Babes Ride Out Girls Motorcycle Rally

The Babes Ride Out motto is simple: "No Dudes, No 'Tudes." There's a good reason for that, one that has nothing to do with exclusion but everything to do with being a woman motorcyclist.

For many women, the idea of rolling solo into a large event comprised mainly of men is daunting. Even the most experienced rider can get a bruised ego dropping her bike in front of buddies, and it’s easy to feel that as a woman you must perform perfectly to avoid judgment. That’s where Babes Ride Out comes in.

Three years ago, Anya Violet and Ashmore Bodiford planned an open get-together for their lady rider friends in the Borrego Desert. The event quickly grew into a group of 70 and earned the title “Babes in Borrego.” Soon, Babes Ride Out (BRO) blew up, this year selling out all 1,200 tickets more than a week before the event. As the date neared, the Facebook event feed grew with pictures of meticulously packed camping gear loaded up onto all types of bikes. Perfect strangers synced up to become road buddies for their departures all over the country (and continent). Women trekked all the way from Canada, Germany, New Zealand, Australia, and France.

When I called up my buddy Sofi Tsingos and asked if she wanted to fly out from Texas this year and ride to BRO with me, she quickly said yes. After I picked her up from the airport, I introduced her to the bikes we'd be riding: the modern KTM Duke 390 and the totally retro Yamaha SR400. Sofi had been eyeballing the Baby Duke, as I affectionately call it, and was beyond excited to get to test it out. We picked up a few extra supplies like a lithium-battery charging system (charge your phone, jump-start your bike), cargo nets, and bungees and tried to figure out how we were going to load the bikes.

While it took quite a bit of logistical planning for newbie motorcycle campers like us, we got the perfect amount of gear packed on the bikes. The SR400 ended up being the trusty pack mule with its classic metal tank (great for a tank bag) and flat double seat. The chromed-metal subframe even has little posts for hooking the cargo nets and bungees on so they don’t slip around. The passenger handles on the Duke proved to be well placed for strapping a heavy bag and pillow, all while still fitting Sofi with her backpack. We left later in the day in an attempt to avoid traffic, as she had never lane-split before nor had any urge to do so on an unfamiliar bike loaded with camping gear. We still ended up filtering through traffic for a solid 40 miles, our newly installed Bluetooth headsets a big help through the experience.

At our last gas stop while we were searching for the exact destination, a couple of ladies walked up to us and said, “So you guys are going to Babes Ride Out?” Perfect timing! We looked at the maps on their phone and took off for the last few miles of our journey. The sun had just gone down as we turned onto the long rolling ribbon of road to the campsite. I started to get really excited. The magnitude of this event finally hit me when we came over the last little hill and saw the sprawling campground. I was standing up on the pegs of the SR bouncing and doing a little jig, yelling, “Sofi! It’s our city. Do you see it?” until she finally told me to shut up.

We wound our way through the busy campground until we found our friends, Jessi Combs and Theresa Manchester, who had very kindly saved us some space for the massive tent I brought. Setting up camp in the dark is never easy, but as we were working with our headlamps and struggling to figure out how to unfurl the pile of material, ladies popped out of nowhere to offer us assistance with lanterns and flashlights. We quickly got it figured out and managed to fit the oversize dome among the sea of overlapping tents spilling into the pathways.

Emboldened by the chattering of ladies who went into party mode early, I located some whiskey, unpacked my bed, and wandered toward the sounds of crashing metal, explosions, and engines. Following the booms took me to the main stage area, surrounded by raw wooden fencing, lights, the bar, and a huuuuge food line. A bunch of ladies lay around with Mad Max: Fury Road playing on a huge projector screen. Sofi and I got in line for much-needed food from Madhouse, the same ladies who catered the weekend last year, and traded spaces getting drinks in line. After the movie was over, the party transformed from a big meet and greet to an epic limbo contest followed by arm wrestling. Jessi claimed the champion title for the evening, slaying most ladies who challenged her.

Morning brought the sound of bikes roaring alive and the desert heat quickly descended on the campground. Jessi, Theresa, Sofi, and I all found ourselves some $1 coffee at the camp’s mini shop to jumpstart our systems and planned our day. Breakfast in town, riding, photos, more riding, back to camp in time for the evening awards and raffle, where I’d be giving out the Iron Butt trophy I made with the help of a friend Travis Holland.

We split to Joshua Tree State Park where the ranger kindly waved us through the fee gate. What a spectacular place. Towers of reddish-brown rocks seemed to shoot out from the earth, surrounded by beautiful Joshua trees and cacti. The magical and ancient landscape is exclusive to that area of the world, making it an extra-cool experience.

Deeper into the park I zipped to the front of our group on the little SR400 so I could find a good place for us to take photos. We turned off the main paved road and headed down a dusty drive, testing the willingness of the little bikes. As it turns out, the Duke 390’s higher stance, light weight, and narrow tires make it a bit slippy through that sort of terrain. The SR held its own even with street tires, perhaps because of the extra weight making it feel more stable. After some burnouts and shenanigans, we headed back to asphalt where we were constantly coming across groups of other lady riders—a totally surreal experience. For every car you’d see 10 bikes, and 99 percent of them were ridden by women.

Sofi was happy to get off the dirt and cracked the little Duke’s throttle open, finally at the front of the pack and unencumbered by gear loaded on the rear seat. She took off, and I followed. Baby Duke was better suited for spirited riding, with a snappier throttle and better suspension than the little Yamaha. The SR400 is essentially a motorcycle from the 1970s, manufactured new today. Chasing Sofi took me ringing the throttle and letting the revs rip, but I was smiling so big my face hurt. It’s hard to find a group of people you feel so fluid on the road with.

Later, back at camp, beer and booze busted out, we gobbled up amazing (free) pizza provided by Pie for the People, grooved to funky beats from lady DJs, and awaited the raffle. I was summoned to stage to give out the long-distance Iron Butt award that would kick off the raffle. The crowd was huge and full of smiling women who rode from near and far. We narrowed it down to those who rode more than 2,000 miles, landing on a pair from the very southernmost part of Florida—Julia and Angela. On their way across the country they stopped in Louisiana, Missouri, and Oklahoma, making their trip more than 3,000 miles in total…one way. On their way through the country they detoured, meeting up with other women they knew through Instagram. The seven of them documented their adventure and nicknamed the group the Hail Boms. And perfectly reflecting the ideals behind the BRO, Julia, who had technically ridden the longest, shared the Iron Butt award booty with her original riding buddy Angela. A DJ took over the tunes when live music was over, but by 4 a.m. Jessi and I were the last of our little cluster left standing so we finally retired under a full moon surrounded by a glowing halo.

Finally, the next day, it was time to go home. Opting to take the long way back, we headed northwest through the twistier mountain roadways and stopped for lunch in Big Bear. Some shopping for extra sweater layers and souvenirs later, we were back on the road toward Los Angeles. With our Bluetooth headset communicators all charged up, Sofi and I were able to chat back and forth about the incredible weekend and how it was all still sinking in.

BRO was the coalescence of everything I love about motorcycling in one short weekend—enjoying the part of ourselves that we all have in common despite our ages or personal styles. While some folks thought it a little crazy to take the little bikes out into the desert for motorcycle camping, Sofi and I would both do it again in a heartbeat. The SR was comfortable and blended in well among the many motorcycles of Babes Ride Out. And as far as Sofi’s love affair with the wee Baby Duke, the last thing she said before giving it up was, “I’m definitely going to have to buy one of those.”