I was scared since the scary biker had been following me for about fifty miles. I’ve been driving since 1958, and I’m 83 years old. I’ve never been so scared in my life.
He stayed two vehicle lengths behind me on the highway, going the same speed as me. Every time I changed lanes, he did too.
I tried to go faster. He went faster. I attempted to go slower. He took his time.
I could barely hold on to the steering wheel because my hands were shaking so much. I had heard the stories of bikers who went for old people and followed them home to rob them.
My
But I had done this drive a hundred times. I never believed this would happen. Electronics in car
I stopped at a rest area and hoped he would keep going. My heart was racing. My mouth was parched. I groped around for my phone to call 911.
But the biker got off too.
He put his motorcycle right close to my car. I shut my doors right away, my hands shaking, and my phone was already dialing.
He
He pulled off his helmet and stared me right in the eye through the window.
I pushed myself against the driver’s seat to make myself smaller. My finger was close to the call button. Every part of me told me to press it.
He moved closer to my automobile.
I hit the dial.
There was one ring on the phone. Twice. I was breathing in brief bursts.
He raised his fist and hit my window hard. I yelled.
“Ma’am,
I looked at him while I held the phone to my ear. The person who answered 911 was there. “911, what’s your problem?”
“I see a biker,” I stuttered. “He followed me off the road.” He’s right next to my car.
The biker backed away and put his hands up. “Ma’am, I’m going to walk to the back of your car.” Please look at your tire. That’s all I want.
The operator stayed on the phone. “Ma’am, stay in your car.” Police are on their way to your location.
But there was something in his voice that made me stop. He wasn’t violent. He wasn’t trying to get into my house. He was backing aside to give me room.
I saw him walk to the back of my car and point at my rear driver’s side tire in my side mirror.
I could see it even in the mirror. The tire was entirely torn apart, all the way to the metal wire. I had just been driving on rubber threads and prayers.
I put my hands to my lips. Oh my God. If that tire had blown while going seventy miles per hour…
I would have died. No doubt. At my age, going so fast, I would have lost control, and that would have been the end.
The motorcyclist walked back to my window, but he stayed a safe distance away. “Ma’am, I honked. I tried to wave at you by driving up next to you. Every time, you looked straight ahead. I didn’t know what else to do but follow you until you stopped.
I opened my window by an inch. “Why didn’t you just go?”
His voice broke. “Because my mom died in a car crash when her tire blew out on the highway.” She was by herself. She was 81 years old. And no one stopped to aid her.
I cried a lot. “I thought you were going to hurt me.”
“I know,” he answered in a soft voice. “I know I look scary.” But ma’am, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let you keep driving on that tire. I just couldn’t.
Seven minutes later, the police showed up. Two officers with their guns drawn were the first to approach the motorcycle. One said, “Get away from the car.”
I opened my door and said, “Officers, this is a mistake.” “This man wasn’t following me to hurt me.” He was attempting to keep me alive.
The officer and I walked to the back of my car. His face altered drastically when he spotted the tire. “Ma’am, you’re lucky to be alive.” How long did you drive on this?
“I don’t know.” I didn’t see anything incorrect.
The cop stared at the biker. “How long did you follow her?”
The rider said, “Forty-seven miles.” “From the Willow Creek exit.” I watched the tire breaking apart, and I did everything I could to persuade her to notice.
The officer’s mood changed completely. “Sir, you might have saved this woman’s life.”
My legs were still wobbly as I moved closer to the motorbike. “I’m terribly sorry. I’m truly sorry I was scared of you. I’m sorry I called the cops on you. “I treated you like a criminal when you were a hero.”
He shook his head. “Don’t say you’re sorry.” You did the right thing. A woman alone should be careful. I got it. I have three girls. They know how to accomplish exactly what you did.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Robert. Robert Chen. “Bear” is what everyone calls me.
“Bear, I’m Dorothy.” And I owe you my life.
His whole face changed as he grinned. He wasn’t scary in any way. He was charming. “You don’t have to do anything for me, Dorothy.” Just promise me that you’ll fix that tire before you drive another inch.
The police called a tow truck. They wouldn’t allow me to drive on that tire, even to a petrol station close by. It was that risky.
Bear sat with me on a bench outside the rest station as we waited. He told me about his mother, Linda Chen. She was a Vietnamese immigrant who worked three jobs to raise him and his two brothers after their father died.
“She was on her way home from doing the night shift at the hospital. Two in the morning. In the middle of nothingness. She went off the road because her tire exploded. By the time someone found her the next morning, it was too late.” He lost his voice. “She had been there for hours. By myself. Afraid. And no one stopped.
I reached out and took his hand. I held the hand of this macho, tattooed biker while he grieved about his mom.
