A letter from the author
Dear Reader:
My saga trying to get Motorcycles for Women Only published is a book all by itself. I would like to share an abbreviated version of my trials with you and hope that you get the point: Never, Never, Never give up!
When I first began to write MFWO I was only scribbling notes down detailing various riding tips and experiences to give my friend Kim. I was working 2 part-time and 1 full time job and had not even considered a book. As the notes developed into pages and pages, the seed was planted and I began hiring a typist to type them. I thought about penning a nice pamphlet for my few female biker friends. It was frustrating correcting pages over and over and paying for retyping them over and over. It was costing more than I could afford and I only got 50 pages into the book. It consumed any extra funds I had and reduced my food budget to a single daily serving for my dog and whatever I could scrounge from my waitress jobs. My refrigerator looked like a used condiments’ sale rack framing a spacious mansion where my lonely quart of milk, box of cereal and bag of fruit resided. Life pretty much was on the downside of the universal see-saw.
One day an angel by the name of Michael pulled me out of the whirlwind. This friend told me how to replace a rotting kitchen counter on the cheap by doing the labor myself and by purchasing a discounted one. He guided me on the installation and connecting the plumbing and on occasion would drop by to check my work. Before leaving after one such inspection, he perused over the hand written and typed pages on the table and I told him about my project. Not being judgmental, he simply bade farewell and headed to his shop to work. However, unbeknown to me, he saw the strain it put on me and my refrigerator’s occupants. The next day he unexpectedly stopped by. He knew I couldn’t do any work on the sink because I worked my night job the day before until late and I had just gotten up to write before my next gig.
With a mouthful of Rice Krispies I mumbled, “What’s Up, Michael?”
With a single sweep of both arms he placed a typewriter on the table and reached under his arm to get a brand new, signed Thesaurus and slammed it down in front of my bowl as my Rice Krispies danced out over the table. Now you can stop starving yourself. Good Luck. That was one of very few times that someone came to my rescue unsolicited and unselfishly.
“I never use it”, he quipped as he turned towards the door. “I’m late. Bye.”
I was so moved and sat there with tears welling up before I jumped up and hollered, “Thank you Michael!” as he stepped into his van and wave off in reply.
For the next year I jumped at any chance to interview lady bikers, read mags, research motorcycle maintenance and rode the iron horse all over Florida in between jobs. I wrote and typed almost every day. Finally, when I had what I believed to be a book, I had accumulated over 500 pictures with a borrowed camera and with the help of photographer friends as well. I collected reams of articles from old motorcycle magazines and books that had articles on women. In the years 1900 thru 1950 there were so many articles about women motorcyclists, their clubs and women champions. As the industry slowly turned women into “ARMature CANDY”, they slowly faded from history. But Today, women have arisen with a vengeance and are the largest evolving motorcycle market. There’s no turning back, Sister.
When I returned home to NYC, I made a trip in a borrowed heap to my friend Nancy’s editor buddy at Prentice Hall and showed Stan my work and photos. He asked how long it took me to which I sheepishly replied “About a year but I had to work and didn’t have the time to finish sooner.” I’ll never forget the look he gave me. I was embarrassed and felt guilty for taking so long. He asked twice:
“How long?” To which I had nothing to say. Silence. “Do you know how long something like this takes?” he continued. Again silence. I was at loss for words. (My life passed before me and I wanted to die.)
“God. I can’t believe you took only a year. That is unbelievable. This is a big project and usually takes an author years to complete.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. “Really?” I was jubilant. I honestly had no idea. I was way out of my league.
Without the generosity of my friend Nancy when I went home to New York City, I could not have peddled my wares. During after hours, she let me xerox copies of my 300+ page script. The next day I stayed at a friend’s apartment when she was home and sat in her car when she was not home in the winter compiling over 300 page-script into several xerox copies to solicit publishers. Previously I had written a popular Park Avenue literary agent, Charles Byrne, I told him I was his million-dollar baby. What a naïve idiot I was. But he agreed to see me when I got to NYC and so I was on my way.
I never had my hair cut or done in a beauty shop but before I left, Nancy’s hairdresser sister gave me a haircut for luck. As she clipped away, periodically she would show me small clippings to assure me she was just trimming it, knowing full well not to cut it short. So, there I sat on my porch steps reading the newspaper while she did her magic. Before I knew it, she chopped off all my long hair to barely above shoulder length and I cried all night. She never cut my hair again. I looked like the paint can Dutch boy and the next day I was going to the most important meeting of my miserable life. I saved and worked my butt off for this opportunity and I was going as a Dutch boy. Thank goodness it was winter and I could disguise my tragic haircut with caps, scarves and bologna if I wanted to.
The meeting went well and soon after I got back from NYC, I received a contract and I was walking on air. Then, within a year he passed away. No problem. His daughter was taking over his practice. Saved. A woman! She cancelled me shortly after the funeral because I was a “new writer”. Girl Power, my ass! So, for the next few years I sent out the book trying to solicit an agent or publisher. The men in this male-dominated arena of motorcycles loved it but I was told repeatedly “there’s just no market for this material.” I broke it up for magazine articles but got nothing. However, one editor wrote his own women and motorcycles articles removing a line or two from my articles, plopping his name on it and Voila! I’ve experienced so many betrayals, disrespect and hurt that I finally threw the towel in.
I had an article published in Harley Girls magazine. I often think of the women who started this magazine and cannot fathom the crap they too before they went under. Today’s lady bikers have no idea what it took to be in the world of motorcycles. It would do them good to do a little online research and see who paved the road for them and carry the torch proudly and never let it be diminished again. Their daughters will love them for that. When I researched for the book, I was made aware of the tremendous women who preceded me and paved the road for me too. Women are just incredible creatures. It’s no surprise to me that they are devalued, burka-rized, humiliated, disrespected, bullied, deceived by so many ignorant males. The good news is that there are still intelligent fair-minded men out there, real men! You will find them on motorcycles too. I did.
MFWO sat on the shelf for years while life tossed me around. Even though I went through so much to write it, I always liked the book. So, I reread it and decided to make an eBook to share with women. When I went online to check out the female biker world and clubs, I was overcome with joy. So, it was true. Women bikers were no longer the motorcycle market’s sleeping giant as I predicted. They were the GIANT MOTORCYCLE MARKET and wide awake and happening. Today’s lady bikers are in full-power mode and awesome on a huge scale. You better hop on or you’ll miss the ride of your life.
