So there I was. Alone. Again. It was probably the only time since college that I had actually tried to be in a committed relationship, and even then I don’t know if you could call it trying. I was 28 and thought, “Well, it’s time.” So I played the game to catch the boy, and before I knew it we were moving in together. I had the man and my dog—at least for a minute before I found myself struggling to come up with my measly portion of the rent. I was bartending super part-time, at a hotspot that was no longer hot and I hadn’t booked acting or modeling jobs since we had moved in together. I was stuck in a place where I was no longer wanted. I was being kicked out. Yep, of a place we had found together. Perhaps I thought that a relationship would solve my restlessness, my insecurities. The irony is that the relationship left me feeling more alone than living alone in my old 300 square foot studio apartment.
Oh hey Universe, were you trying to tell me something?
I moved out. I found another tiny studio in Hollywood, right next to the the “Walk of Fame” on Hollywood Blvd. On one side of the street there was the riff raff, the other side was multimillion dollar homes. At the time I had been doing the actor/model hustle in Los Angeles for over 5 years. Within a week of moving I had booked a mega commercial job in Thailand. It’s surreal, how it always seems to work out like that. The Universe Almighty, letting me know I’d be fine and that the life I was living a week before wasn't the one for me.
There I was in Thailand for a few weeks with some much needed free time to reset. So I walked the streets, sometimes milelone.
I eventually got bored of walking and taking the occasional tuk tuk ride, but then I saw something else that would help me navigate the busy streets, Moto bikes. I hopped on one with a random local and a rush of excitement ran through my blood. We rode two up through the bustling, manic streets that are Bangkok. I felt alive. I felt whole. I felt like the person I was born to be, and that I had been many moons ago. The little kid me. I didn’t know it at the time, but a passion was brewing.
To continue to help ease the residual pain of a broken heart, all I wanted was to go fast and be reckless. To feel alive and free. I knew I needed to find that feeling again, passion and excitement. So when I got back I told a friend who has a motorcycle about my adventures and he took me out for a ride on his new bike. He showed up with his “new motorcycle”, a 1970’s Honda CB. He made a bet with me that I couldn’t kick it because that old Honda usually took lots of tinkering before it even thought about turning over. I kicked it. It fired right up and my friend was in shock. My anxiety and loneliness was sent to the curb.
For the next year or so, I’d call my friend whenever anxiety or loneliness striked. Often times (inappropriately) in the middle of the night or just before the sun rose; bugging him to give me a ride on that old Honda. I guess it took me awhile to realize to just get my own damn bike. That it could even be a possibility. Or that girls ride motorcycles.
Somewhere there was a shift. Do me. Be me. But who was I?
When I finally remembered who I was, before society told me who they thought I should be and realized and that it was indeed a very real possibility, I swore that the next big gig I booked, I was going to build my very own motorcycle.
Was it a big deal? At the time is seemed like it, but in reality it was like I was becoming the person I used to be and always was. Some scrappy girl who grew up racing BMX, climbing trees and jumping off buildings with my highschool buddies.
Motorcycles reconnected me to me.
So I did it, I booked two national commercials back to back. I had already visually sketched the entire build in my mind. I connected with Andrew Blaskcho, Co/Founder of Croig and Blaschko Builds on good old Instagram. A man i now call my bestfriend and love. After numerous DMs about potential build ideas and how he believed motorcycling was about to change my life, I asked him if he would build my first bike. So we built her!
My first bike was an extension of me, just like they say a bike should be. A Honda CB360, small, but quick. The wheels symbolizing the miles I have traveled, and serving as a reminder to keep moving forward. The motor, my heart,a bit finicky, but always trying. The tank, polished, but scrappy.
I named her True Grit. A name I was given back in another life when I was a gymnast, representing determination, fortitude, and pushing on despite all odds.
When I’m out riding on my bike, alone, I feel anything but alone. I feel comfort, love, drive, passion. True Grit, my best friend, my soulmate that is by my side through thick and thin.
Too bad that bike got stolen, but hey, that’s a story for another time!