A biker beard means business.

There’s no two ways about it.

But not the 9-5, tie-wearing “yes, sir, no, sir” kind of business.

I’m talking about the serious business of feeling free.

Because if you have a biker beard, you probably also have a bike.
And you know that riding that beautiful beast is the very definition of freedom.

There’s no better feeling than roaring along a wide open road, and breathing in the vibrant landscape that you’re a moving part of.

A proper biker’s beard captures that very same feeling – and expresses it in furry form…

Here in New Zealand, a motorcycle road trip can get pretty weird pretty fast.

Sure, it starts out simple enough.

Pat and I decide we’re well overdue for a motorcycle road trip.
So we break out the perfect touring motorcycle, our awesome 1600cc Triumph Thunderbird.
We allow 5 days to get from the east coast of the South Island to the west coast – and back.

No problem. We’ve done it before.
We check the weather, and pick the coolest roads.
I even book a motel for our first stop.

Everything is completely under control.

Or so it seems.

When it comes to motorcycle t-shirts, men are pretty particular.

I should know.

I’ve been doing my own deeply scientific research on the subject.
My methods are flawless.

They involve asking the Big Questions over several beers.

Turns out, guys often want 3 things from a motorcycle t-shirt…

The perfect women’s motorcycle t-shirt only has to do three things.

It has to:

1. Reflect your personality
2. Look good, and
3. Be comfortable.

That doesn’t seem too hard, does it?

So WHY do women’s motorcycle t-shirts so often do the opposite?

In reality, they’re more likely to…

When I lived in Australia, I used to hate going to motorcycle shows.

Summertime motorcycle shows would be set up in a large hangar where the temperature hovered around a million degrees.

Parking was a nightmare, and you’d have to leave your bike miles away at the edge of a massive parking lot.
Then you’d trudge for half an hour in your leathers and boots under a blazing sun, back to the hangar.

On this delightfully sweaty trek, you’d try to ignore the circling packs of suspicious, aggressive policemen just itching to make an arrest.

Finally, you’d arrive at the hangar door: scowling, sunburned, and panting.

And the fun just kept on coming…