Kenira Ghant, Motorcycle God

She hit the glass ceiling with her front tire lifted off the pavement and the rear tire squealing at 125mph. She broke records like she shattered expectations for a woman in a so called man's world. She left the men in her smoke trail, eating the stink of rubber and a humbling mouthful of road dust.

Kenira Ghant, aged 28, born on a motorcycle as her mother raced to the hospital but went into labor before she managed to get there, was riding hogs before her umbilical cord was severed and she didn't stop there. Indeed it seemed like nothing daunted her, no expectations could contain her.

She performed stunts that had left Knievel with a hundred broken bones without breaking a sweat, her hair billowing out from underneath her helmet behind her like some kind of wild Valkyrie as she launched over top of a dozen buses and landed on the other side with the grace of a diesel ballerina.

All the guys either wanted her or wanted to be her or both. She was all that and a bag of chips.