SHE MISSED ONE DAY OF SCHOOL—THEN SEVENTY BIKERS SHOWED UP OUTSIDE HER HOUSE The first time they rumbled up, I thought it was a funeral procession. Seventy leather vests. Chrome glinting like knives. And in the middle of it, my seven-year-old niece, bright pink backpack strapped on, waving like a parade queen from the back of a Harley. I ran outside in my slippers, heart in my throat. “Where is she going?” I yelled. “School,” one of the bikers said, like it was obvious. Here’s what I didn’t know

SHE MISSED ONE DAY OF SCHOOL—THEN SEVENTY BIKERS SHOWED UP OUTSIDE HER HOUSE The first time they rumbled up, I thought it was a funeral procession. Seventy leather vests. Chrome glinting like knives. And in the middle of it, my seven-year-old niece, bright pink backpack strapped on, waving like a parade queen from the back of a Harley. I ran outside in my slippers, heart in my throat. “Where is she going?” I yelled. “School,” one of the bikers said, like it was obvious. Here’s what I didn’t know

SHE MISSED ONE DAY OF SCHOOL—THEN SEVENTY BIKERS SHOWED UP OUTSIDE HER HOUSE The first time they rumbled up, I thought it was a funeral procession. Seventy leather vests. Chrome glinting like knives. And in the middle of it, my seven-year-old niece, bright pink backpack strapped on, waving like a parade queen from the back of a Harley. I ran outside in my slippers, heart in my throat. “Where is she going?” I yelled. “School,” one of the bikers said, like it was obvious. Here’s what I didn’t know