And me? I still ride Highway 42 at night sometimes. I still stop for every stranded car I see. Because you never know when that broken-down vehicle contains someone who needs a guardian angel.
The other brothers in my club do the same now. We’ve started a program—we patrol highways at night, looking for people who need help. We’ve helped seventeen people in the last three months. None as dramatic as Madison and her siblings, but all important. All valuable.
Madison told me something last week that I keep thinking about. “You know what the worst part was?” she said. “Before you stopped, three other cars passed us. Three. I waved at them. I tried to flag them down. But they just kept driving.”
“They were probably scared,” I said. “Dark highway, young girl, late at night.”
“Maybe,” she said. “But you weren’t scared. You stopped. And that made all the difference.”
She’s right. Sometimes the difference between tragedy and triumph is one person being brave enough to stop. One person being willing to help. One person seeing a scared kid and thinking “not on my watch.”
I’m sixty-three years old. I’ve lived a full life. But stopping for Madison and her siblings on that dark highway? That might be the most important thing I’ve ever done. Not fighting fires. Not serving in Vietnam. Not any of the big dramatic things.
Just stopping. Just listening. Just believing a terrified fifteen-year-old girl who flagged down a scary-looking biker because she was desperate and out of options.
So to anyone reading this: if you see someone who needs help, stop. If you hear a kid saying they’re in danger, believe them. If you have the power to help, use it. You might be the only guardian angel that person gets. Don’t waste that opportunity.
Because somewhere out there right now, there’s another Madison on another dark highway, hoping someone will stop. Someone will listen. Someone will care.
