chick bike

Is the HD Sportster a chick bike?

unknown legend chick bike

I’ve heard the question being asked before. I even asked myself the very same question in the past. Without thinking.

unlknown legend chick bike Harley Davidson Sportster So a chick bike is a bike for the weak, uncool, soft and clueless part of mankind? The part that belongs in the kitchen? Never to be bought by the other half of humankind, the tough, rough and able bikers of this world?

How arrogant! How yesterday! How dumb!

I know 1%ers riding a Sportster. Nobody would call it a chick bike to their face. Neither would they see it that way. They see its beauty and its advantages.

Because the question if a bike is easy to handle is not one that is exclusive to the “weaker sex”. Calling it a chick bike is nothing but sexist and stupid. Stick to stereotypes and you’ll never grasp the truth of what being a biker is really all about: freedom. Freedom from restrictions and prejudice.

unlknown legend chick bike Harley Davidson Sportster

The truth is: all these tough, strong and male bike riders out there will also need the help of their pals, when the Fatboy needs lifting up, won’t they?

towards Applecross – taking on the Bealach na Ba

A perfect ride – what did it take?

Riding Towards Shadows Appplecross Amazon Nellie Merthe Erkenbach

Riding Towards Shadows Appplecross Amazon Nellie Merthe ErkenbachFun, for a start. And sun, not to forget. Me and my bike and some stunning scenery – that was a perfect ride for me. No breakdowns, no annoying cars, not a soul in sight. Just summer and the coconut smell of Scottish gorse, a sea breeze and a powerful engine roaring through the wilderness. And the riding was easy indeed. Added to that a little treat – a fruit scone, home-made jam and cream when the road took me back into civilisation. Perfect. And I had just the idea, where to find all that.

There was a slight breeze from the sea as I was getting ready for the trip. When I am alone I sometimes talk to my bike and I did that, telling her where we would head out for today. A seagull was crying out in protest when I started the engine. Once I was past the dodgy gravel of the driveway the sky was the limit. After about an hour I had my fist stop. I needed a coffee to warm me up. Even though the sun was out it was still fairly cold.

Riding Towards Shadows Appplecross Amazon Nellie Merthe Erkenbach

I was at Plockton, looking very Scottish but somehow it was very English (at least by the accents you heard) and very touristy but also very beautiful. The views across the water were fabulous, just the perfect place to stop for a coffee. I also felt rather hungry and ordered a bacon roll to go with my latte. Looking out towards the bay and the harbour, I was determined to come back to Scotland to live; just me and my Harley. I should never have left in the first place. It just felt right to be here.  I belonged here. Even after Rob’s death, I did. Home is where the heart is they say, my heart most certainly was here. I even had friends here still, like Ewan, who seemed a real friend already, and I would find more, I was sure of that. It had always been easy to find friends in Scotland

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Riding-Towards-Shadows-Nellie-Erkenbach-ebook/dp/B07KCJ6TDL/I had parked the bike at the wee harbour, watching the boats on the water I got dressed to take on the next part of the journey. Funny how Ewan has always seen me as a biker, he had never questioned the woman part of it. I had a bike and I hung out with the Blue Angels, so I was a biker for him. As if in his world there was no sexism or prejudice. I liked that. I certainly wanted his respect and I did not want to overstay my welcome, I had to face going back to Glasgow soon. I wanted Rob to be proud of me and I wanted to do things right. With one last look over Plockton harbour I started the engine, it was time to say good bye soon.

But until then I had a wonderful day ahead of me, it was not even lunchtime, the sun was out, and I was heading for Applecross and the most challenging road Scotland has to offer for bikers. A steep single tracker that takes you all the way up to the cattle pass, the Bealach na Bà, winding up in tight hairpin bends where a long fork would find its limits. Since my HD was so new she was still pretty original and therefore an ideal bike to take on the challenge, reliable and nimble. But my, that was a challenge nevertheless.

