S a s h a M u l l i n s
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Machisma . . . There's a fragrant scent of lilies lingering in the dense heat on route to Sturgis. But it seems out of place with the pale yellow grain covering miles of rolling hills. In the distance, a rumbling chorus from after market pipes swirls inside hot prairie winds. The rumbling evolves into a testimony of spirit upon closer glimpse. Straddled on top of four very colorful bikes are four very lovely ladies each commanding their own ride. The lily fragrance lacing the air reveals the scent of their femininity galloping down the raging slab leading to Sturgis. Helmetless, golden locks, raven silk and cinnamon curls dip and sway with the wind. Coy smiles adorn their tanned porcelain faces; smiles that flash brighter in ecstasy with the ride, then melt into sultry contemplation. Racy lipshades compliment funky sunglasses. Graceful hands tipped by colorfully decorated fingernails grip the handlebars and sail the air in greeting to a passerby. Fine custom cowboy boots in purples, snakeskin, teal and rhinestones are propped cruiser style on highway pegs. Fringe flies and whips freely. The women ride pack wild -- high-fiving the air and dodging flailing tractor trailers and Winnebagos. In unison, their bikes rev and seemingly glide along the pavement without touching. They are one with their machine and one inside a magic moment. This is Machisma. Women riders possess a bewitching strength. They command every mile riding in complete awareness, nurturing the need to be in control of a situation, yet at the same time letting all just be. Adventure serves as our heartbeat. We are cautious to a degree that fear cannot take hold, because we know that once fear gets in our blood...then we lose. Just like the guys, we don't like to lose, if we can help it. In our quiet strength there is an indescribable beauty. We know, because we feel it. It's called feminine spirit. There is a grace to our riding skills, a gentleness that serves as strength. We form a maternal bond with our machine's energy. We allow the machine enough freedom to venture forth while we stroke and coax the engine. Machisma, the female energy equivalent to masculine machismo: To feel on top of the world, heaven bound while the miles and scenery reel by. The energy, the aliveness of every moment, a constant reminder that we are free souls embracing unfamiliar territory because the environment is in constant evolution, as are we. The fierce invincibility delicately entwined with bliss as the eyes close for just a brief moment and a deep breath draws reality into our routine-bound lungs. The roar of our life-giving feminine nature screaming louder than the pipe's thunder. And then, oh damn, did we chip a nail too? Time to pucker up and re-apply crimson red to juicy fruit lips. Yeah...Machisma rules. © 1999 - IRON BIKER NEWS |
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it. Revised: 01/17/2007 |
