Twisty Sisters Riding Club USA

Twisty Sisters Take Command of T.W.O.
August 16 - 18, 2002

In the middle of August, Georgia weather is relatively warm and dry. (That's a joke…meaning HOT.) With an increase in altitude, you can expect an increase in precipitation. T.W.O. was no exception this particular weekend.

Friday morning was set aside for bike servicing and maintenance. Then we slipped out of Canton towards north Georgia. The girls were already arriving to take command of T.W.O., if only for one weekend. They were coming from all around Georgia, North Carolina, Tennessee, and Florida. These unique women epitomize diversity. Businesswomen representing the medical profession and the corporate world; entrepreneurs; a couple of librarians; a custom tailor; a stockbroker; and one youngster, (yes a gal in her 20's) employed by the US Air Force, who will become one of a few women to pilot C130 airplanes this week.

Most came from corporate America or academia but there was strong representation of the motorcycling sector. JoAnna Murray and husband Ken own Atlanta Motorcycle Schools. JoAnna is a web designer and also trains students to ride motorcycles in the dirt and on the street. Britt Turner and husband GT are owners of T.W.O. Motorcycle Campground where this most auspicious event was occurring. She is an innkeeper, promoter, chef, chief prankster, master margarita maker, great gardener, and activities organizer. She seconds as mother, sister, and friend to any and all motorcyclists. Lynn and husband Charlie Flagg own Toosy's Way Station, a biker’s haven for parts, accessories, and preowned motorcycles. This has become a “gathering” area for bikers from all over. Owner/operator of She-Rides, (a motorcycle clothing store strictly for women) Judy Mecham represents one of a small handful of people catering to this growing segment of the market.

These women are my heroines. Riding for different lengths of time, one thing they have in common is their knowledge about their sport/career and their passion for it. Some people just live, these women live life to its fullest and have fun doing it. Learning from them, others are encouraged to do the same.

On any weekend, T.W.O. has a high degree of testosterone diluted only slightly by a smattering of feminine chatter. This weekend was different. There was something more fragrant than toilet deodorant block hanging in the air—estrogen was replacing testosterone.

The deck was covered with flowering pots, their blooms attracting hoards of hummingbirds. Birds singing in the trees replaced the more frequently heard sound of sirens. Even a female dog minus her puppies wandered in to add to the burgeoning female population.

There was an air of excitement surrounding the lodge. Saturday morning, Dr. Dave Westfall of NE GA Hospital in Gainesville & Scott Masters, head of EMT division of NE GA Medical put on a seminar called “First On The Scene”. At some point, we all will probably be the first to arrive at a motorcycle accident. This seminar gives tips on what can be done before professional help arrives.

Carol Youorski demonstrated how any one of us is able to pick up a dropped bike. We all gathered at the BP station to watch as several women were delighted to find that they too could pick up the 650-pound BMW. During this display, several large groups of bikes stopped for gas. One fellow on a Harley said to me “Well, I was wondering why y’all were just standing around and not helping that poor little gal pick her motorcycle up.” Then he realized what was going on.

Someone suggested riding for lunch and we had an impromptu zip over some of our favorite roads to the Toccoa River Restaurant. One of the 2 fellows along mentioned how riding with women was just plain fun. There’s none of that continual undertow trying to suck you in faster than you care to go.

Late afternoon, there was a Hawaiian party by the pool with hula dancing and a roast pig named Penelope. I don’t eat anything that has a name. Husbands, boyfriends, and any unsuspecting men who stuck their heads in the pool area were coerced into wearing colored grass hula skirts, little gold crowns, and multicolored leis. After a couple of fellows donned the skirts the others were not going to be outdone. It’s a known fact, if you can coerce one or two men into doing something silly, the others just can’t bear to be left out.

The additional incentive of $50 cash going to the winner of the hula contest was enticement for the shyest of biker boys. The Sisters had been blending up and sampling different daiquiri recipes and the volume of noise was attracting a lot of interest from the guys. Like moths to the flame they came. Ball caps, leathers, camouflage, and grass skirts—what a sight!

A deluge at dusk ran everyone inside the lodge for dinner and a raffle. Ron a.k.a. Fishcakes, winner of the hula contest, drew tickets held by the Sisters. The prizes were most bodacious! T-shirts and hats were generously donated by T.W.O., Roswell Fun Machines, Blue Moon, & Forsyth Motoworks; a gift certificate for a class from Atlanta Motorcycle Schools (won by yours truly) and the grand prize of $100 for food and lodging at T.W.O. went to a gal from North Carolina on her very first camping trip. What a bonus! She’ll be back with a new, dry tent of her own next time.

Before the evening was over, 4 clumsy gremlins rolled a brand new FJR Yamaha! They were heard wandering through the trees, asking “Is this the way to the bathroom?” Not only were they heard but also as they lovingly wrapped the FJR with gusto, someone thought to ask just who it belonged to anyway. The answer came from 1 of 3 guys standing beside them in the dark - “Me!” So these candidates for the next Darwin award took photographs of themselves standing beside their handiwork! The owner of the now “papered” FJR was a cop and fortunately for the perpetrators, he did not press charges.

The rain did little to dampen the spirits of the group but by midnight virtually all were tucked in their rooms and tents. Under the drippy sky, a few crackling campfires had a couple of fellows chatting quietly around them. There were none of the usual outbursts of laughter erupting from swapping tall tales and even fewer snores ricocheting off the trees.

Sunday morning new groups of bikes came through between the waves of showers. We broke camp slowly hoping the rain would dry off before the tents were packed up and stored on the bikes. It might be a year before we see some of the same gals again and there was lots of hugging all around. We dragged it out as long as possible, then almost as quickly as we dropped in, we left, pulling out the driveway squirting little rooster tails up in a farewell gesture. “Until next time guys!”