Riding Towards Shadows Appplecross Amazon Nellie Merthe ErkenbachApproaching the climb coming from Lochcarron you saw a huge sign warning caravans and unsuitable vehicles before you passed the bright orange snow gates. They were open. At first the road took you leisurely up the hill, then it tightened slowly into a single-track road which means no two vehicles can pass each other, nor can a bike and a car, it was that tight. Passing places were used for that and often one of the cars meeting had to reverse. If you did not like reversing with a steep, unfenced drop right next to the roadside, well then you are having a problem. Being a biker, I was safe there, no reversing for me. I was lucky, there were hardly any cars coming towards me on my way up and I could drink in this fantastic view of the Torridon Mountains ahead and the sea and the steep climb behind me. These were the most awe inspiring and challenging ten miles of road in Scotland. There was no way I was going to miss them.

Riding Towards Shadows Appplecross Amazon Nellie Merthe Erkenbach

Rock broke the surface of the ground in many places, there were not trees and little growth. A rocky green and brown barrenness all the way up to 626 meters. It didn’t seem a lot but since it rose from sea level it felt more massive. In places like this you could feel alone and very small. The crofters of old would take their cattle along this pass, hence the name. No fun especially in winter or bad weather. And you certainly did not want to be caught out by fog or strong winds on a bike.

Riding Towards Shadows Appplecross Amazon Nellie Merthe Erkenbach

I had been fine going up but encountered a few rather tricky situations on the way down. Cars that would not reverse to the next passing place (No, I can NOT reverse up the hill!) or moments where I had to hit the brakes on this road full of gravel and the back wheel started overtaking. But I managed all these tricky moments nicely and once I had made my way down the pass into Applecross I could rest outside the Inn in the sun with a beer watching the sparkling sea. Yep. I made it.

Life couldn’t get better than this.

Riding Towards Shadows Appplecross Amazon Nellie Merthe Erkenbach

Riding back, I took the route along the coast from Applecross towards Shieldaig, a more serene beauty this time. The sun was shining, and the Scots Pine trees gave the scenery a touch of Mediterranean sweetness. The gorse framed roads were winding and climbing and falling but once you got the rhythm it was a fantastic ride. I felt one with my bike, the road and my life. This was where this whole trip had taken me. This was, what I had hoped for. I was here, right at this moment in time and I was happy. I changed gear and with a roar accelerated towards the horizon.

I felt free.

 

This is a chapter out of my new book Riding Towards Shadows, available on Amazon.

 

extract from “Riding Towards Shadows”

I woke up and the weather was utterly miserable. Of course it was! A thousand miles ahead of me and all the sky could think of was bloody rain. I left at 7am; the downpour was heavy, we had 13° Celsius  as I was heading north, straight towards my past. I started the engine and carefully drove down the steep and slippery driveway, a rush of pride running through my body. I was actually doing this, not just planning, I was really doing this. I quickly let down the visor so it didn’t have raindrops on the inside. The journey had begun. I was riding on memory lane.

Half an hour later my euphoria was gone completely. My hands were soaking wet. After years and years of wearing traditional leather gloves, I had opted for fancy high-tech super fibre Gore-Tex ones last winter. A lot of rubbish they were and soaking wet already, so were my feet in my cowboy boots. Wet through and through. You have to fight it, I decided. And I did. I didn’t even care that I burnt a big hole in my rainproof right at the very first petrol station because I came too close to the exhaust. Idiotic beginner’s fault! I hadn’t been paying attention. I was just off the motorway and spotted a DIY market across the road, decided to go in and bought a pair of working gloves. At least I’d have something to change then. Although they were of course not waterproof either. Had a coffee in the McDonald’s and enjoyed the eyes of the craftsmen in for their breakfast. You could see the questions in the face of almost every single one of them: She’s not on her own, is she? But what is she doing? Where is she going? But they didn’t ask, maybe they were afraid of answers.

