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Celebrating Survivors, Raising Awareness, and Riding for a Cause
Since 2015, the Wigged Out Ride has brought together motorcycle riding groups from across the South Sound for a powerful day of unity, support, and purpose. This annual event honors cancer survivors, remembers loved ones, and raises funds for local Cancer Centers that provide vital services — including free wigs for patients navigating treatment.
The ride was founded by Sue Scanlon and Jenny Fardink, two new riders and breast cancer survivors who turned their personal journeys into a movement of hope and community action. What began over a decade ago as a heartfelt idea has grown into a vibrant and meaningful tradition.
Expect pink wigs, decked-out bikes, and a whole lot of heart as we ride together to make a difference — right here in the community we call home.
We've been doing this event every year since 2015--come join us this year!
Each year is a blessing for a survivor. Wigged Out is our time to celebrate the gift of another year — another chance to live fully, love deeply, and do what we love all over again.
The Wigged Out Ride offers family and friends a meaningful moment to honor those we've lost and to stand in solidarity with those still fighting. It's a time for remembrance, support, and hope.
Camaraderie and laughter bring light to those whose lives have been forever changed by a cancer diagnosis. In shared moments of joy, healing begins.
This year's ride is scheduled for October 11, 2025
Nothing will stop you in your tracks and change your life's trajectory (and your family's life) like a cancer diagnosis.
Sue: My story starts at the age of 46 when, because of the insistence of my GP, I scheduled the mammogram I had been putting off for four years. There was no family history on my side, so I had not been concerned. But I was wrong.
Cancer does not just affect the person who is diagnosed; it directly impacts the entire family. My husband and my two teenage daughters were thrown into a journey of unknown outcomes. Back in 2006, the Carol Milgard Center did not exist; the Virginia Mason Cancer Centers did not exist. The wait for diagnosis could take up to two (excruciating) weeks, and although there were support groups for older women, we knew no one of my age. When the diagnosis was confirmed, we sat down with our two girls (aged 15 and 14) and told them while trying to convince them that everything would be OK. Later that night, my husband and I held each other and cried. It would not be the only time that fear overtook us. For our girls, this was a scary time. Their grandmother (Pat’s Mom) had passed away in 1999 (7 years earlier) from complications due to breast cancer. Now, they had it on both sides of the family.
The months passed with surgeries, radiation, medications, and treatments. Our oldest daughter learned to drive by taking me to appointments. Our youngest daughter held my hand during difficult and often painful procedures. Their lives changed forever. My wonderful, caring, and patient husband was there for every decision we had to make and to care for me when day-to-day life and procedures got too much.
But I’m the lucky one. I’m still here. The treatments worked, and this year, I am celebrating 17 years Cancer Free. I am all too aware of friends and family whose journey ended or whose fight was much tougher than mine. Survivor’s guilt is real.
When my husband bought his first Indian Motorcycle in 2014, I had three choices: stay at home, ride on the back …….. or ride my own. I chose to ride my own, “How hard can it be?”. It turned out to be one of the hardest skills I have ever challenged myself to learn. However, I was not prepared for what it would add to our lives. he feeling of achievement, the friendships, and that Ah-Ha moment when it’s just you on a beautiful PNW windy road with tall fir trees and a view of the mountain. People who don’t ride ask me all the time why I do it, isn’t it dangerous? Well, I say, “I could wake up tomorrow and find out the cancer is back, or I could go ride my motorcycle,” …. and together with Jenny Fardink (also a survivor), this led to the creation of The Wigged Out Ride.
The only way I have ever been able to make sense of the bad things that happen is to find some good. Finding a way to make women feel good about themselves during an awful time in their lives is part of it. But more than that …. for me, it’s the stories I hear every year. The son who just lost his Mom. The husband who re-donates his wife’s wig after she has passed away. The friend who needs to talk about their cancer journey to someone who understands. That’s how I make sense of it, and only then does my story bring healing.
The stories shared reflect the deeply personal battles individuals have faced in their encounters with cancer—some victorious, others marked by profound loss. These narratives of diagnosis, treatment, survival, and remembrance offer a window into the emotional and physical journeys of patients and their loved ones. They highlight not only the challenges endured but also the incredible strength, resilience, and hope that can arise in the face of adversity. Through these experiences, we aim to inspire, inform, and remind those on similar paths that they are not alone—and that community and compassion can be powerful sources of support.