"I Was 11, Homeless, and Marked for Death. With Nowhere Left to Run, I Walked Up to the Scariest Hell’s Angel President and Begged Him to Be My Dad. I Expected a Beating. Instead, 250 Harleys Showed Up to Teach My Bullies a Lesson. The sun was high that Tuesday afternoon, baking the asphalt of Maple Street until the heat radiated through the soles of my duct-taped sneakers. I was walking with my head down, trying to make myself small, trying to be invisible. But it’s hard to be invisible when on