There’s something poetic about throwing a leg over my Harley and setting off into the mountains of the Western Cape, knowing full well that my joints are about as reliable as a secondhand GPS. I don’t ride as often as I’d like—arthritis makes sure of that—but when I do, I make it count. Whether it’s carving through Chapman’s Peak, dodging baboons on Franschhoek Pass, or braving the wind that could knock a lesser biker (or just me) clean off the road, every ride is an adventure in both freedom and fragility.

As a member of the Cape Town Crew of the Free-Wheelers MCC, I ride in the pack… or sit on the side of the road when my body decides it’s had enough. But that’s the beauty of it—every journey, no matter how bumpy, is worth it. The Western Cape’s open roads, coastal bends, and mountain passes weren’t made for the faint-hearted, and neither was I (even if my bones sometimes beg to differ). So, here’s to the ride—aching joints, unpredictable detours, and all.