hitwheelsnep

I hated my father-in-law’s motorcycle more than anything in the world because it stole my husband from me. The day that old Harley crushed John beneath its weight was the day I swore I’d never forgive Frank for introducing his son to those death machines. We haven’t spoken since the funeral six years ago, where … Read more

I stood frozen in the doorway of my father’s hospital room, staring at the nurse who was casually throwing his prized leather vest into a garbage bag like it was medical waste. Fifty years of my father’s life – his patches, combat medals, the memorial patch for my mother – stuffed between soiled sheets and … Read more

I hated the old bikers who started showing up at our church. These bikers (gangsters more appropriately) had no place in God’s house, especially not these gray-bearded Vietnam vets who refused to dress properly for worship or leave their sinful past behind. Every Sunday, they’d rumble into our church parking lot on their loud Harleys, … Read more

I called police upon that old biker who was a menace to our community, and I was determined to stop him before another child disappeared. Five kids had entered his house over the past year, and not one had emerged alive. Oh, he had excuses—mumbled stories about “relatives coming to get them” or “special facilities” … Read more

Nobody expected fifty bikers at my son’s funeral. Least of all the four teenagers who put him there. I’m not a crier. Twenty-six years as a high school janitor taught me to keep my emotions locked down tight. But when that first Harley rumbled into the cemetery parking lot, followed by another, then another, until … Read more

The morning they tore down my clubhouse, I sat in the rain and wept. Forty years of memories crushed to dust. The wrecking ball swung. Again. Again. Each blow felt like it hit my chest. I was the last one left. Cancer took Diesel. Heart attack got Preacher. Knuckles and Wrench died in that crash … Read more