I was supposed to be alone on a dark, rainy stretch of highway — just me, my Harley and a map — when a faint, heartbreaking cry pulled me off the road. At first I thought it was an animal, then I lifted the dumpster lid and saw movement: a tiny, newly born infant, wet and shivering, tucked inside a plastic bag. The storm was closing in, there was no cell signal, and every reasonable instinct told me to get help — so I did the only thing I could think of. I wrapped the baby as best I could, tucked her against my chest under my leather jacket, and rode through the driving rain toward the nearest hospital, talking to her the whole way to keep her alive.
