Hell’s Angels’ Little Angel

There is a scenic overlook close enough to our house that we generally take the drive every fall and spring. There are breathtaking vistas about every three miles. My middle child has disabilities and can get overwhelmed by things. She doesn’t particularly like heights but will look out the window each time we pull over to take pictures. She is content, though, to stay in the van with the door open.

At one stop, I was taking pictures when I heard a large group of motorcycles roll in. I knew what would happen next.

Sure enough, when I turned around, my child had unbuckled, jumped out of the van, and run over to the bikers. She loves motorcycles and those who ride them. She doesn’t talk much but can say, “Oooh! Nice!” clearly.

I walked over and listened to the bikers telling my daughter about their bikes and asking her what she thought of each.

I asked if I could take a picture of them all and they all smiled and posed. My very short daughter, clad in pink, was surrounded by men and women in black leather. They all smiled brightly for the shot.

Then, each handed me their cell phones so they could get a picture of their own.

We chatted on that vista for another fifteen minutes or so. My daughter sat on one man’s bike while he and I discussed the best lunch destinations nearby.

My daughter was disappointed that she didn’t get to ride off with her new friends, but she was happy enough to get hugs and high-fives before we went our separate ways.