The Best Kept Secret Blog - The Biker Chicks

The summer I was 17 was one of the best of my life.

I had my first job, my first car and my first serious boyfriend. And that boyfriend had a motorcycle.

We would spend long, summer days riding around with his pals and their girlfriends.

I never really fit the biker chick mold. I opted for pretty outfits over practical leathers. I drank Diet Coke while they chugged beer. But I did love riding on the back of that bike.

So this past weekend, when our family arrived in St. John's, Newfoundland to begin our summer holiday, I was pleasantly surprised to see signs up welcoming the Harley Owner's Group or HOG's.

If the welcome signs and deep rumbles of the bikes weren't enough to announce their presence, the three women using the bathroom at the tourist centre on Signal Hill would have been.

There I was, lamely whacking empty soap dispensers in a vain attempt to wash my hands when in walked the biker chicks.

Imagine three women in head to toe leather. One wore a bandanna embossed with flames around her blond hair. The second sported a t-shirt with the phrase, "Live hard - die hard" stretched across her ample bosom. The third had a shock of fuchsia hair cascading down her back.

Despite their outfits, what really caused me stop and stare at these women was their age. If I was a betting woman, I'd wager there wasn't a single one under 50.

In fact, as I started to pay attention, I didn't see any HOG members who looked to be a day less than 45.

My first thought when I encountered these women was "How do they manage their bladders while riding on the back of a Harley?" (If you know anything about Harley's, you'll know what I mean.)

But my next thought was "You go girls."

Here were women having fun - age appropriateness be darned.

Beyond the leather and flames, these women probably had jobs, houses, maybe even grand-kids.

Maybe they had been rock and roll chicks when they were younger or maybe they were just aiding and abetting their husband's mid-life crises.

Whatever their reasons, they were doing what they enjoyed and looked to be having a blast!

So I learned a little lesson. The next time my kids tell me to stop singing around the house, the next time some fashion magazine tells me I'm too old for short skirts or the next time anyone tells me "You're too old for that", I'll remember the biker chicks.