By Tina Turner

Sometimes I recall that warm June night in Pittsburgh in 1983. My boyfriend had misjudged a car stopped in front of us to make a left turn. I held on during the hard braking, but didn’t during contact.

I went over the back corner of the car as it turned and landed face first hard enough to rip the helmet from my head. My chin hit the road and split. As my jaw came together, my teeth shattered. My pelvis was broken. Thankfully, I had no other road rash—gloves, jacket, jeans and boots prevented that. I spent a week in the hospital and ended up black and blue from my knee to my armpit on my right side.

Fast forward to 1990, when I found myself on the back of another bike with another boyfriend. I decided I didn’t like that position. I wanted to be in charge.

So, I bought a used 1983 Honda 500 Shadow, and practiced in the alley behind my house until I felt confident to ride on the street. I put 10,000 miles on that bike during the summer. The next spring, I bought a 1991 Honda 750 Nighthawk. I rode that bike all over the western Pennsylvania hills.

Then a friend introduced me to rallies. That’s when it all came together: motorcycling, touring and camping. I loved to spend days and weeks touring our country on two wheels.

I rode that Nighthawk all over the eastern United States. I spent most of my summers with three-day weekends, traveling to Vermont, New York, Virginia, Maryland, West Virginia and Ohio. I’d take weeklong trips to North and South Carolina and northern Alabama. I’d do 500- to 800-mile days.

I got to know a lot of people who went to the rallies and, every time we got together, it was like we had just seen each other yesterday.

People would ask me, “Aren’t you nervous to be out on a bike by yourself?”

I would ask them, “Would you mess with a woman by herself on a motorcycle?”

They would think and say, “I guess not.”

Actually, most people are interested and approach me to talk about riding, especially if I’m a few states away from home. Many find it fascinating to see me on the road, just meandering across the countryside, stopping wherever I want. It’s a great freedom, and it clears the mind.

In 1995, I moved to the Denver area. Talk about long distance touring! Nothing is close in the West. Out here, I have learned to ride 200 miles to get breakfast, then continue on my ride.

I continued going to rallies, but most became weeklong trips. I’ve been to Kansas, Nebraska, Wyoming, Montana, Utah, New Mexico, Arizona, Idaho, Washington, South Dakota and California.

I got to know another bunch of great people who I see, maybe, every few years. I even met my husband at a rally when he was seated with some of my rally friends.

We had been to the same rallies before, but had never met. That was in 1998. We married in 2001.

After all the riding I had done by myself, I was riding with someone again. It’s the same, but different.

It came together once we got bike-to-bike communication. We loved riding long distances and camping, but it’s easier when you can tell the other person you’d like to stop. It’s also useful for pointing out wildlife or something to look at.

In the mountains, I’ve come around a corner to a herd of big horn sheep, watched a bobcat walk down a road, followed a young moose and seen brown bear. Out on the plains, it’s pronghorn antelopes, pheasants, coyotes and large birds of prey.

In 2001, I bought the Suzuki 1200s Bandit that I still ride. It has more than 94,000 miles, and I’ve put every mile on. I love this bike, because it’s easy to work on and modify, and it packs a lot of power in a small package. And it’s comfortable.

I have traveled to Alabama a few times. And my husband and I have taken several one- or two-week trips. I even ride back to Pittsburgh to see my parents.

Motorcycling allows me to clear my head of everyday problems.

Cleaning and working on my bike also is therapeutic. Being alone in the garage, going over every inch, finding little issues and fixing them before they become true problems just brings me closer to my bike.

The motorcycling world is a wonderful one. When two people who ride come together, they each know what the other person goes through on the road. There’s no need to explain. It doesn’t matter if you’re male or female or what you ride. Where else can you find that?

Tina Turner is an AMA member from Bennett, Colo. She has been riding for 27 years.