I’ve ridden Rural Route 12 for over twenty years and had never seen a kid walking alone — until that day. Ethan, about ten, shuffled along the gravel shoulder, bruised, dirty, and terrified. His shirt was ripped, his hands scraped. Something was very wrong.
When I stopped, he flinched, expecting trouble. I crouched and spoke gently. Eventually, he told me the truth: kids at school had been bullying him for years, stealing his bus money, and threatening him.
When I asked if his mom knew, he begged me not to tell her. She already worked two jobs and cried every night. My heart broke.
I offered a ride on my Harley and promised we’d talk to his mom together. She arrived, shocked and tearful, as Ethan finally told her everything. I introduced myself — Robert — and offered to help.
The next morning, five bikers from my club escorted Ethan into school. Bullies froze. Word spread quickly. By day two, the harassment stopped.
Ethan gained confidence, made friends, and started smiling again. Now, he sometimes joins us on rides, dreaming of being a biker someday.
That day on the road changed everything. Real bikers don’t just ride — we protect those who can’t protect themselves. And Ethan never walks alone again.