Story

“Don’t touch him, you dis.gusting old ped.ophile biker!” The mother yanked her son away from the bearded biker, her face twisted in disgust at his leather vest and tattoos. Ten-year-old Tyler Chen had been cornered against Peterson’s Drugstore, his Pokemon cards scattered across the sidewalk while the older boys demanded his birthday money. His tears…

“Security will remove him if he shows up on that disgusting motorcycle,” I announced to the funeral director, pointing at my oldest brother Jake’s name on the guest list. At 45, I’d built a successful law practice, and I wasn’t about to let my degenerate biker brother ruin Dad’s respectable funeral. My sister Karen nodded…

The old biker started CPR on the dying teenager while everyone was just filming and too afraid to help. I watched from my car, frozen, as this seventy-something man in torn leathers pounded on the kid’s ribs while everyone else just filmed with their phones. The boy’s mother was screaming, begging God, begging anyone –…

My Daughter Helped an Old Biker Pay for His Groceries and gave his entire piggy bank savings to an elderly biker who couldn’t afford groceries, and I thought that was the end of it. Three weeks later, I woke to the thunderous roar of fifty motorcycles surrounding our small rental house, leather-clad riders filling our…

My son’s Harley was going to kill me too until those blue lights flashed. I was doing 95 in a 55 when the police lights filled my mirrors, but I didn’t care about the ticket or jail or losing my license because the bottle of pills in my jacket pocket was going to solve all…

“Your biker lifestyle makes you unfit to raise a child,” Judge Peterson declared, peering over his glasses at the old man in leather standing before him. “Living in a motorcycle clubhouse, associating with known felons, no stable income beyond Social Security – I’ve seen enough.”  Thunder McKenzie, seventy-three years old with hands that shook from…

The little girl couldn’t have been more than seven, standing beside my Harley in the Walmart parking lot with tears streaming down her face, clutching a crumpled piece of notebook paper. She was alone, trembling in the Texas heat, her Frozen backpack hanging off one tiny shoulder. “Mister,” she whispered, looking up at me with…

“Women who ride motorcycles are just asking to become statistics,” my boss announced during our Monday safety meeting, looking directly at me. Twenty-three male colleagues nodded along as he pulled up accident data on his PowerPoint. “Especially young women riding alone. It’s not about skill – it’s about biology. Weaker reflexes, less upper body strength,…

“That’s a trash bike, old man. Shame you’ll be dead before you pay it off.” The kid said and hawked the biggest wad of spit I’d ever seen directly onto my gas tank, then laughed as it dripped down the custom paint job I’d spent three months perfecting. His friends cackled like hyenas while I…

I was watching them lower my empty coffin when a deaf boy on a rusty bicycle frantically waved his arms at the funeral director. My wife sobbed in the front row, my motorcycle club brothers stood in formation, and everyone believed I was dead – because that’s what I’d planned for the last six months….

The old Harley rider was the only one who helped when my eight-year-old autistic son had a complete meltdown in the middle of Interstate 40, cars honking and swerving around us while I desperately tried to coax him out of the highway. Three state troopers had given up. Two EMTs said they’d have to sedate…

“This old biker and his dog is making parents nervous,” Mrs. Hamilton announced at the emergency PTA meeting, pointing to the security footage of a massive bearded biker. Six-foot-four, covered in tattoos, leather vest laden with patches, he just sat on the bench with his dog watching the kindergarten doors. “The police say he’s not…

“I saved your worthless life twenty years ago, and you don’t even remember me,” the man in the expensive suit said, standing on my porch at midnight with tears streaming down his face. I’d been cleaning my garage when the doorbell rang, and now here was this stranger claiming I’d saved him – but I’d…

Four bikers broke into my father’s house at 3 AM while I was asleep upstairs, and I woke to the sound of his wheelchair being pushed down the hallway toward the garage where his dusty Harley had sat untouched for two years. I grabbed the baseball bat from behind my bedroom door, my heart hammering…

The leather-clad bikers surrounded my daughter’s broken-down car at midnight on Highway 49, and I watched through her phone camera as fifteen massive men on Harleys formed a complete circle around her Honda, trapping her inside. My hands shook as I screamed at Emma through the phone to lock her doors, to not open the…

I was ready to let my farm die and my family starve until forty-seven Harleys roared down my driveway at sunrise. Three months of drought had killed my corn, my wife’s cancer treatments had drained our savings, and the bank was foreclosing today. I immediately called 911 as I saw the bikers but the dispatcher…

I killed a biker’s son while driving drunk and expected him to destroy me in court, but instead he walked up to me and whispered seven words that haunt me more than any prison sentence ever could. The leather-clad man I’d seen in my nightmares for months stood just feet away, his gray beard trembling,…

I Found My Father’s Suicide Note In His Motorcycle Saddlebag as I was trying to find an old grocery list, but instead found myself reading his goodbye letter dated three hours ago. He wrote: “By the time you read this, I’ll be gone.  The cancer wins. The VA failed me again. Tell the brothers I…

I told my father I was ashamed of him at my wedding because he showed up on his Harley instead of renting a car like a “normal person.” The look on his face when I made him park three blocks away so the guests wouldn’t see his bike still haunts me. My new husband David…

My New In-Laws Called Security on My father as he arrived at my $50,000 country club wedding wearing his leather vest and riding boots. My mother-in-law literally screamed when she saw him: “Security! There’s a Hell’s Angel trying to crash the wedding!” she shrieked, pointing at the man who’d raised me alone after Mom died,…

My son spat in my face when I offered him food under the highway overpass, not recognizing the father he’d been taught to hate for choosing motorcycles over “family responsibility.” Twenty years since his mother took him away, poisoned his mind against me, and here he was – homeless, skeletal, shaking from withdrawal, still wearing…

The young woman selling my stolen 1978 Harley Davidson didn’t know it was mine when she desperately tried to explain why she needed exactly $8,500 for it. Sarah Mitchell, 28 years old, standing in that parking lot with tears streaming down her face, clutching her sick four-year-old’s hand while trying to sell the motorcycle she’d…

For 127 days straight, Richard filed noise complaints about my motorcycle until the morning his non-verbal autistic son walked up to my bike and spoke his first word in six years: “Beautiful.” I was kickstarting my 1947 Harley-Davidson Knucklehead at 7 AM, the same routine I’d followed for the past forty years, when I saw…

“These bikers think they own the roads, terrorizing decent citizens with their noise and intimidation tactics.” Judge Harrison sneered at me from the bench, holding my traffic ticket for a broken taillight like it was evidence of murder. I stood there in my leather vest, hands behind my back, staying silent while he went on…