Back on the bike I was greeting every little stretch of dry road with real happiness. I was not prepared to let my spirits drop and sang away under the cover of the helmet. Why do we always sing really strange songs on the bike? I opted for old fashioned songs like Summertime and my living was easy, I was sort of preparing for the dry Scottish sense of humour in all the wet misery where the only changes nature had to offer were different shades of grey.

Riding a bike is a much more intensive way of travelling than driving a car. It is noisier, colder, your back starts to hurt fairly soon. But when the weather dries up and the sun comes through – it can be real happiness, a joy you never really experience in a car. Not with the windows down. Not even in a convertible.

I had opted for a route through Holland and Belgium. I remembered vaguely that there was a ferry from Oostende. It was not signposted very well, but I found it. Unfortunately, the next ferry was due in a few hours’ time and it took four hours more to cross from here compared to Calais. It would be much too late to find a place to stay in Dover, so I chose to drive another extra hour to Calais and take the ferry from there. The wind along the coast was murder so I consequently tried to hide behind Polish lorries. Not very successfully, though. But I made it in the end and waited in windy queue number 900 for an hour to catch the late ferry. I felt a certain sense of pride. I had made it so far, a little over 500 miles. I was as wet and as tired as I had been 21 years ago and not a tiny little bit more comfortable. I had travelled alone then, too. All I had then was one address that of a fellow student who had left for Glasgow earlier than me and had already found a room. That had been my reason to go to Glasgow twenty years ago, a grant for Glasgow University. That young student of old was now a successful TV journalist and had other reasons for the trip but I was a biker still.

Would Rob love me now, the woman I had become? Was I still the woman he had seen in me?

In the pub on the ferry I sat down with a lager shandy, an egg and cress sandwich and some crisps. A few Dutch bikers sat close, nearer the windows. They nodded but did not come over to talk. That had certainly been different on my first trip to Glasgow, but why? Because there were more bikers about and the tradition of being open and communicative had changed or because I had changed? Did I look more tough and forbidding? Well, I am certainly not a young girl anymore. And people seemed to have a problem with unaccompanied middle-aged women. It is a non-standard form of behaviour. People seem to find it difficult to come to terms with non-standard forms of behaviour. They do not find it interesting, they find it disturbing.

The announcement came, we were in the Port of Dover already and asked to proceed to our vehicles. I did. There were about 12 bikes on the ferry. All racers. The Dutch guys, a small English group who did not look left or right never mind greet, and a Manx group talking races. We were all crammed together in a line, bikes secured with straps provided. In my fear of seeing my bike on the floor rather than standing once in Dover because of her not so stable side stand, I had strapped her tight, real tight. So tight, I had to muster all my strength and I still couldn’t get that bloody thing off. The lock had jammed.

I turned round and said: “Hey guys, can one of you give me a hand?”

They were there with the speed of light, started pulling and poking and cursing but they would rather have lost a few fingers than admit failure. It took them some time, but they managed to get my Harley free. I thanked them and looked into two big grins. My need for help had made them happy.

I had not liked to ask. A matter of pride I guess. But staying behind, strapped tight to the ferry, wouldn’t have looked much cooler, would it?

But still I felt more “girlie” than I was happy with.

I still felt fit enough to drive although it was already 10 pm on my inner clock and the shandy had made me sleepy. I cruised along the deserted waterfront looking for a room; I hadn’t pre-booked as I hadn’t done then. I ended up a few miles away in Folkstone in a cheap and formerly glorious Grand Hotel run by some Spaniards from the Canary Islands who made me think of Manuel in Fawlty Towers. The hotel didn’t feel English and was certainly not clean in the lobby. The room was all right though, I was too tired to care. All I wanted was a shower and a bed. I took a shower and enjoyed the feeling of hot water running down my back immensely. I went to bed straight away, with my hair still wet. That is the good thing about travelling on a bike – you do not have to worry about the state of your hair. It will always be a mess, whatever you do.

