the following day. We awoke early that morning and visited the 16th Street Baptist Church, the Edmond Pettus Bridge, the Rosa Parks Museum, and Moton Field.

Standing on the Edmond Pettus Bridge, I felt a powerful surge of sadness as I imagined more than 600 protestors, led by a young John Lewis, attempting a peaceful and nonviolent march from Selma to Montgomery. As they began to cross the bridge, they were met by the police batons of state troopers in the assault that came to be known as "Bloody Sunday." All in an effort to register Black voters in the South, something we think of as a basic right. I wasn't alone in my feelings. I noticed Phoenix felt it, too. We held hands and bowed our heads as we stood on the bridge in a moment of silence on behalf of our courageous ancestors.

For Phoenix, her most emotional moment was at the 16th Street Baptist Church. Just the thought of the senseless killings of those four Black young, innocent girls left her visibly shaken and her eyes welled up with tears.

"Even after all this time, it still hurts," said Phoenix.

After we left Moton Field, we still had a few hours of daylight so we ventured on toward Georgia and the MLK Center National Historic Park. As we were leaving the park, the rain came. The day before, I had reached out to another windsister in Bogart, Georgia. Meagan and her wife, Chelsea, had invited me over on other occasions and I was finally in a position to take them up on their offer. When we pulled up to their home, they already had the garage door open for us, having thoughtfully moved their vehicles around so we could get in out of the rain. When we entered their lovely home, they had our names on a marker board on their fridge to greet us.

Chelsea had a delicious spread prepared for dinner and pie and ice cream for dessert. We shared our biker stories as we ate. The following morning, even though Meagan and Chelsea both had to rise early for work, they graciously set out breakfast for us. Phoenix and I were in no hurry to leave as it was still raining and the temperatures were cold. It was over 500 miles to reach our Ohio destination, the National Underground Railroad Freedom Center, but that would take us less than eight hours.

One of the reasons I enjoy riding with Phoenix is because we have similar riding styles. When traveling, we stop for gas, use the facilities and keep it moving. We don't eat until we've reached our destination. We'll hydrate and eat as we ride so Clif bars and bananas are perfect on-the-go items for us. We've both ridden cross-country loops, riding through the 48 states, her twice and me once, so this three-day journey was a walk in the park.

I had previously connected with Randall of Bunk-a-Biker. His home across the river in Newport, Kentucky, was less than 10 minutes from the Center. He had considerately cleared out a space underneath his carport for us, but we had to ride over a gravel pit to reach it, as he was in the process of repaving his driveway. It wasn't as intimidating as it looked and we both managed it without any incidents.

Once we warmed up and got settled, Randall offered to introduce us to a popular local cuisine, Dixie Chili. Both Phoenix and I enjoy trying new things so we were game. I tried the 6-Way chili, thinking "go big or go home," while they both had the 4-Way. We enjoyed it! Though the dish has spaghetti noodles, it's a mistake to compare it to typical spaghetti dishes served with tomato sauce. Open your mind to this new dish and you'll be better able to enjoy it as we did.

After dinner, we went back to Randall's home and he played a movie for us: "The Harder They Fall." I couldn’t help but smile to myself wondering if this was a movie that our host would normally watch or if he solely picked it out for his two African-American guests. I thought it was a sweet gesture, for I knew he meant well and that his heart was in the right place.

From Kentucky, Phoenix and I planned to go our separate ways home, me 450 miles to South Carolina and Phoenix 475 miles back to Tennessee. We were up before sunrise but with the temperatures still in the 20s, Randall compassionately offered to go in to work an hour later so it would be somewhat "warmer" as we headed out. We took him up on his kindhearted offer. It was still 28 degrees as we rode out and I was wearing every layer of clothes I had. Phoenix had to zip me up.

Randall stood outside to see us off and I rode home under overcast skies with temperatures from the high 20s to the 50s. I was grateful for the Hotwired jacket and glove liners I'd purchased from Cycle Gear. The sun didn't show its face until I was almost home. When I pulled into my garage, I'd logged over 2,100 miles.

On the final stretch, I thought about the places we'd visited. I never want to take for granted what my ancestors endured for me to be where I am today. I truly appreciate the History Ride that the Red Tails MC put together. It allowed us to go back in time and reminisce on the events that took place and have a shared understanding of our history. The checkpoints of this ride add to the foundation that compels us to continue to learn and grow from the mistakes of the past. Although this country has progressed, the Black race is still fighting some of the same battles today.

I'm able to see how far we've come, yet I realize how much further we have to go. Because of the heroic efforts of our ancestors, this generation is able to better shoulder that weight and create a more liberated and humane future for us all.