Who is Moving Violations?
The Moving Violations Motorcycle Club, Inc. was founded in June of 1985 by a small group of women who enjoyed riding together and sharing information about motorcycling. Women on their own bikes were few and far between, and the experience of meeting and riding with one another brought strength, friendship and knowledge. From this experience evolved our basic philosophy: to enjoy safe, noncompetitive riding with other women motorcyclists.
Although most of our members are based in Metro-Boston, we also come from greater New England, New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, West Virginia, and as far away as Colorado. Several of the founding and early members are still involved with the Moving Violations.
Memories and Herstory from one of the founding Members
Recently some of the founding members or first members sat down and shared their memories of the club's founding and how it has evolved over its 25 year history!
To kick off our 25 year celebration we will feature a new interview each month with a founding or early club member.
This month we hear the recollections of Loocie ...
My hair was short; the only person who I’d ever met on a bike was Woody and I had a newly minted motorcycle license in hand. Since my early bike experience was on a Honda 50 when I was nine years old and I was now a street newbie. Woody had taken me on her bike in November to jobs we had on the north shore so that we didn’t waste gas with me driving in my warm car. It was a quick lesson in how many layers of clothing could I wear and still move around as a passenger. Learning to initially “street ride” in the cold is not highly recommended. I learned from the back and by the following Spring after an MSF course I had my own bike. I distinctly remember Woody coming with me to look at bikes that we found in the Want Advertiser. The first one we looked at seemed fine to me until Woody came back and said, “no way sis, this bike has bent forks.” For whatever that meant to me, I agreed and we kept looking. Finally I got a great deal on a Honda Magna 500 which came to be the crowning moment for me being the first recipient of the “Stupid Drop Award”. Unloading this new bike out of my truck, I not only dropped it over on one side but then proceeded to do it on the other side as its weight shifted as I picked it up. For a moment I wondered whether, this biking thing was going to be a hazard in my life.
Back up six months and there I was at my first MVMC meeting having thrown stones at the window to get in. Hmmm, maybe that was my initiation in getting past the locked door. There were eight people there as I remember, Jackie Adams, Peg Preble, Marjorie Charney, Martha Furbush, Pat, Woody and perhaps Terri Halliday and Robin Romaine. I was only slightly intimidated but I thought ooh, new friends!
For our first ride in the Spring, I was so nervous about not hitting anyone and trying to look cool. Good thing I had a helmet on so that they couldn’t see my face.
Some of the the more memorable events we had in our younger years took place in Provincetown. We all brought our tents and holed up at Coastal Acres, entertaining ourselves at breakfast and hanging out for dinner. There was a lot of hanging out...There were also a few misbehaved campers among us who got punished the next morning by having their tent stakes pulled out as the nylon material slowly engulfed them. The infraction? Keeping us up all night with pleasures of the flesh.
The other jokester in the club was none other than Peg Preble. She and Jennifer Buchwald had fun handcuffing peoples bikes together, removing their spark plugs and putting fake “oil spill” under one’s bike. There were many a time I either couldn’t start my bike (no plug) or thought I had just sprung a leak under my oil pan. Then there were the squirt guns that would give you a face wash at a red light. Those were held by none other that you know who, PP.
As the safety captain, I was never directionally challenged but I was slightly enthusiastic about not gauging distance so well. One club ride, about 10 of us went up north to ride the Kangamangus Highway. Little did I know that the total distance was 250 miles and that by 4 PM it was starting to get cold and we were still far up in New Hampshire. That was a big oops. We found shelter at the Highlands Inn which happened to have room for all of us. The jaccuzi was the perfect antidote for being freezing cold and we all had an impromptu sleep over.
As stories go, this last one pit the North against the South. About 12 of us went to the Southern Women’s Music and Comedy festival in Georgia. We rode 1200 miles in two days and arrived at the festival site pretty crisp. The organizers put us in a quiet camping area so that we could rest and keep our bikes in one area. Our friend Rusty was with us whom we all knew from Women and Motorcycling Festivals a la Gin and Sue. Somewhere in the middle of the night there were two gals who decided it would be cool to camp with the bikers. What they hadn’t planned for was being set upon by some of us northern gals who were not to happy that they were keeping us all up with their loud attempts at copulation. First Rusty got out of her tent at 2:30 AM and proceeded to tell them “If you two don’t come in 20 minutes, I’m calling security!” To which one of them responded “where’s my gun, where’s my gun. Nobody is goin’ to tell me I have to come in 20 minutes. Where’s my gun!” I thought, “shit, I’m camped right next to these clowns.” I got out of my tent and bravely announced, “give me the gun.” She spat something at me that I was a “yankee pussy.” That was all I needed to hear as well as everyone else. Instead of pulling out their tent stakes, we called security who escorted them right out of the festival gate. I thought, man these gals down here are serious with their weaponry. Little did I know that in fact most gals down south do carry some kind of hardware for protection. It was an eye opener for this Yankee from Cambridge whose last look at a gun was one that squirted water, a-hem, Peg...
Past Shared HerStories