Before I fell asleep my thought drifted back to my first trip. I remember meeting some English biker on the ferry and following his bike when we came to Dover. He knew where rooms could be had; it had been late then, too. Can’t remember a name or face, just the kindness he had shown to a stranger.

 

Riding Towards Shadows by Nellie Merthe Erkenbach

Paperback out now!

Riding Towards Shadows is my very own road movie turned book, a true journey to my heart, my way of dealing with the demons of my past; love, death, and redemption.
Arriving in my forties, I started asking myself who I really was, what my life was about and where I wanted to go from here. I had a successful career as a journalist, but something was missing and there was still a twenty-year-old unsolved issue. The man I loved had died in a motorcycle accident in the early 1990s in Glasgow, Scotland. I never told him I loved him. He never knew, or did he? The pain had never left me.
It was time to give him the send-off he never had. And it was time to face the shadows from my past.
That was the beginning of this journey.
All lovers of road movies know one thing; the means of transport plays a major role in this. I have been a biker all my life, now was the time to go for the real thing. I bought a Harley-Davidson and rode north, a thousand miles towards my past; not knowing, what or who I would find. Could it be peace and awareness?
I hope my search for inner and outer freedom, my way of dealing with my sorrow, and my determination to do things my way, especially as a woman facing so much sexism and stereotypes, will appeal to some and maybe inspire others. Never cease to dream.
Of course, this is also a story for all those lovers of road movies, motorcycles and the easy rider myth.
This is my journey; it taught me a lot. Let it inspire you, everything is true as I remember it.

Riding Towards Shadows Nellie Merthe Erkenbach

get Riding Towards Shadows on Amazon

 

Product details

  • Paperback: 144 pages
  • Publisher: Independently published (28 Nov. 2018)
  • Language: English
  • ISBN-10: 1729495281
  • ISBN-13: 978-1729495285
  • Product Dimensions: 12.7 x 0.9 x 20.3 cm

 

Ready to Rumble

I had my Harley, I had my tattoo, and I was flying high now, like Rocky dancing on the top of the stairs in Philadelphia. I was ready, my time had come.

This was a quest of sorts. I had questions and I wanted them answered. I wanted to know where to go from here. This was not a journey to Glasgow and back. I set off towards the past and my own shadows, not knowing if this road would take me anywhere. It was like travelling in a time machine, only not naked, but nearly. My Sportster had a very small saddleback on one side and space for my waterproof roll bag behind my single seat on the rear wheel cover. No rucksack of course, I wasn’t going to look like a student on her way to lecture. That was me, luggage wise.

Riding Towards Shadows Nellie Merthe Erkenbach

Normally my luggage was massive and heavy, all these things I felt I needed to take when travelling, clothes, extra clothes, shoes, more shoes, hand and foot cream, make-up, disinfectant, painkillers, lipstick, charger, notebook, cables….

I simply had to define luggage and therefore myself in a new way, or rather the old way where I had been twenty years ago. For the time being I had leather gear for the bike, one pair of denims for the evenings, a few cotton shirts, socks, underwear, all black, some things to wash, no make-up, the rainproof, leather-vest. That was more or less it. I did not even take a book. And I was notorious for taking books when travelling. I had rented a holiday home in Tuscany once and taken over twenty books along for two weeks. Well, those were the days before Kindle and I had taken the car, then.

Nellie Merthe Erkenbach Riding Towards Shadows

On the night before my trip towards the past I hardly slept. So many things went through my head. I knew this adventure of sorts would not be a real adventure. This is Europe, not the wilderness. I was willing and able to use my credit card, and my mobile phone. I was travelling on public roads and therefore not really in danger of anything but cars misjudging motorcycles.

All I had was one address and phone number, one guy from the past I managed to track down. He had given me a few leads and the offer to come and see him. He had moved to the Highlands. But I was aiming for Glasgow.

