That moment when you realized you're a rider for life

For most of us, motorcycling is a permanent part of our lives, something we know we'll keep doing as long as we're able. We may consider it a significant part of our identity, something that defines who we are and influences our outlook on life.

When did we cross the Rubicon? There has to be a moment when we realized this was more than just a passing fancy. For some it may be difficult to pinpoint, while for others it may be obvious and simple. We asked some of our Rider's Alliance members if they could identify that moment when they realized that motorcycling was a permanent part of their lives. Here are their stories.

Liz Kiniery: The right people, the right feeling

It was 2017, five years after I started riding on the street and just one year after I started riding off-road.

I was on an overnight street ride through New York State with a small group of moto enthusiasts called the Philadelphia Riders. I can remember vividly a feeling of fullness and togetherness on this ride — a mix of growth, adventure, risk, and contentment, all at once. We had just pulled over for a moment to take a quick break after hundreds of miles of mountain twisties. We were still 100 miles from home. It was pouring rain, and yet we were all still laughing.

I was riding a borrowed Triumph Tiger 800 because my own Ducati was at a friend's garage in the middle of an engine rebuild that we were all working on together. And just the weekend prior, we were in the beautiful Shenandoah National Forest, riding off-road on our dual-sport motorcycles. For me it wasn’t some true revolutionary moment, it was just this side-of-the-road feeling of everything clicking, recognizing that riding meant meeting amazing people, finding adventure in misfortune, and experiencing the beauty in the everyday.

It was the simple realization that the values of this community and the sport aligned with how I wanted my whole life to feel.

Dax Jordan: A motorcycling community halfway around the world brought me back

Racing through the streets of Milan on a Ducati, I was following Eligio Arturi, owner of Moto Touring of Italy, on his BMW, who was leading me to the station in a frantic attempt to catch a train. As we zigzagged through traffic, threading the needle in a maze of cobblestoned streets, I couldn't help but hear a James Bond soundtrack in my head. Eligio's partner waited at the station with my ticket in hand. Tossing my helmet to him, I shouted, "Grazie! Alla prossima!" (Until next time.)

Staring out the train window, I reflected not just on the ride but the journey. Having recently experienced a devastating loss, I arrived in Italy in a fog. But through building connections, I found myself. The day I arrived I went to a coffee bar and ordered a cappuccino. This became my regular "bar." One day, I noticed the owner was wearing a jacket that said Anima Guzzista. I asked, Guzzista? As in, Moto Guzzi? I learned that he and the baker at the bar both rode and owned 12 motorcycles between them. At the bar, I met Marco, owner of Hotel Milano in Modena. He rode a Scrambler and his friend was looking to buy a Harley. I attended classes at Romanica language school. Elisabetta, the owner of the school, had her own Vespa club. This brings me back to Eligio. We met through our mutual friend, owner of Doffo Winery in Temecula, California.

I felt lost and alone when I arrived in this small northern Italian village but it was the shared enthusiasm for bikes that reminded me to live while I'm alive, laugh, engage and fearlessly continue down the road ahead. I may not know what's waiting around the next curve but I'm curious to discover it. A lifelong passion is renewed continuously. I don't allow fear to stop me. I overcome it one ride at a time.

Fred Foster: Things that make you go zoom and people who ride them

From a very young age, like most boys, I grew up with a love for vehicles. And though I loved all vehicles, I found a particular fascination with the ones that moved a little faster than the rest. Not just airplanes, but fighter jets. Not just trains, but bullet trains. Not just motorcycles, but sport bikes.

The "click" didn't happen until years later during the summer of 2011, when a lack of skill on a Southern California canyon road would send me on an agricultural adventure on my 2008 Pearl White Ducati 848. About halfway through a blind downhill left hand turn, I felt my knee touch the ground, but instead of my normal reaction of "Yeah I'm a BA!" I felt my stomach drop as I realized that the oncoming car was across the double yellow and headed right for me. In the next three seconds, which seemed to take forever, I panicked, straightened the bike up, applied the brakes and target fixated on an embankment carved into the mountainside.

The impact launched me and my 848 into a full flip. While inverted (shout out to "Top Gun"), I fell from underneath the bike and landed on my hands and butt. Within seconds, I sprang to my feet and ran to the bike. The group of riders who had been in trail of me did what any of us would. They stopped, helped me get the bike up and made sure I was OK. To my surprise, there were two EMTs and a doctor in the group. After assessing the situation, we realized that I had no injuries and though the bike was damaged it was still rideable. We ripped off the fairings that presented a problem and within 15 minutes were back in the twisties.

When we arrived at the store atop the mountain, these guys only gave words of encouragement and explained that "We've all been there." This is where it "clicked" for me. Total strangers stopped to help me when I was down and tried to cheer me up later. At a stoplight, car drivers look away from each other while motorcycle riders give a nod or thumbs up. The joy of riding tightly binds this community of riders, and that joy is why I will always be one!

Kimba Reams: A new approach to living life

When the COVID-19 pandemic hit, I re-evaluated my life. I decided to spend less time slaving away at my job and more time living, doing things that brought me joy. Being that riding my Silver Stallion (Yamaha FJR1300) brought me the ultimate pleasure, I decided to ride daily.

At that time, the furthest I'd ridden was a 400-mile trek. After learning of the Iron Butt Association's SaddleSore 1000 (1,000 miles in under 24 hours), I created a route and accomplished that ride in August, totaling 1,031 miles. Next I set my sights on the IBA's Bun Burner 1500 (1,500 miles in under 36 hours), which I completed in October. In late 2020, I learned about riders completing routes that looped through the United States and passed through 48 of the 50 states. I was blessed to be able to achieve that in September 2021, logging more than 10,000 miles in 17 days.

Along the way, I co-founded a women's moto collective, The Litas Greenville, S.C., to create a positive environment and encourage and empower local female motorcyclists. My social media pages are dedicated to my moto adventures and, on occasion, fitness posts to inspire other women. Most recently, I've completed an MSF Course and am now a Certified Rider Coach.

The pandemic affected everyone. For me, it made clear that motorcycling is no longer simply a recreational hobby, but has in fact become a lifelong passion.

Matt Carman: A detour from one dream to another one

I wanted to be a pilot. I joined the Navy as a jet mechanic and then went to college on the GI Bill, hoping to get my degree and re-join as an officer, soon to be accepted to fighter pilot school.

"Sometimes, in the pursuit of our dream, we get lost, and find a better one" — random quote I found on some motivational Instagram page back in 2015.

While in college, I got a part-time job at a Ski-Doo/Kawasaki dealership to learn how to work on snowmobiles and ended up falling in love with this white-and-orange Kawasaki Z1000 in the showroom. I drooled over the bike for six months. Then I saw this video.

I don't know why that video struck a nerve deep inside me. I was shooketh. Watching those bikes slide sideways in slow motion, something I didn't even know was physically possible, it just… blew my mind.

Shortly after, I had enough saved up to buy the Kawasaki, but had absolutely no ability, nor the desire to risk the damage required to learn how to drift my beautiful new-to-me Z1k.

Technically, I graduated college. I got my degree but I barely learned anything. I spent four years staring at my phone, watching bike videos. Shortly after graduating, I discovered adventure riding. That was the moment when it became clear where my dream was taking me. Ride long distances, on- and off-road. Explore the Earth. Go cool places, see cool stuff.

I never made it into fighter pilot school, though I now have a nine-to-five job working on the jets they use for the real-life Top Gun school. But after I clock out, you can find me out in the desert, on one of my three bikes, still working up the courage to learn how to drift.