A Quiet Lunch Hour in Billings Turned Into a Scene Nobody Could Forget When a Worn Old Man Was Turned Away from the Diner, and Moments Later the Parking Lot Was Suddenly Filled with Motorcycles, the Engines Low and Steady, Leather and Sleeveless Vests Filling the Frame, Until a Tall, Broad Biker Stepped Inside, Calmly Scanning the Room, Asking ‘Where Is He?’ in a Voice That Made Everyone Pause, Leaving Patrons Shaking, Whispering, and Questioning Exactly What They Were Witnessing