He said, “She would have been eighty-three this year.” “Same age as you.”
We waited for the tow truck together for more than an hour. He told me about his life, such as how he had ridden motorcycles for thirty-four years, gone to Vietnam twice, and loved his four grandchildren. He showed me photographs on his phone. His daughter’s smile made beautiful babies.
He laughed and said, “My daughters say I look scary.” “But I’m just a big softy.” Commercials make me cry.
The tow truck came and transported my car to a shop close by. The mechanic told me I needed a new tire and that it would take a few hours. Bear said right away that he would wait with me.
“I’m not going to leave you alone at a rest stop, Dorothy.” Not going to happen.
We ate lunch at the diner at the rest station. The coffee was terrible, but the pie was pleasantly tasty. He told me about his motorcycle club, which was made up of veterans who rode their bikes to raise money for children’s hospitals.
He remarked, “We raise money for kids with cancer.” “We look scary, so kids think we’re cool.” We made $40,000 last year. It was the most fulfilling feeling in the world.
I told him about my husband, Thomas, who died six years ago. I have three kids, seven grandkids, and two great-grandkids. I had been driving to my sister’s house because she recently lost her spouse, and I didn’t want her to be alone.
Bear responded, “You’re a good sister.” “And now you’ll get there safely. I’ll make sure of it.
Bear looked at the new tire on my car personally when it was ready. He stated, “I just want to make sure they did it right.” The mechanic didn’t fight back. People had to respect Bear, even when he was being nice.
I hugged him before I got in my car. This is the man I had been scared of just a few hours ago. “I don’t know how to thank you, Bear.”
“You already did.” You made me remember why I couldn’t allow my mom’s death to be for nothing. “It means something to me if I can stop even one person from going through what she did.”
I took a piece of paper out of my purse and jotted down my phone number. “Please call me.” Please tell me when you get home safely. And please, if you’re ever in Riverside, come see me. I can prepare a fantastic pot roast.
He smiled and took the paper. “Dorothy, I’d be happy to.”
He followed me for another twenty miles to make sure the tire was still fine, and then he waved goodbye and got off the highway. I saw him go away in my rearview mirror. He was a guardian angel with tattoos and leather.
I got to my sister’s house without any problems. We both sobbed as I told her the story.
That night, Bear called me. “Just wanted to check that you got there okay, Dorothy.”
Since then, we’ve talked every week. He has been there twice, once with his wife Susan, who is just as wonderful as he is. I cooked that pot roast. They brought stories, wine, and laughs.
When I originally informed my daughter about Bear, she didn’t believe me. “Mom, are you saying that a biker followed you for fifty miles and that you became friends with him?”
But she understood when she met him. She hugged him and said thank you for saving her mom’s life.
Bear’s mother died last month, which was the anniversary of her death. I drove three hours to go to the memorial ride that his motorcycle club organizes every year. Seventy-three motorcycles traveled in a line to the area where she died, where they put flowers and murmured prayers.
I also put flowers. Linda Chen was a woman I never knew. Her death gave her son a duty to defend people like me.
Bear called me “the woman who reminded me why I ride” when he presented me to his club. Everyone gave me a hug. These large, scary-looking bikers with their tattoos, leather, and noisy motorcycles were some of the nicest, sweetest guys I’d ever encountered.
They told me about Bear, how he always stops to help people who are stuck on the road, how he saved people from burning cars, and how he once gave a homeless veteran his jacket in December and rode home in the cold.
One rider said, “He’s our moral compass.” “The best of us.”
I am eighty-three years old. I’ve been through wars, losses, joys, and sorrows. I’ve seen the finest and worst things about people. And that day on the highway, I learned something that I will always remember:
Sometimes the ones who look the most dangerous are really angels in disguise.
The person you are most terrified of can sometimes be the one who saves your life.
And sometimes, meeting a stranger by happenstance can lead to a friendship that changes everything.
I was incorrect about Bear. I shouldn’t have judged him by how he looked, thought the worst, or let fear get in the way of my judgment.
But he quickly forgave me. He got it. And he still saved my life.
That’s what heroes do. They help others even when such folks are scared of them. Even when it’s difficult, they do the right thing. They remember the people they’ve lost by keeping the folks who are still alive safe.
Bear’s mother would be very proud of the man he has become. I say this to him every time we talk.
And every time, he gets choked up as he talks. “I hope so, Dorothy.” I truly hope so.
I do know. He saved my life, that’s for sure. Seventy-three bikers served as a reminder to me that love and kindness can manifest in various forms. This was due to a man who refused to allow history to repeat itself and prevented another elderly woman from dying alone on the road.
I’m going to Bear’s granddaughter’s birthday celebration next week. He made me come. He said, “Dorothy, you’re family now.”
And I am.
