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Think twice
Don't Think Twice Author: Barbara SchoichetPage Count: UnknownPublication Date: 2016-PRH Barbara Schoichet’s Don’t Think Twice is a raw, roaring testament to the idea that sometimes, the only way out is straight through. At fifty, with her life in tatters—job gone, long-term relationship dissolved, and her mother dead from pancreatic cancer—Schoichet does the unthinkable: she buys a Harley on eBay from two guys named Dave and rides it solo from New York to Los Angeles. Not because she has a plan, but because she doesn’t. Not because she’s fearless, but because she’s too exhausted to care. What unfolds is less a travelogue than a cathartic scream into the wind, a middle-aged rebellion against grief that’s as hilarious as it is heartbreaking. The book’s central theme is resilience, but not the kind that wears a polished smile and a motivational quote. Schoichet’s resilience is messy, loud, and unapologetic. It’s the kind that manifests in speeding down Route 66 at 100 mph, in laughing through tears at a stranger’s kindness, in flipping off a guy who pulls a gun because, well, why not? Grief, she suggests, isn’t something you "get over." It’s something you carry, and sometimes, the only way to keep it from crushing you is to strap it to a motorcycle and ride until your hands go numb. Schoichet’s writing style is the book’s greatest strength—and its most disarming feature. Her voice is a cocktail of sass, sorrow, and unfiltered honesty, like if Dorothy Parker had been raised on road trips and bad decisions. She doesn’t romanticize her journey; she lives it. There’s no pretentious reflection here, no forced wisdom. Instead, there’s a woman who’s just trying to stay upright on two wheels while the world tries to knock her down. Her humor is sharp, her observations keen, and her vulnerability disarming. When she writes about her mother’s death, it’s not with maudlin sentimentality but with the kind of bluntness that makes you laugh through the ache: "Grief is a greedy bastard. It takes and takes, and you just keep giving, even when you’re empty." The road itself becomes a character in the story, a living, breathing entity that Schoichet both fears and adores. The Appalachian Mountains loom like ancient sentinels, the Turquoise Trail glows with otherworldly beauty, and Route 66 hums with the ghosts of travelers past. Schoichet doesn’t just pass through these places; she engages with them, whether it’s marveling at the decadence of Graceland, getting lost in a Cadillac graveyard, or nearly getting shot over a lane change. Each stop is a microcosm of her internal journey—sometimes awe-inspiring, sometimes absurd, always real. What makes Don’t Think Twice so compelling is its refusal to shy away from the ugly parts of healing. Schoichet isn’t a hero; she’s a woman who’s one wrong turn away from disaster, emotionally and physically. Her physical limitations—aging knees, a back that protests every mile—are as much a part of the story as her emotional ones. She’s not some invincible adventurer; she’s a woman who’s scared, tired, and occasionally reckless, but who’s also, against all odds, moving forward. That’s the magic of her story: it’s not about conquering grief, but about learning to dance with it. The book’s pacing mirrors the unpredictability of the open road. One chapter, Schoichet is marveling at the quiet beauty of a desert sunset; the next, she’s recounting a near-miss with a semi-truck. The prose is lean and muscular, mirroring the motorcycle she rides—no excess, just forward motion. There’s a rawness to her storytelling that feels intimate, like she’s confiding in you over a beer at a roadside dive, not performing for an audience. Ultimately, Don’t Think Twice is a book about the audacity of starting over, even when you’re broken. It’s about the strange alchemy of pain and freedom, how sometimes the only way to feel alive is to flirt with danger. Schoichet’s journey isn’t just a physical one; it’s a spiritual reckoning, a middle finger to the idea that life should be neat and tidy by fifty. Her message is simple: when the world takes everything from you, sometimes the only thing left to do is take something back—even if it’s just the open road and a motorcycle that might kill you. If you’ve ever felt like life has knocked you flat and you’re not sure how to get up, this book is your rallying cry. It’s proof that healing isn’t linear, that sometimes the bravest thing you can do is not think twice. #RoadTripMemoir #GriefAndGrit #SoloTravel #HarleyAdventures #LateBloomingRebel #HealingOnTheHighway