The nickname "Rainmaker" comes from my sister members of Women in the Wind, a women's motorcycle club. I earned the name several years ago when they realized I had the knack of making it rain on every club ride I either attended or led. Rain seems to follow me wherever I go and once I commuted to work on my bike an entire month in the rain!

I started riding motorcycles in 1990 because I could get parking where I worked, the University of Wisconsin-Madison. The only car parking I could get was two miles away, but I could park a motorcycle across the street--for only $25 a year (at the time) as opposed to $200 at the other lot. Easy decision.

My first bike was a whopping 250cc Honda Rebel. A very cute little bike that was just the right size for a 5'2" person to start out on. After practicing in the parking lot and on the streets a little, I scheduled my MIT, the dreaded "Motorcycle in Traffic" test. Real classy, it is. They strap a reflective orange vest on you with a pocket in the back holding a radio. A speaker goes in your helmet and they follow you in a car, giving directions. I failed. Nobody told me not to put my foot down in a U-turn!

I was crushed and returned home to practice my U-turns until I could retake the test two weeks later. The next time I took it it was raining (shades of things to come?). I passed and when they took my picture for my new driver's license I looked like a drowned rat with a goofy grin. I was happy!

They say most motorcycle accidents happen to new riders within six months of starting to ride. Unfortunately, I proved the statistics. One morning on the way to work, in rush hour traffic, I turned my head to check traffic in the lane to my left. When I looked back, the rusty pickup ahead of me had slammed on its brakes for a green light. I rear-ended him. I was wearing a full-face helmet, but the tailgate of the truck lifted the visor and slammed into my face. I bounced back from the truck and lay on the pavement. To make a long story short, my face was hamburger (no broken bones thankfully), my Achilles tendon was toast (I limped for months), and my pretty little Rebel was totaled. Within a week, with insurance check in hand, I picked up my replacement Rebel and got back on two wheels.

Over the summer, I realized that I really wanted a Harley. No, I needed a Harley. So I took in extra typing from the graduate students at work and saved my pennies. I ordered a 1991 883 Hugger and took delivery of her in December of 1990. She was little and cute and shiny and black and I loved her. I rode her home on March 5, 1991. I had never ridden a Harley before that terrifying solo trip home.

I left her pretty much stock that first year, only adding shiny chromey things, but I had bigger plans for her. The next year brought lots of changes. I added forward controls I got on sale at a Harley shop and for less than $500 total, I replaced the front fender with a skirted one, added sportbob tanks with a speedo and dash, and painted her. The paint job cost $35 because the shop just happened to have two quarts of Harley lacquer in just the colors I wanted: turquoise and cream. My brother's able assistance enabled me to keep the cost of the paint job at $35. During that year, she also got converted to a 1200 and earned a nickname, Little Bitch. She was called that because on the rare occasion I'd let someone else ride her, invariably they would say "she's a fast little bitch, ain't she?"

The next few years brought many more changes for me personally, including another bike accident in November of 1993 while I was on the way to work again (maybe I should quit my job, it's too dangerous!). This time I was hit by a car that didn't yield at a stop sign. My injuries were more severe and this time I had to spend some time in the hospital. My crushed leg changed the way I had to ride. I could only lift up to shift a limited number of times before my leg would give out. Unfortunately I learned this on a trip to Washington DC to Rolling Thunder in 1994. The guys I was riding out with were wonderful and wouldn't let me give up. They fashioned a heel shifter out of a vise-grips and I was on my way. I haven't stopped since, with my annual miles escalating. I now average about 15,000 miles per year. Not so bad for Wisconsin.

My current ride is a 1995 FLHTCUI 30th Anniversary Electraglide, pictured above. Yes, I know it's an awful big bike for someone as short as me, but I handle her quite well. Fueley and I travel all over the country and I've even got a small trailer I pull behind her. She keeps a 1966 Harley Davidson Bobcat company in my garage. See the motorcycles section for more information on my bikes.

I now live about 15 miles from Wisconsin Dells, Wisconsin. I say that because you've probably never heard of the towns closest to me. Along with my obvious love of motorcycles, I also enjoy photography, airbrush work, animals (like these otters and prairie dog), and my pets--two cats and two cockatiels. But most of all, I love CrowDog, the man crouching behind my Bobcat.

See ya on the highway!