At three in the morning, hiding behind my car in a dark Ohio parking lot, I was certain I was witnessing a crime. Nearly thirty bikers had surrounded a small convenience store, their motorcycles lined up like something out of a nightmare, while inside they stuffed bags with food, diapers, medicine, and water. My hands shook as I whispered to 911, unable to understand why the elderly owner stood behind the counter smiling, arms crossed, as if nothing was wrong. Every instinct told me danger was unfolding right in front of me. When the dispatcher calmly asked if I was…