Bandit rode like the wind to Melody’s side and spent the night in sexual Nirvana. As soft as satin, as warm as the sun and as responsive as a highly charge circuit, Bandit couldn’t get enough of every inch of her tenderness. He could have luxuriated at her side for decades. A big man who loved to conquer and build, he turned to Jell-O when it came to women, until they opened their mouths. Like a broken spell as soon as the dialog turned from, “Don’t stop,” to “Can we have a baby?” Bandit’s bubble burst.
He always treated women with respect and kindness, but they held the wicked wand to sexual heaven. “I’ve got to get out of here,” Melody said as she woke up the next morning. “I can’t handle the pollution. Did you see all those trucks, the noise, and the smell. I can’t stand it.”
Bandit’s morning sexual erg dropped like being pulled over by a cop minutes after winning a jackpot. He slipped out of the bed and into the shower. When he emerged in a towel, she continued to badger him. “What should I do now? I have a degree. I must get out of LA. You know about Global Warming, right?”
Bandit tried to respond, but she kept talking. “I’m hungry. Is there anything decent to eat in the area? I doubt it. It’s all truck drivers and grubby long shoremen. This place is filthy, and it will all be under water soon with the seas rising.”
“Shut up,” Bandit said and get in the shower. “I’ll make some arrangements.”
“I hope the water is purified,” she continued. “I’ll bet the shampoo isn’t organic. You’re cute.” She kissed his cheek and patted his crouch.
He started to respond, but then. “I’d suggest room service, but the food always arrives cold. I can’t stand the roar of that air-conditioner. I couldn’t tolerate the heat in Vegas. I couldn’t go outside.”
Bandit dressed in silence and waited. He called Marko, “Hey, can I borrow your FXR for a couple of days?”
“Sure,” Marko said. “Is the Cantina going to make it?”
“I believe so,” Bandit replied. “I’ll sort through the finances when I return. Melody helped us save the Cantina. I need to take her wherever she wants to go. Then I’ll be back pronto.”
Melody spent the good part of an hour in the head, preparing herself. Bandit could hear her complaining about the hair dryer, the size of the sink and the water quality. He sighed and pulled on his boots.
She burst out of the bathroom like a spring flower blooming, beautiful, fresh, and full of energy. “I did some research on my phone,” she said. “The governor of California is testing a Zero emissions community. Would you mind taking me to Nirvana.”
“Have you seriously reviewed this deal? Bandit said.
“Of course, I have,” Melody spat. “This will be the wave of the future. No carbon footprint.”
“Don’t we need CO2 to live?” Bandit asked.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Melody said pulling on her $1000 leather boots. “Carbon dioxide is pollution.”
“Will they allow you to wear those boots into Environmental Nirvana?” Bandit said.
“Or I can drop you off at the airport,” Bandit suggested.
“No way, the covid, the masks, the crowds and the polluting planes,” Melody rattled. “Did you know they are banning air flights in Spain. Gotta save the planet. Where’s the Ferrari?”
“I cut a deal with it and returned it to the owner,” Bandit said. He looked at her magnificent form, her bubbling attire and perfect make up. For a second, he thought about luring her back into bed, but then she spoke again.
Two items flash through his mind as her stellar form filled his vision. He needed to untie himself from the broad quick and return to business and the overall calm at the Cantina. “Excuse me,” he said and moved away from the chopper for some quiet.
“I’m hungry,” she spat and Bandit, with his back to Melody raised one finger. He pulled his cell phone out of his leather Holster hanging from his belt.
“Margaret, you need to help me,” Bandit said into the phone.
“Was she hot or what?” Margaret said with a smile on her face.
“I suppose,” Bandit said, “but there’s more. Have you heard about a community devoted to environmental nirvana in California? A test community?”
“Yes, it’s a mess I was told,” Margaret said and there’s a bus leaving from Venice at noon.”
“We’re headed there now,” Bandit said and threw his leg over the stretched FXR. “Get on, we’ve got you dialed in, but first breakfast.”
She grimaced but slid her tightly wrapped form over the seat. They dodged traffic into the seaside community of Venice and pulled up to Purity Organic a small restaurant near the beach. The restaurant was surrounded by homeless tents and cardboard box shanties. Drug needles and bottles filled the gutters. The mayor raised taxes on all the hardworking citizens and gave it to homeless agencies that paid large salaries and did nothing except blame the problem on the folks who were paying them.
