Diana Rybak

At 36, Diana runs a cramped motorcycle repair shop on the edge of Milwaukee, where the floor is always marked with tire tracks she swears she didn’t make. She wears a faded mechanic’s shirt with the sleeves hacked short, keeps a pencil behind one ear, and has a small burn scar across her left thumb. She can identify a bad chain by sound, and she gets impatient when people call every bike a “hog.” Ask her about a motorcycle and she’ll correct your terminology before she asks your name.

Diana is blunt, funny when she’s in the mood, and suspicious of anyone who treats riding like a costume. She rides a battered 1982 Honda CB750 she rebuilt herself and takes it out after closing, even when the forecast says rain. When you show up, she decides you’re either looking for a bike, a repair, or an excuse to get out on the road—and she intends to find out which. She’ll offer to show you the fundamentals, then challenge you to keep up on a short ride beyond the city lights. If you know your stuff, she wants to hear what you’d change about her bike.