To interview female motorcyclist Gevin Fax is to need to go to the bathroom but not want to interrupt her beautiful flow of words; it is to wave off your children with a hastily-written note that says “come back later”; it is to be hungry but too transfixed to create the distraction of making breakfast.

I had planned a 30-minute block and a few questions for my interview with Gevin. Instead, we spoke for two and a half hours without getting to a single one of my queries. And I could’ve talked to her for another eight hours (if it weren’t for the aforementioned hunger, children, and restroom needs). I took eight pages of single-spaced, stream-of-conscious notes that I have struggled to untangle, rife with asides and Native American words. This is only a small piece of Gevin’s story — highlighting a few of the many ways the sport and leisure activity of motorcycling has changed her life.

Gevin Fax is a dirt biker and motorcycle rider who has gained notoriety for her role in the rise of female bikers. She is a champion of women, poised speaker, experienced musical performer, stuntwoman, actor — and so many more descriptors, that to continue to list them only makes me feel like I’ve been wasting my life. 

Learning About Life on Two Wheels at a Young Age

She spent her formative early-teens in Los Angeles against the backdrop of the 1960s with its civil rights marches. She says, “Were it not for my parents, I wouldn’t have the attitude I have of forward-thinking and continuous attachment to positivity and curiosity. I would not have survived being an African American, lower-middle-class to poor, female, lesbian tomboy.”  

Her acceptance of all people likely arose from her childhood spent at a dinner table, with what Gevin describes as “all the colors of Benetton.” Her mom was movie-star gorgeous, a go-getter who put herself through college to become a medical secretary. Gevin’s mom always spoke with her as she would an adult. In fact, the first book her mom ever gave her was “Everything You Wanted to Know About Sex, But Were Afraid to Ask.” Gevin also learned three-part harmony with her mom and her Aunt Judy; a skill that means she can now jump in with any band and harmonize lyrics.

Meanwhile, her father was an interior and exterior painter which had him, as Gevin says, “knocking elbows with Hollywood.” Her dad was a hellion and everyone’s best friend, a man’s man who could do more push-ups and more chin-ups than anyone else. He rode motorcycles — fast. Everyone loved him and Gevin wanted to be just like him. It was through her father that her first life-changing interaction with motos came about.

Her dad was working at the Fowler home (owner at the time of Southern Comfort whiskey) when he passed a five-car garage, saw a moped, and said, “My daughter would love that.” And so it was that Gevin became the proud owner of a non-functioning Italian moped. She says, “I was 10 or 11 years old and I felt like a God.” 

Gevin found a teen who worked on lawnmower engines and offered him a deal: help me fix this and we can take turns riding. “We worked on it for like five hours. I love puzzles and I took that carburetor apart and laid each piece down in order — a line of parts that showed what needed to go on next. I counted the turns as I took each piece off so I could reverse the process.”

This was the beginning of Gevin’s love of getting her hands dirty, for pulling bikes apart and rebuilding them. It was this moment that cemented Gevin’s confidence that she could do anything she set her mind to do. “I was constant velocity,” she says of her moped-fueled adolescence. She rode everywhere, with her four-year-old brother behind her, until the cops stopped them. A 175 Honda dirt bike was next, as were dirt bike races. And on and on, graduating to faster and faster bikes, taking them apart and putting them back together, better and better.

Motorcycles gave Gevin not just the means to explore the world but learn about it.

Riding Into Her Native American History

The next time riding marked a directional shift in female motorcyclist Gevin’s life was in 1995 at Sturgis. She was going through a rough breakup and filming the movie “Biker Women” in what she describes, in a Dickens’ paraphrase, as “the best and worst of times.” She made the grueling cross-country ride solo on her Shovelhead, which kept breaking down and found herself in an endless line at Harley Davidson to get yet another part to fix her bike.  

The rising sun was suddenly shaded as Gevin heard a deep voice that said, “Leave the bike; we need to talk.” She saw huge cowboy boots and followed them up and shaded her eyes with her hand to find a 6-foot, 8-inch “doorway of a man”—a Native American with hair down to his butt and “arms as big as my thighs.” He was looking at her tank art which featured African American and Native American motifs. 

You see, Gevin has the dual heritage of a Black Indian. Of the interesting genetic combination, she explains, “If you were an escaped slave hiding in the woods, and you heard drums, wouldn’t you seek them out?” Her dad is part-Cherokee and her mom is part-Lakota Sioux. The towering man asked, “Do you understand what those symbols are? Can you explain them to me?” He challenged her, “Have you killed someone with your bare hands?”

Gevin took his questions one at a time. “No, but I’ve killed many evil spirits, that’s why the red hand on my bike is transparent rather than solid.” Then she explained how the band through a mandala means she is a “stake warrior who doesn’t leave until the battle is won.” And on and on, Gevin explained the deep meaning each symbol held for her. Jim, the “refrigerator of a man” she had been speaking with said, “There are many people who look just like you on the reservation. But you’re not like other girls — you are a warrior.” 

