Being a woman rider has its perks, but there are also some annoying problems that come along with it. Maybe men go through similar things, but well, I wouldn’t know!
Here are a few problems that I’ve run in to. Can you relate?
Those boots are awesome!
Too bad they don’t come in your size.
Men don’t realize how good they have it with motorcycle boot selection. Particularly in the sport riding genre. Sure, there are women-specific, fully-featured sport boots available, but the choices are significantly fewer than what’s available for dudes.
Many men’s premium sport-style boots could be considered unisex when they offer smaller sizes. But, smaller often means that they start their sizes at 39 or 40, leaving ladies with little tootsies in the lurch.
Luckily, I can wear a 39 or 40 depending on the brand, so I have more options than some women do. But actually finding my size readily stocked and available can be another matter.
Hey, I’m going to run over to [insert local shop here] and try on some jackets!
Just kidding. They don’t have anything in my size.
I get it. Most places can’t afford to stock all sizes and styles for all bodies, especially when online shopping takes such a bite out of their sales. But, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck.
Having to buy expensive garments is a commitment. When you’re going to spend upwards of $300 on something, not having access to try things on is disappointing. I’ve got a Cycle Gear and a few dealers within a half-hour from home, but they NEVER have anything in my size or style.
Boob sweat – it’s a thing
Summer in a motorcycle jacket is hot. Everywhere.
When ya gotta go
You’ll probably end up having to hold it for a while
Full disclosure: I’m not an adventurous pee-er. I’ve never developed the ability to scurry behind some bushes or opt for a funnel-type device to find sweet relief. Granted, I’m never really out in the backcountry, either. No, I’m an indoor plumbing kinda girl.
The state of public restrooms here in the good ole US of A can be pretty abysmal. I’ve walked in and immediately out of some filthy spots. While I’m out riding around, the places I most frequent are gas stations. These can be hit or miss on cleanliness and paper stock. Large chains like Wawa, Sheetz, or QuikChek are usually pretty good. But some rinky-dink station with a key chained to a plank of wood that requires you to go around the back of the building? Bad times.
Ugh, don’t even get me started on the porta-potties.
It isn’t uncommon for me to find myself holding out for longer than I probably should because I’m a bathroom princess.
OMG, I can’t even.
- Isn’t that a big bike for a little girl like you?
- Wow, you rode that here by yourself?
- You ride pretty good for a girl.
Oh, you like our men’s gear? We make a version for women, too!
But, without all of the high-end bells and whistles.
For cryin’ out loud, why can’t all of the awesome features be equivalent on top of the range items for men and women? Things like: arm and leg cinching straps, vents, knee puck velcro patches, and functional pockets.
Pockets! Tell me what good a single slash pocket that can only hold my chapstick is on a pair of adventure pants. I mean, c’mon!
If the men’s high-end adventure pants have calf-level velcro straps to tighten the legs up a bit, why wouldn’t you think that the women’s equivalent would benefit from the same?
When You’re a Stranger – Following Me Home Isn’t Cute
It’s Frickin’ Creepy
Why a stranger would follow another motorcyclist to a residential area is beyond me. I’m not sure what the expected outcome is, but the reality is that it creeps people out.
Not only have I had someone follow me to my driveway, but last year I had a man in his car follow me to talk about my Bonneville. Both of those situations turned out fine, but the opportunity for them to go badly is clearly apparent.
On a less creepy but still unusual note, a couple of weeks ago, a man whom I spoke to briefly several years ago at a bagel shop 25 miles from home, recognized me. He spotted me from behind, in my work clothes and different color hair, while I stood at my mailbox. He turned his motorcycle around and came back to talk to me as I walked up my driveway.
If he knew where I lived, maybe it wouldn’t seem so odd. But placing me so far away from the spot in which we met, and looking rather differently makes it seem less likely.
When we’d met, I was dressed in my riding gear and I wore a baseball hat. I still don’t know how he recognized me. I didn’t recognize him but did recall the conversation we’d had when he reminded me.
How about you?
Do you find yourself having lady motorcyclist problems? Comment below.