Young bikers laughed when I stumbled—then pushed me out after 50 years, until I proved what real brotherhood means
I fell hard, my hands scraped, knees aching, trying to lift my Harley. But what hit hardest wasn’t the pavement—it was the laughter. Not cruel, not loud. Just… pitiful. That kind of laugh from my motorcycle brothers didn’t come from joy. It came from judgment. From seeing me no longer as a road warrior, but … Read more