Still I had a certain respect for the whole adventure, an underlying fear of what I might find. I was acutely aware of the pain I might face and was concerned about all those little everyday things, which can make life uncomfortable, cheap hotel rooms for example. I had probably seen too many of them.

I feared cold, exhaustion, and loneliness more than anything, on an emotional and a physical level. What if I didn’t find anything or anybody I could still connect to? What if everything had changed, if there was no going back at all? What, if the weather was bad? If couldn’t find, what I was looking for. What was I looking for? Understanding and redemption?

 

Riding Towards Shadows

Nellie Merthe Erkenbach: Riding Towards Shadows

 

This is an excerpt from Riding Towards Shadows, ebook available on Amazon.

 

out now – Riding Towards Shadows by Nellie Merthe Erkenbach

Riding Towards Shadows is my very own road movie turned book, a true journey to my heart, my way of dealing with the demons of my past; love, death, and redemption.
Arriving in my forties, I started asking myself who I really was, what my life was about and where I wanted to go from here. I had a successful career as a journalist, but something was missing and there was still a twenty-year-old unsolved issue. The man I loved had died in a motorcycle accident in the early 1990s in Glasgow, Scotland. I never told him I loved him. He never knew, or did he? The pain had never left me.
It was time to give him the send-off he never had. And it was time to face the shadows from my past.
That was the beginning of this journey.
All lovers of road movies know one thing; the means of transport plays a major role in this. I have been a biker all my life, now was the time to go for the real thing. I bought a Harley-Davidson and rode north, a thousand miles towards my past; not knowing, what or who I would find. Could it be peace and awareness?
I hope my search for inner and outer freedom, my way of dealing with my sorrow, and my determination to do things my way, especially as a woman facing so much sexism and stereotypes, will appeal to some and maybe inspire others. Never cease to dream.
Of course, this is also a story for all those lovers of road movies, motorcycles and the easy rider myth.
This is my journey; it taught me a lot. Let it inspire you, everything is true as I remember it.

  • Kindle Edition
  • 2118 KB
  • Amazon Media EU S.à r.l.
  •  English
  • ASIN: B07KCJ6TDL

Out soon on Amazon!

Riding Towards Shadows

 

Out soon on Amazon!

 

This is a short story to a long ride. As short as it may be, it has influenced my life for so many years now that it almost seems I have never been without it.

When fate strikes, you struggle to cope and move on. But your unable to leave the pain behind, it follows you. You cannot ride fast enough to escape your past. You can only ride on and hope it will get easier one day.

The man I loved died not knowing that I loved him. He died on the day I wanted to tell him that I did, that I saw the future he saw for us, too. That I believed in us and him and against all odds was finally willing to try.

It was too late.

Rob MacGregor crashed into a concrete bus shelter, veering his Harris Kawasaki to avoid an old man slowly crossing the road and died. He was 36 years old.

I never told him what I felt, and I would never get the chance now.

What did he think of in his last moment, lying on the warm Glasgow tarmac drawing the stale summer air into his lungs for the very last time?

His life, his friends, his pain?

Me?

 

Nellie Merthe Erkenbach: Riding Towards Shadows

ebook and paperback

ISBN: 9781729495285

road movie turned book

I am in the last stages of publishing my book which was inspired by this blog but will be so much more than that. 

Riding towards Shadows Nellie Merthe Etkenbach

Riding Towards Shadows is my very own road movie turned book, a true journey to my heart, my way of dealing with the demons of my past; love, death, and redemption.

Arriving in my forties, I started asking myself who I really was, what my life was about and where I wanted to go from here. I had a successful career as a journalist, but something was missing and there was still a twenty-year-old unsolved issue. The man I loved had died in a motorcycle accident in the early 1990s in Glasgow, Scotland. I never told him I loved him. He never knew, or did he? The pain had never left me.

It was time to give him the send-off he never had. And it was time to face the shadows from my past.

That was the beginning of this journey.

