This occurred shortly before my departure at Jalopnik, but it remained a story I wanted to tell ever since.
On my right outer thigh remains a large, semi-deformative bump and bruise—a slightly painful reminder, nearly a year later, of my first, and well, last dirt bike excursion. It wasn’t my last because I had happened to yeet myself over the handlebars of a two-stroke bike I’d never ridden before, into the Pennsylvania mountain terrain, which ended with a solid collection of gnarly bruises and swelling across my body. It was just that it happened at the tail end of riding season (followed by a host of other unrelated medical maladies).
But that’s not what I think about when I accidentally ram my thigh into furniture and irritate the incredibly deep bruising that still remains. Rather, I think of all I was able to conquer, on bikes I’d never had experience with (or on), while riding with the raddest group of women, at a weekend camping oasis filled with dirt bikes, at Over and Out.
I started the weekend lost in the mountains. Maybe a wrong address, maybe my brain was addled from the 3 a.m. fire alarm at the hotel that had guests sitting outside of the hotel for at least half an hour in PJs, shivering in the fall mountain air. Regardless, that morning, I was running on a mostly empty stomach, and confirmed I was a good half hour away from where I was supposed to be, after I was sent a location ping from a friend already at the event in Tamaqua.This means I was also running late, so when I arrived to the event site, I hustled to sign my life away waivers to participate, while trying to catch the whole of the day’s riders meeting required by all participants.
While catching my breath, I glanced around at the crowd listening in on what to expect for activities, trainings and rules. Every individual was a woman, outside of a few of the volunteer riders, outfitted in special jerseys, who were male friends, spouses or with Revzilla.This wasn’t really a surprise as the Over And Out (OAO) weekend is promoted as an all-female riding event. But to see it in person was almost inspiring.
After years of press events where I tend to be the only woman in the room, I was now in awe to see a hoard of women, all dressed in their moto gear, from their mid-twenties to well past middle-aged, ready to ride. This isn’t really a norm, for any motorized vehicle event. However, it is the norm for OAO.
Have you heard of Over and Out? I had, not long before, in attempt to fill up my Instagram feed with bikes of all kinds—dirt bikes, street bikes, dual sports, adventurers, etc., while also seeking more outlets and groups with female riders to remained inspired by. Those types of communities exist for the varying disciplines, like The Litas or Motor Maids to name a couple, or reading Women’s Rider, but the communities were still limited location-wise, and many focused on road riding. But then there was Over And Out, not only for women, but for women who want to ride in the dirt? Immediate follow.
Sign. Me. Up.
Kelly McCaughey, organizer, founder, and overall champion running OAO, also recognized that gap. She had started riding dirt bikes later in life, and geeked about her newfound love for this dirt riding hobby, sharing her adventures on Instagram. Other female friends who followed her profile expressed that they also had that same curiosity, but the issue was a lack of nearby programs available to specifically dirt riders, as well as a lack of public land to safely try things out before really taking to a dirt bike or trail environment. As more and more women asked McCaughey how to get into dirt and trail riding, she found herself more inspired to help them in some way. So, she planned a day at her own home to give some of these curious women what she called a “getting started lesson.”
“That itself was just really fun, and to see their reactions, which were really no different than my own. They were just thrilled—couldn’t stop smiling,” McCaughey shared. The day’s events and results led to further consideration of holding another gathering, for even more women. That first event was a private event, held nearly a decade ago at McCaughey’s home, with about 15 women who responded to her feeler, whether friends, or friends/acquaintances of friends. The second event really solidified her idea to do something more for her fellow riders. Opening it to the public this round, 76 women attended, inspired to ride or learn how to. The attendance numbers doubled within a year after that. While OAO was focused on bikes that could go “Over” mountains, and “Out” onto trails, with dirt bike training as well, there was also interest in women getting into motocross riding, so that next year she also launched OAO’s “Moto X” event, with the same idea of women meeting up and taking to a motocross track.
The enthusiastic momentum never really slowed down. Today, OAO holds several events across the country for women riders, and the occasional co-ed event where female riders can bring male riding counterparts along for the adventure.
My First Day
Rewind to September 2023 to OAO’s flagship event at Tamaqua, the weekend I spent there, for an all-girls camp adventure. I’m suited up and stoked for my very first dirt riding day. I had a feeling that every woman there for the weekend felt the same way.
