The little boy stepped between me and five grown men who were kicking my ribs while I lay bleeding on the parking lot asphalt. This tiny kid, maybe sixty pounds soaking wet, spread his arms wide and screamed “STOP HURTING HIM!” at men who’d just beaten a 67-year-old biker unconscious for accidentally scratching their BMW…
47 bikers surrounded the elementary school because one eight-year-old boy was being bullied for his dead father. The principal had called the police in panic, reporting “a gang invasion,” but these weren’t criminals – they were veterans from three different motorcycle clubs who’d heard about Timothy Chen getting beaten daily for wearing his dad’s old…
The skinny kid with thick glasses stood outside our motorcycle shop every morning for three weeks, clutching a pair of worn Nike shoes like they were made of gold. At first, we thought he was just another neighborhood kid fascinated by the bikes, maybe hoping to sit on one or hear the engines roar. But…
My son hasn’t spoken to me in three years because of my biker lifestyle, but tonight he’s sobbing in my arms in a hospital waiting room, begging me to save his dying daughter. The same son who said I was “too embarrassing” to be in his family photos, who told his wife I was dead…
They kicked out my 84-year-old biker grandfather from the nursing home because “his friends scared the other residents.” Forty-three years he’d lived quietly in our town, never missed a charity ride, taught half the police force how to handle motorcycles safely, and now some 25-year-old administrator named Madison was handing me his belongings in garbage…
47 bikers showed up to walk my 5 year old son into kindergarten because his father was killed riding his motorcycle to work. They came at 7 AM sharp, leather vests gleaming in the morning sun, surrounding our small house like guardian angels with tattoos and gray beards. My son Tommy had been refusing to…
The little boy refused to let go of my dead brother’s motorcycle even as they tried to load it onto the repo truck. His small hands gripped the handlebars while tears streamed down his face, screaming “You can’t take Uncle Tank’s bike! He promised to teach me! He promised!” The repo men stood there awkwardly…
The church banned all motorcycles from the five-year-old’s funeral because “it wasn’t appropriate for a child’s service.” Little Tommy had spent every Saturday morning in my garage, wearing his toy helmet and making engine sounds while I worked on my Harley, his dying wish was to have “all the motorcycle men” carry him to heaven…
The little girl ran straight to the scariest-looking biker in the parking lot, bypassing all the “normal” adults who reached out to help. She was barefoot, pajamas torn, bruises visible on her thin arms as she grabbed onto this 300-pound bearded stranger’s leg and wouldn’t let go, whimpering “Please don’t let him find me.” The…
Someone stole every single motorcycle from the children’s cancer ward benefit show for raising funds for cancer patients, twenty-three bikes worth over half a million dollars, gone in the night. The news ran the story as another example of “biker gang violence,” assuming rival clubs had robbed each other while sick kids waited for their…
What happened next took exactly ninety seconds, according to the police report I read later. Big Mike, who’d been a Navy SEAL, went through the front door like it was made of paper. The sound was loud enough that we heard it a block away at the clubhouse. The abuser – Richard Colton, investment banker,…
The homeless biker was beaten unconscious for sitting too close to a motorcycle, and the young cops just stood there laughing. I watched from across the street as this old man in a tattered Marine jacket tried to explain he was just admiring the Harley, not trying to steal it, before some teenagers started kicking…
The biker gang surrounded the crying five-year-old boy at the funeral home while his own family stood outside, refusing to enter. Not one blood relative would go near little Tommy because his parents had died in a sui.ci.de-mur.der, and they all believed he was “cursed” or “bad blood” now. I watched forty leather-clad bikers file…
My daughter screamed “I wish you were dead with your bike!” the last time I saw her, throwing her engagement ring at my feet because I refused to pay for a wedding that banned all my biker friends. She was twenty-five, beautiful in her rage, standing in my driveway next to her BMW while I…
100 bikers surrounded the children’s cancer ward when the hospital tried to evict seven-year-old Lily because her parents’ insurance ran out. The Warriors of the Road MC had been visiting sick kids every Sunday for years, but that morning they arrived to find Lily’s mom sobbing in the parking lot, her daughter’s stuffed animals in…
300 bikers surrounded the nine-year-old’s funeral to block the hate group that promised to protest because the little girl’s daddy died in Afghanistan and they think that soldiers are killers and deserve no respect. I watched from my apartment window as motorcycle after motorcycle rolled in at dawn, their engines purposely quiet, creating a wall…
Fifty bikers shut down the entire interstate to protect the nine-year-old girl who was running barefoot down the highway screaming for help. We were heading back from a memorial ride when this tiny kid in pajamas came sprinting out of the woods, blood on her feet, waving her arms at the thundering line of motorcycles…
The biker jumped off his Harley to save the drowning kindergarteners when everyone else just stood there filming. I watched from the bridge as this leather-clad stranger didn’t hesitate for even a second – just launched himself over the guardrail into the freezing river where the yellow school bus was sinking fast, windows already half…
The biker broke every traffic law racing a dying baby to the hospital after finding her blue and not breathing in a Walmart parking lot. He performed CPR on that infant while her teenage mother screamed that everyone else had just stood there filming with their phones. For eight minutes, this 300-pound convicted felon breathed…
My wife threw my father’s motorcycle patches in the garbage while he was dying in hospice, saying “He won’t need this trash where he’s going.” Forty years of brotherhood, memories, and honor – earned through blood, sweat, and sacrifice – she’d tossed out like common refuse while Dad lay unconscious, unable to defend the legacy…
“Stop riding motorcycles or you’re not allowed at your sister’s wedding”, my own mother uninvited me from my sister’s wedding because I’d started riding motorcycles, claiming I’d “chosen to become trash” and would embarrass the family. Three months of silence after that phone call, three months of being erased from family photos on Facebook, three…
My daughter literally spit on my biker vest when I showed up to her wedding rehearsal dinner on my Harley. In front of forty guests at the country club, Sarah wiped her mouth and announced, “I specifically said no bikers, Dad. Not even you.” The venom in her voice made several people gasp, but she…
A group of old bikers secretly freed animals from our cruelty testing lab last night, and they left behind something that changed everything I believed about my job. As head of security at Millbrook Research Labs, I’d spent twelve years protecting what I thought was legitimate medical research, dismissing the protesters outside as extremists who…
This man in the Tesla destroyed my motorcycle as he just just kept swinging while livestreaming the whole thing. “This is what happens when old trash won’t stay out of nice neighborhoods!” Marcus Wellington shouted at his phone, designer shoes crunching through the glass of my shattered headlight. Twenty-thousand dollars of restored vintage motorcycle, forty…
The five-year-old girl refused to release the dead biker’s hand even as paramedics tried to pull her away from the accident scene. Blood soaked through her princess dress as she clung to the bearded stranger who’d pushed her out of the semi truck’s path, taking the full impact himself. “He’s my guardian angel,” she kept…