All lovers of road movies know one thing; the means of transport plays a major role in this. I have been a biker all my life, now was the time to go for the real thing. I bought a Harley-Davidson and rode north, a thousand miles towards my past; not knowing, what or who I would find. Could it be peace and awareness?

Harley-Davidson woman myth legendI hope my search for inner and outer freedom, my way of dealing with my sorrow, and my determination to do things my way, especially as a woman facing so much sexism and stereotypes, will appeal to some and maybe inspire others. Never cease to dream.

Of course, this is also a story for all those lovers of road movies, motorcycles and the easy rider myth.

This is my journey; it taught me a lot. Let it inspire you, everything is true as I remember it.

 

Riding towards Shadows … soon to be published on Kindle Direct Publishing.

 

 

riding bitch

I have been thinking about the order of things lately, especially when it comes to man and woman doing the same things; like riding a bike. They never do it side by side, do they?

riding bitchIt started out with one bike, the man in the front, the woman riding bitch.

Now there are a lot of women riding a bike of their own but they still “ride bitch” or have you ever seen a couple on their bikes where the women is at the front? No! We always follow.

Why?

follow the manI guess even I would, if the man in my life had a bike. That not being the case, I am usually out there on my own. I follow my own instincts and need to make my own decisions. But given the chance, I do it, too. Just like those poor Arab women walking a few steps behind their men on the streets. It is not different. It is about feeling inferior, isn’t it?

Is making decisions the problem for most women on a bike? I mean we do it in cars as well, the man is driving (unless he wants to drink) and the woman isn’t.  Why? Guess because a lot of men out there feel the need to tell the women how to drive properly. Do we shirk that? We shouldn’t, should we?

We should stop following, start taking the lead occasionally. It takes guts but then that’s what is needed on a bike, isn’t it?

up front

TdF (25)TdF (14)About ten years ago I experienced my first Tour de France as a journalist. This mad cycling event is a very complex thing when it comes to driving and parking, there are a lot of different car accreditations about, different routes you can and can’t take accordingly, different parking areas, in different places every day. You get a huge book that tells you how everything works and as a newcomer it can be pretty overwhelming. So what did I do on my very first day?? I followed a male colleague who had been doing the Tour de France for years. He had a car with the same accreditation as mine.

TdF (36)I ended up in a police convoy (2 bikes front, two bikes at the back, all four sirens and lights flashing) being (embarrassed as hell) taken over the bridge at the Ile de Noirmoutier. Lost and on an illegal route where the only way back was the fact that the French police had pity with the daft and lost German blonde.

That never happened again in the 7 following years because I started following my own instincts.

This is what I wanna shout at all those women I see on the roads riding behind their men:

Stop riding bitch!

Start riding, bitch!

 

 

 

 

when the season ends

20141101_151243newThe autumn sun had sent rays of intense golden light and the vibrant forest colours just seemed to wait to be enjoyed.

An unusual warm spell and the even more unusual event of a Saturday free of work coincided.

I just couldn’t help it.

I needed to take the Harley for a run.

20141101_141039

20141101_151348Lucky bikers who live where winter never hits. I don’t and I know, on this very spot, there will be snow soon, maybe in a few days. It is always early up on the mountains.

20141101_150343I wasn’t the only one today who felt compelled to ride since it could just be the last day of the year you could. Bikers were everywhere and so were tourists; complete and utter mayhem.

Guess I wasn’t the only one who felt it might be the last chance today.

The last ride of the season always feels very different from the first. Now the bike is a long and trusted friend moving smoothly in the rhythm you want.

In spring it will feel like meeting your lover after you have been apart for a long time. You need to overcome a certain shyness and restraint first.

But now, at the end of the season, the closeness is complete and you don’t want it to end.

Why is it that we always want the things we can’t have most?

20141101_151332I just know I will think about my bike all winter, counting the days until spring.

The motorcycle cycle is cruel to addicts like me.