One thing OAO is really great about, and McCaughey ensures this, is helping riders assess where they are with their riding experience skills, avoiding signing up for classes or rides that may land one in over their head. This handy skill rating guide has since been updated from when I first laid eyes on it a year ago, but it lives on OAO’s website for riders like myself to accurately assess skill and comfort levels to better sign up for classes. With my few years of riding experience on the road, along with some mountain biking experience for trails, I found myself wavering between beginner and intermediate.
In retrospect, I wish I had taken the beginner’s class for a little more of a breakdown in specific dirt bike techniques that are truly different than a road rider’s.
My intermediate class that weekend was a dirt biking course, catered more to typical dirt biking and not entirely focused on trail riding (although skills are certainly transferable). And I found I was prepared to take on the class.
What I was not prepared for was the whole body workout I would endure practicing my skills, with a little bit bigger bike than I should have for such a long day.
I was thankful that Honda had set me up with a CRF 300L, which is a solid, easy bike to ride on trails and otherwise. Yes, hauling around the giant grass flats we were utilizing for our classes that day was easy. Learning seating and standing positions, and dancing around on the 300L while standing up and in motion, SIMPLE. But when it came time to hoon it a little more in corners and up and down hills a few hours in, with my tiny, unexperienced frame, it didn’t mix. I cried out of frustration (and sorta pain) a few times. The instructors were more than understanding, helpful and kind through every bit of it. I made it through about 80% of the class before I parked the bike and took to taking pictures and video of my fellow classmates for the day because my upper body could no longer hold myself or the bike up.
My classmates, as I should mention, were all older women—women who had experienced a little bit of riding, but wanted a place to explore their skills a little more without having the chaos of experienced trail or motocross riders all around them. It’s honestly the reason why OAO puts on these events. Here, you are given a haven, with the ability to learn in plenty of space, along with one-on-one attention if you sign up for it, to ensure your posture, your stance and your skills will bring you back to the start of the track, or the end of a trailhead, also in one piece. You’re encouraged to try things. You learn that you are going to drop your bike, and that’s ok. Your classmates will cheer when you do cool stuff or finally master the new skill you’ve been struggling with. High fives all around.
I wish all driving and riding schools operated similarly.
The End of My Day… and Ride
When classes end, riders can practice more on the now open field area, chill at their campsite, or take their newfound skills to one of the trailheads, all with difficulty levels marked appropriately. Riders can also reference the laminated maps provided to them at registration, with holes punched at the top for easy zip-tying to your bike for use throughout the weekend.
Riders can also check out the multitude of sponsor tents on site, from the latest gear to newest bikes. Beta had a tent with bikes to test while we were there, and myself, and my friend, colleague and riding buddy for the weekend, Andria Yu, decided to throw a leg over the 200cc and Beta’s 300cc X-Trainer, and set out for the beginner’s trail.
Honestly, the Betas, as two-stroke bikes, were fairly easy to manage as a semi-but-really-truly-a-beginner, on the easy trail. I was delighted with my progress as I navigated small trials like a slippery mud pocket without completely biffing it.
We reached a fork and thought we had picked the latter half of the beginner’s trail, but our first downhill excursion, down slate-like rocks, where I inevitably dropped the bike, would hint that maybe we made a wrong turn. While we would eventually learn that we found the intermediate trail, and Yu, as an incredibly experienced rider overall, was prepared to take me through this literal skills trial. And I, to this day, am incredibly thankful for her patience and understanding as she walked me, literally and technically, through the harder parts.
Remember, earlier I mentioned my upper body was sore, exhausted from riding all day? At this point, I’d also not eaten much because of my rushed day, and was now not only fighting the trail, but my own body, while operating an unfamiliar bike. Everything felt 10x harder to accomplish.
Riding on a flat plain of grass earlier in the day was as easy as breathing compared to trying to navigate a large, two-stroke bike down a mountain on smooth slates of rock. I kept dropping the bike. I kept falling over. We were 40 minutes in, and now halfway through the trail, and back to our campsite. Each obstacle was a step closer to camp, or so I told myself.
What ended my ride, was a hill at about the 70% mark of the trail. It was a steep incline, rutted with rocks and roots. The trail support team, which did include male volunteer riders who were there to help with anything if we asked for it (they were not to offer help or aid without permission), which included Yu’s partner and one of their friends, had caught up with us. Yu was giving me direction on how to tackle the hill, with the idea of just kinda gunning it (safely) in a straight line. I was mostly confident that I could do it. I started the bike, revved myself and the bike up, and took off. I think the last exchange I remember was Yu telling me to use my clutch. I yelled, “I got it!”
