And many of them were holding their helmets respectfully at their sides.
Just as the taxi stopped at the curb, a tall, broad-shouldered biker stepped away from the crowd and approached the vehicle, his beard catching the sunlight as he removed his helmet.
Margaret recognized him instantly.
“Mr. Grizz?” she said softly as the driver opened her door.
The biker smiled warmly and nodded.
“Good morning, Mrs. Doyle.”
Margaret stepped out slowly with her cane, her eyes scanning the endless rows of motorcycles again as the realization slowly began to settle in.
“What is all this?” she asked in a trembling voice.
Grizz glanced over his shoulder toward the hundreds of riders gathered around the churchyard before answering gently.
“You said you didn't want your husband to be alone today.”
As if responding to those words, the riders began quietly moving into position, forming two long lines that stretched from the church gate all the way to the entrance doors, creating a silent path of honor.
One by one, helmets were removed and the rumble of engines faded as the last arriving motorcycle shut off their motors.
The entire street became still.
Some residents of Redwood Falls had gathered along sidewalks and porches by then, whispering to each other in amazement as they watched the scene unfold.
The sight of hundreds of bikers standing silently with bowed heads outside a small country church was something none of them had expected to witness.
Margaret covered her mouth with her hand as tears filled her eyes.
“All these people, they came for Walter?” she asked softly.
Grizz nodded.