In 1990, I met and befriended an extraordinary African American biker who changed my life and whose story has since inspired thousands of people around the world. Her name was Bessie Stringfield. She was 79 at the time, a tiny and soft-spoken woman wearing a vintage Harley-Davidson cap. I was 35, an established writer in New York City but still a novice biker back then. So I hung on her every word.
Bessie Stringfield, born in 1911 in the southeastern United States, had spent 60 years in the saddle aboard 28 different motorcycles – one Indian, 27 Harleys – but still, she was an unknown figure outside her own neighborhood in Miami, Florida. Her hidden story was in danger of being lost upon her death.
In the 1930s and 1940s, my friend Bessie Stringfield took eight long-distance, solo rides around the country in the style of the old gypsy tours. Bessie dismissed the scolding of relatives who said that “nice girls didn’t go around riding motorcycles” and she became estranged from them. I recognized that Bessie went against expectations for women – and she went against expectations for Black women especially. Her travels took place during the era of segregation, when racial bias could make for tough situations, sometimes to the point of threatening her very safety.
Was Bessie Stringfield consciously championing the rights of women and African-Americans? Well, Bessie was never a marcher in the formal sense. She did her own thing quietly, as one woman determined to live life her way. Her chosen way was the motorcycle lifestyle.
In my view, Bessie Stringfield’s superpower was not necessarily her prowess as a rider; it was her unwavering faith and generosity of spirit. She showed as much bravery in keeping her faith, capacity to love, and ability to bond with unlikely people, even when faced with people like that menacing driver in the pickup truck. Because of her humanity, Bessie’s life was not defined by struggle, but rather in how she reacted to each situation.
As a result, Bessie had many positive and life-affirming encounters on the road. Speaking into my tape recorder in the colloquial manner of her generation, she told me, “All along the way, wherever I rode the people were overwhelmed to see a Negro woman ridin’ a motorcycle.”
Bessie was especially happy on Milwaukee iron. Her one Indian notwithstanding, Bessie said of the 27 Harleys she owned in her lifetime, “To me, a Harley is the only motorcycle ever made.” She could not understand why my starter bike in the early 1990s was not a Harley. I explained that the cost of insuring a Harley in Manhattan – and repairing it when I fell off — was not within my budget as a freelance writer!
Bessie went on to tell me that at 19, she began tossing a penny over a map and riding to wherever it landed. Using her natural skills and can-do attitude, she did hill climbing and trick riding. One time, disguised as a man, Bessie tried her hand at a flat-track race. She won the race but was denied the prize money when she took off her helmet.
It was still Bessie’s faith that got her through many nights. “If you had Black skin you couldn’t get a place to stay,” she told me. “I knew the Lord would take care of me and He did. If I found Black folks, I’d stay with them. If not, I’d sleep at filling stations on my motorcycle.” She showed me how she laid her jacket on the handlebars as a pillow and rested her feet on the rear fender.
In the 1950s, Bessie took a mortgage on a house in Miami, Florida and became a licensed practical nurse (LPN) to support herself. Later, in the mid-1960s, she founded the Iron Horse Motorcycle Club. They had group rides and gatherings at her house until they disbanded circa 1970 and then lost touch completely. Around the neighborhood, Bessie’s antics – such as riding while standing in the saddle of her Harley – earned her a couple of nicknames: “Negro Motorcycle Queen” and later “Motorcycle Queen of Miami.”
As an elder, Bessie lost a lot of weight and suffered from symptoms caused by an enlarged heart. Before she died in 1993 at the age of 82, Bessie said, “They tell me my heart is three times the size it’s supposed to be.” I’ve always felt this is a perfect metaphor for this amazing woman whose heart and spirited determination have touched so many lives.
Bessie Stringfield was inducted into the AMA Motorcycle Hall of Fame in 2002. https://americanmotorcyclist.com/hall-of-famer-spotlight-bessie-stringfield-
