Twelve bikers formed a human shield around my screaming autistic son in the middle of the highway while everyone else just filmed with their phones.
My eight-year-old Max had bolted from our car during a meltdown, running straight into traffic on I-95, and within seconds, dozens of cars had stopped – not to help, but to record the “crazy kid” having a breakdown in the fast lane.
I was sobbing, trying to reach him as he sat rocking and screaming on the asphalt, cars honking, people shouting at us to “control your brat” and “get that retard off the road.”
Then the rumble came. Twelve Harleys cutting across three lanes, surrounding my son in a protective circle, their riders dismounting like some kind of leather-clad SWAT team.
The lead biker, a massive man with a gray beard down to his chest, looked at the crowd of phone-wielding gawkers and said five words that changed everything: “Anyone filming this child dies.”
The phones disappeared instantly. But what happened next – what those terrifying-looking bikers did for the next three hours on that highway – was something no one could have predicted.
The biker who’d threatened the crowd walked toward my son, but instead of trying to grab him or yell at him like everyone else had been doing, he did something that made my heart stop.
He laid down on the asphalt next to Max. Just laid down on his back on the highway, about three feet away from my screaming son, and started…
Max had been doing so well that morning. We’d been driving to his special therapy center in Boston, a three-hour trip we made every month. He’d had his headphones, his tablet, his weighted blanket – all the tools that usually kept him calm during long rides.
But forty minutes from our destination, everything went wrong.
A motorcycle backfired next to our car. The sound sent Max into immediate panic. Before I could even pull over safely, he’d unbuckled himself and was clawing at the door handle.
“Max, no! Wait, baby, let Mommy pull over—”
But autism doesn’t wait. When the meltdown hits, rational thought disappears. My brilliant boy who could name every dinosaur that ever existed, who could recite entire documentaries word for word, was suddenly just a terrified animal needing to escape.
He got the door open at 45 miles per hour.
I slammed the brakes, causing a chain reaction of screeching tires behind me. Max tumbled out, somehow landing on his feet, and ran directly into the middle lane.
By the time I got my hazards on and got out, he was sitting in the fast lane, rocking and screaming, hands over his ears, completely overwhelmed.
Cars swerved around him, honking. People rolled down windows to yell. And then the phones came out.
“Oh my God, look at this kid!” “Is he on drugs?” “Where are his parents?” “This is going on YouTube!”
I tried to reach Max, but every time I got close, he’d scream louder and scoot away. He didn’t recognize me in his state of panic. I was just another source of sensory input in his overwhelming world.
“Please!” I begged the growing crowd. “He’s autistic! Don’t film him! Please just give us space!”
But they didn’t care. A dozen phones pointed at my baby as he rocked and sobbed. Someone actually laughed when he started hitting himself in the head – his way of trying to regulate the sensory overload.
That’s when the motorcycles arrived.
They came from behind, weaving through the stopped traffic. Twelve of them, engines so loud that everyone turned to look. They wore leather vests with patches I couldn’t read, looking exactly like the kind of people you’d cross the street to avoid.
They parked their bikes in a circle around Max, engines off, creating a barrier between him and the crowd. The lead biker, who I’d later learn was called Tank, dismounted and surveyed the scene.
When he saw all the phones pointed at my son, his expression went dark.
“Anyone filming this child dies.”
His voice was calm, matter-of-fact. The phones vanished.
Then Tank did something I’ll never forget. He walked to the edge of the circle, got down on his hands and knees, then laid flat on his back on the hot asphalt, about three feet from Max.
“Hey, little man,” he said, his voice now soft, gentle.
I know some bikers are vets who find it challenging to hang around ‘polite’ society. Having spent a year in Alaska (USAF, King Salmon, 1975) running intercepts on mostly Soviet Bears and Bison, I spent almost all my down time off-site and in company with Wolfie, a half-Shepherd, half-wolf who befriended me. I gave him cookies and other snacks in my barracks room, but never had to feed him; he did all his own hunting. Being out with him cleared my head and sinuses. Once in awhile I walked Yogi Trail to the King Salmon Inn for chow, listening to locals talk and realizing how few folks back in the world understood wartime mentality. It was clear: there’s a reason why many vets settle in the Northland. A huge “Thank you” to these guys. It’s likely one or more may have remembered their own past as they gathered around this little guy.
I have never met a kinder human being than a biker. This warmed my heart, but I was never surprised by it. When I was still in high school, I worked at a diner. A group of bikers would come in every day and they were kind and patient. We served ice cream and they always trusted us to make up original Sundays for them to enjoy and sang our praises every time. They were members of BACA, Bikers Against Child Abuse. Never judge a biker for their appearance. They are the most wonderful people you will ever meet.
Every biker I have ever known has been a source of safety to my heart. EVERY. SINGLE. ONE.
love the stories
I love the way the whole world is laughing and watching and you bikers show up and show out.Proving that you’re not the nasty bad guys people think you are. I had a neighbor once for years that was a biker my kids loved them.
I’ve been a biker all my life and we work hard we do Christmas runs for children and we raise money for family’s in need we are the temple knights of the road our 1persent patch represents the sad truth that only one present of us as people still care about our fellow man and in the end when the fight between heaven and hell takes place well rumble in just before Gabriel escorting him into battle because not all of us are afraid not all of us care just about our selves we all need each other in this life compassion for others is what defined us and protecting the weak and helpless is our duty to our fellow brothers and sisters and that’s what we stand for and will die for just like our father on the cross some give all never lose faith and above all never lose heart stay you and believe in yourself and others it’s how we live maybe you’ll understand that old saying finally never judge a book by its cover or a man by his look see how they judged God give us another look hopefully you’ll have a different opinion of us if not we’re not gonna change to satisfied anyone one we will be us atleast were something real something you’ll can actually count on believe again anday e things just might get a little better God bless you all live to ride ride to live to all my brothers and sisters ride hard be free
You guys rock and having worked a few night shifts where some shady characters came in it was a few bikers who stuck around until they left to make sure that I was safe. Ride hard live free. Thank you to those bikers will never forget and will always give way for you guys on the road
Bless you all!
My brothers are/were bikers, uncles, nephews ,friends, etc… biggest hearts exp for children! I have a daughter now 23 that has autism she’s brilliant, funny, sassy at times no filter lol
I have experienced many meltdowns and stares, remarks, etc
Thank God I have never been in this situation!!! The outcome could have been horrific to say the least!
God put his soldiers right where they were needed
GOD BLESS YOU ALL
Oh this is such a lovely comment and praise God for all bikers across America and the world. Do not judge a book by its cover. Love one another just like Jesus showed us to love. ❤️❤️🙏🙏
God bless them all and keep each and everyone of you all that help different children and adults that have difficulties are not exactly like everyone else. They are special bless them all and keep them safe
Bikers are real men with big hearts this world needs more real people like that
Bless them brothers for helping our children who are different sometimes ppl don’t understand.don’t judge stand by an watch what clubs on motorcycles do .thank god they were there.amen