Dolly Parton was not a motorcyclist. But somehow, she taught us a lot about riding.
She taught us about courage, choosing our own road, and having the nerve to chase a dream even when the odds, or the people around us, said otherwise.
Dolly died yesterday, leaving behind a legacy that reaches far beyond music. She came from the mountains of Tennessee with very little, but carried with her enormous talent, determination, imagination, and a belief in herself. She dreamed bigger than the circumstances around her, and then had the courage to turn those dreams into a life.
There is a particular kind of courage involved in climbing onto a motorcycle. Doing so for the first time isn’t simply deciding to try something new when you’re not sure you’re ready. It’s learning, making mistakes, getting better, and discovering that something you once thought was beyond you, can become part of who you are.
For many women, riding can also mean pushing beyond expectations – whether that’s what we’re supposed to do, how we’re supposed to look, or what we’re supposed to be afraid of. It can mean stepping outside the boundaries someone else imagined for us and discovering how much freedom exists on the other side. Dolly understood that.
She never seemed interested in becoming someone else’s idea of what a woman should be. She built a life around her own gifts, her own imagination, and her own definition of success. Dolly could be glamorous without being fragile, kind without being weak, and fiercely ambitious without losing the warmth that made people love her.
That’s why her words resonate so deeply with those of us who ride: “You’ll never do a whole lot unless you’re brave enough to try.”
You don’t become a rider by waiting until you’re no longer afraid – you become one by being willing to try. You take the class, you learn the bike, you ride the unfamiliar road, you take the next corner. And eventually you realize you’re doing something you once weren’t sure you could do.
Dolly took the life she was given and built something extraordinary from it. She reminded generations of women that we don’t need permission to be ambitious, adventurous, creative, successful, or different. We can choose our own road.
That’s the connection between Dolly and those of us who ride motorcycles. She didn’t need to ride to understand the freedom of refusing to stay on a road someone else chose for you.
So, when we think about Dolly, we’ll think beyond the songs, the rhinestones, and the remarkable career. We’ll think about the woman from the mountains of Tennessee who dared to believe her dreams were possible, and then had the courage to make them real.
We’ll think about her the next time we put on our helmets and start our motorcycles. Because sometimes we can’t see what’s waiting around the next corner. We simply have to trust ourselves enough to take it.
Dolly gave us permission to dream. She reminded us to work for those dreams, to remain generous, and to never let someone else’s expectations become the boundaries of our lives.And for those of us who ride, perhaps that’s the lesson we’ll carry with us: You don’t have to know exactly where the road will take you. You just have to be brave enough to try.
Ride on, Dolly. And thank you for showing us what a woman can do when she believes in her own possibilities.
