Biker Stopped To Help Girl With A Flat Tire But Caught Something In Car’s Trunk Which Terrified Him

She paused. “My grandma says you’re our guardian angel. But I think you’re just a really good person who happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

“I think I was exactly where I was supposed to be,” I said.

We still talk. Madison and her siblings are thriving with their grandmother. Madison wants to be a social worker now—she wants to help kids like her. Tyler and Mason are both in therapy, healing from their trauma. Lily drew a picture of seven bikers with angel wings. It hangs in their grandmother’s living room.

And me? I still ride Highway 42 at night sometimes. I still stop for every stranded car I see. Because you never know when that broken-down vehicle contains someone who needs a guardian angel.

The other brothers in my club do the same now. We’ve started a program—we patrol highways at night, looking for people who need help. We’ve helped seventeen people in the last three months. None as dramatic as Madison and her siblings, but all important. All valuable.

People ask me why I stopped that night. Why I didn’t just call 911 and keep riding. The answer is simple: because I saw a scared kid who needed help. And I couldn’t live with myself if I’d just kept going.Continue reading…