Introduction | Marjorie Riches

I grew up in a small town in Alaska where everyone pretty much keeps to themselves. My nearest neighbor was about 10 miles away and the trees became my best friends. From this, you may think that I had a pretty boring childhood. If you think this, however, you are wrong. I had a very exciting childhood, full of all of the insane little things that my parents did and forced on me. One such thing is riding motorcycles. My Dad is a traditional Harley Rider. He's big, has wavy long hair, wears every Harley t-shirt that ever existed, and is, simply put, crazy. He even has a fumanchu for gosh sakes. My dad has been riding motorcycles since he was 15 and he will be riding motorcycles until the day that he dies and possibly even past that. He's kindly informed us all that when he dies he wants to be strapped to his motorcycle and driven into a river. You may find this a little disturbing, but you'd have to know my Dad to understand. My mom isn't quite as hard core. She didn't even know how to ride a bicycle until she was 30. This is when she met my Dad. He, of course, had to convince her to start riding motorcycles and riding a bike seemed to be the first step. She has learned very well, and now this tiny little woman rides a motorcycle that is bigger than my Dad's. You may be asking where I fit in to all of this. Well, when my parents started having kids, they had to figure out how to keep riding motorcycles. I was the youngest so by my time they had it all figured out. As a baby they would bundle me up in a tiny leather jacket, with tiny little boots and a tiny helmet (Owning a leather store helped them out in this). Then, my Dad would put my on the gas tank of his Harley and hold me there in front of him with one arm while he used his other arm to steer. You may be wondering how I survived my childhood. All I have to say in response to this is that someone was watching out for me. When I was old enough to sit up and hold on for myself, I was moved to the back of my mom's motorcycle where she, as any loving mother would, asked me to sing all of the time so that she could hear me and know that I was still there. I guess that it is good that she instilled in me a love for singing. When you have to sing for hours on end, you start to make up crazy songs, but that was her way of knowing that I was safe. Ever since that time, I have continued to be a biker. I still enjoy going on trips with my parents, although all of their old biker buddies have switched from calling me "little Margie" to "biker babe". I guess the main point I am trying to get across is that through their love of motorcycles, my parents instilled in me a sense of adventure. And of course, of creativity when you have to bring along your kids.