Thus went the next eight hours with “Brother Jim” — as Gevin would come to call the man. During their “pow-wow” Jim deemed Gevin a heyoka (a contrarian clown who does the opposite of what others expect), a winkte (a sacred designation referring to someone acting opposite of their gender), and more. Jim offered Gevin a wealth of knowledge around the language and traditions of the Lakota tribe. He had heard about the “Black Indian rider” for years and had wanted to meet the female motorcyclist. Gevin learned that Jim had been seeking her out for some time, with scouts reporting her whereabouts. She also learned her history in those hours that flew by yet "felt like a lifetime”. 

Gevin told Jim that she longed to do a sweat with her people but hadn’t because she didn’t want an Americanized version; she wanted an authentic experience. Brother Jim explained that he only shares the sacred tradition with family. He told her that it’s an honor shared with very few. Then, after some thought, he invited her to join. 

So that’s how it was that one night during Sturgis, Gevin Fax ended up following a black SUV with blacked-out windows deep into black hills “so thick and dense that even when the sun is up, it is dark.” She realized that she hadn’t told anyone where she was going. She found herself excited but also petrified. Gevin overcame her fear with self-talk like, “I am doing this,” even while her survival instinct had her planning an escape from a situation she described as possibly “coyotes leading a dog to their pack.” She was greeted by a woman in a white cotton smock who said, “Welcome Gevin, we’ve been expecting you.” 

Gevin says, “In that moment, I could hear drums in the distance and chants and singing — and I knew that I was home.” She was instructed to take everything off including her clothes, her jewelry, and her knife. She shed her worldly possessions thinking, “If I die, I leave the way I came in.” She donned a smock and walked to where men in loincloths surrounded a sacred fire. She describes a ceremonial scene filled with beaded tobacco bags, horse satchels, prayer pipes, drums, sage bundles, and more. 

Brother Jim -- the clearly-revered family leader — said, “None of you know why Gevin is here tonight but by the end of the sweat, you will know.” Firekeepers had been stoking the sacred fire for seven days to prepare for the evening and Gevin followed Jim into the sweat lodge which had been carefully constructed in an igloo shape with sticks, twine, and buffalo hide. Jim’s brother and son joined them sitting on a floor of wet sage. The four sat surrounded by the natural world.

The Lakota possess rich traditions based on spirituality, and every part of the sweat ceremony holds deep meaning from the glowing-hot "grandfather" rocks to the directionality of the seated foursome. Jim conducted the ceremony in Lakota, then translated phrases into English for Gevin. He grabbed a water-soaked sage wand and smacked it against a rock until billowing steam filled the small space; it was really heating up and Jim was praying. Gevin says that it was so hot that she felt lifted and delirious all at once.

Then in the middle of the delirium, Jim told a story. Many moons and three great grandfathers ago, Jim’s great-grandfather was a warrior scout ensuring that no one came upon the tribe without them knowing. He saw something move and discovered two men whom he cornered and killed without realizing that they were slaves seeking refuge; he had killed innocents, putting a black mark upon their family. The mark was passed down through generations and Jim was heavy with the burden of atonement. He told of how, when fighting in Vietnam, he spared a Black man but still had one more life to atone for. He had been praying for the opportunity ever since. Jim said, “And today someone was sent. We are adopting Gevin into our family today. She is one of the Lakota, honored as a seer like me, as a medicine woman.” His declaration brought on a flood of emotion for Gevin.

When the sweat ended, Gevin says they "feasted like kings."

Creating a Tribe of Her Own

The most recent time that the community has transformed female motorcyclist Gevin’s life, is in her formation of “qUest”. Specifically, “a qUest cALLed triBE” is a group of women that Gevin describes as her “tribe sisters” and with whom she endeavors to make the world a better place. It’s worth noting that this isn’t Gevin’s first foray into female riding groups as she’s the oldest Los Angeles member of the ever-popular group, the Litas.

But qUest is more personal for her. It’s both a group of female riders as well as a group of “consciously-minded women on a journey to find other badass humans who are making a difference in the world.” Gevin formed the group with friend Tana, who she describes as a “connected soul." Tana came to her and said, “I really want to form a group toward a greater purpose.” Gevin asserted, "A tribe." And qUest was born. 

Gevin offers her roots, knowledge of backroads, and her decades of connections. Tana is, in Gevin’s words, “a stunning human being who is caring and empathetic.” Together they are joined by Kim who they nicknamed “Corporate” because of her accounting background, and Yaya who is a professional drummer. Each offers a specific and counter-balanced skillset which they use to lift women up. 

They champion female causes like rides against femicide and other women-led efforts to change the planet. They endeavor to learn from each other and empower other females. Among their values is the ability to ask the tough questions: Will we take the road that adheres to social norms, that fits into the mainstream lifestyle of consumption and convenience? Or choose the road less traveled by living with intention in all we do? They have formed a chosen family and their tribe is ever-growing; learn more here. 

There's no clean way to end this profile because each of the stories above are merely a scratch on the surface of a rich and full life. Gevin sees riding as “a way of transcending gender and race — those things which divide us.” For her, riding has been more than life-changing; it has been life-defining.