I did not, in fact, have it.
You’ll learn in your riding classes that stance is crucial when going up and down the hill, and depending on your form, if you fall back just right, you can experience what is called “whiskey throttle,” where the weight of your body pulls your arm back which pulls your grip back on the throttle and now instead of a steady input, it’s wide open. My “audience” relayed to me later, that at this point, I was going at least 10 mph+, executed a wheelie, and then hit something that launched my body over the handlebars. I then executed some pro-rider moves—something called a scorpion—which with my yoga background was incredibly impressive, along with a few other moves.
Now, my first-person experience slowed down once I was mid-air. There wasn’t so much panic as I flew over the bike, but more just a hardcore acceptance of my fate. This was going to hurt when I landed, and there was a chance I was going to break something. There was nothing I could do.
I landed on the roots at the base of the tree, while the bike landed on top of my left knee and ankle. Our group quickly rushed over and began asking me questions like, “Can you wiggle your fingers and your toes?” I’m slow to realize their questions were to ensure I hadn’t broken anything and not just silly or random. Fingers were moving. Toes were too. The adrenaline in my body was pumping and the pain hadn’t quite set in.
The guys lifted the bike to relieve the weight pressing into my leg and my somewhat tweaked knee. Then it was assessing how hurt I was. I was wearing most of my gear, only having taken off my chest and arm padding, not thinking I was going out for a long ride. (Don’t be me and wear your gear if you’re getting on a bike!) I was incredibly lucky that my arms were only a little bruised and cut, and my chest also felt a little bruised. My right thigh had a sizable welt that caused bruising down my leg and was making it difficult to walk, let alone even raise my leg to ride.
Trail Support took off to obtain an ATV so I could ride along in a four-wheeled machine, while the rest of our crew rode stuff back. Realizing how long the journey was, and the trials that awaited us (large, muddy, deep puddles) when they carted me back to camp, I’m kinda thankful I crashed when I did.
All in all, I took it easy the rest of the day while our little group exchanged stories about their gnarliest crashes. I was a hero, even though I was pretty sure my weekend of riding was fairly over.
Day 2: Back to Basics
I, naturally opted out of riding the second day.
We were scheduled to go on a group ride to the local mines, where we could wander around for a bit, eat lunch, and ride back. But, packing up my car that morning with 30% of my body bruised was already a challenge, with the added trial of trying to lift my leg at any degree just to put pants on. I couldn’t fathom needing to swing my injured right leg over a bike that was already tall for me once, let alone multiple times. So, I joined our third group member, who had arrived that morning to ride for the day, on the sidelines to support and watch her complete the Beginners Riding class.
These classes are put on by the Motorcycle Safety Foundation, and the format will be quite familiar to any former MSF student. Students are provided 125cc four-stroke bikes (or can bring their own), in this case Hondas or Kawasakis, while they learn to move forward and turn properly, ride over stumps, i.e. small logs, and fine tune their stance and riding postures. You might think as a seasoned rider that a beginner’s class for any riding activity might be silly, or beneath you, but I encourage you to consider taking this class if you’re new to dirt, and certainly for a road rider going to dirt. Dirt riding is considerably different, even if the machines, mechanically and structurally, appear to be the same.
I’m already planning to take a beginner’s class when I’m able to.
Today, the last physical remnants of my weekend are a blank spot missing from a flower on my tattoo sleeve where I was a little cut up, and a slight bump lingers on my thigh from my original welt. But the experience didn’t discourage me at all from wanting to take on the dirt. In fact, just weeks later, I purchased a two-stroke of my own to ride. It arrived earlier this year, but has been sitting in the garage as I wait for my health to reach a point where I can and am allowed to ride it. Maybe I’ll get a run in this fall. Maybe next year. And I’ll want to get on that beginner’s class too.
I’d like to note that I was one of a few who had any sort of mishap over the weekend as well. Most of the riders came back completely fine, empowered, and ready to tackle the next dirt adventure. For that, there is something to be said about what McCaughey has created with Over And Out, an environment that truly fosters inspiration and confidence, and makes riders want to come back for more, or take on the trails on their own.
While I had not returned for the 2024 Tamaqua event (but I certainly hope to do another one), I know plenty of women did and continue to, and many more will be as shiny and new as I was and will leave wanting to play in the dirt again, whether unscathed or well, not.