Bandit gave a homeless guy, who wasn’t drunk 5 bucks to watch Marko’s bike. He tried to lead the scowling Melody to the restaurant. It sported an easel out front, which usually contained the daily special, but instead said in colored magic marker, “Leave your white privilege outside.” Bandit kicked it over as they entered the small café, but no one noticed.
They couldn’t sit on the sidewalk patio because of the homeless and the putrid smell, so they took a window table. The view contained only homeless folks pissing in the street and bugging folks for money for drugs or another bottle.
Melody seemed to light up with an organic menu in her hand containing a large gluten free selection, but she grimaced at everything else. Before she could get started, Bandit spoke up, “There’s a bus leaving for your Nirvana in the central coast at noon. It’s just a couple of blocks from here.”
“A bus,” Melody snapped. “I don’t want to ride in a polluting bus to anywhere.”
“Sorry,” No pollution free magic carpet rides just yet. “Just eat your blades of grass and we’ll go check it out.” Bandit ordered six egg whites scrambled and a side of their organic salsa, with wheat toast, while she muttered about the menu, and the unclean smell of the homeless wafting into the restaurant.
Bandit just shook his head in dismay. He couldn’t figure out how Melody shifted from a hottie gangster Vegas broad to a hippy overnight. After breakfast and a much-needed cup of coffee, they rode a few more complaining blocks to the city hall parking lot where a large old bright flower-painted bus emblazoned with Nephi Nirvana, The Land of the Zero Footprint. The lot was scattered with city security guards trying to keep the homeless away from the bus and organize the hundreds of folks trying to board.
Two, very stoic folks in strange green uniforms stood outside the bus searching purses and bags and handing out fliers. Bandit parked the FXR and approached the bus. “Are these the ride requirements?”
“Yes,” said the heavy-set woman sans make-up, but heavily uniformed and extremely dour. “We are way over-booked for this trip. There won’t be another bus for at least a month, if ever.”
“Is there trouble in Paradise?” Bandit said and stared at the fossil fuel printed form and the stringent requirements. The bottom of the form was signed by Alexandra Cortez. It called for no plastics, no oils, no electronics and no fun.
The big six-foot woman’s large brown eyes and round warm features softened as she looked eyeball to eyeball with the big biker. “It’s not working…”
“Come on lady,” the next hippy in line snapped, “I’m small, I’ll stand at the back of the bus. I’ve got to get out of this hell-hole.”
The big woman’s features returned to stern, official-like countenance. “Go ahead kid, knock yourself out, but I need to check your bags first.”
Bandit returned to Melody and the FXR.
As he approached her, he investigated her stellar features as they turned from questioning to alarm. “What’s that?” She asked and started to point to the corner as a large group of black folks rounded the corner. Suddenly cars started to stop and endeavor to turn in alternate directions and the group grew to be a mob and someone raised a bullhorn at the front of the crowd. “Black Lives Matter, and this bus is taking only white folks to Nirvana. “It’s not right!
A dozen young men broke off from the pack and stormed a restaurant overturning tables and setting the building on fire. Bandit grabbed Melody, “Let’s get the fuck outta here!”
Stunned, Melody looked at the ensuing destruction and chaos, as the crowd surrounded the bus and started to rock it. Passengers clamored to exit the rocking bus or climb out windows. The female BLM leader screamed hate and destruction in the mic.
Bandit jumped on the bike and fired it to life. He dropped the clutch and the engine screamed as he lit up the rear tire and spun in a burnout as the crowd grew nearer. The big biker, the noise and the smoking motorcycle caused the rioters to back off. “Get on,” Bandit shouted and revved the stroked Evo and they peeled up Lincoln Blvd as another business went up in flames.
He didn’t get it, what the hell could they possibly accomplish by causing turmoil, destruction and injury to hard working folks. As they pulled away Bandit looked in Marko’s vibrating rear view mirror as the crowd over-turned the bus and it caught fire. He could hear screams then approaching sirens. “So much for a trip to Nirvana,” he muttered as they escaped.
He hit the first on-ramp he could find to the 405 freeway north out of the city. It cut from the coast across the valley to the 5 Interstate past Magic Mountain North into the Sierra Madre Mountains toward the notorious Tejon pass and Gorman. Bandit remembered the runs to Fresno and the breakdowns in Gorman.
He hauled ass and split lanes out of town to where the Grape Vine climbed. At one time the heat and elevation killed struggling vehicles. He pulled off in Gorman to refuel on the crest at over 4,000 feet. Melody slipped off the seat and hugged Bandit, “Thanks for getting me away from the scene back there,” she muttered holding him tight. “I can’t…”
“Just relax,” Bandit said. “We’re just a few hours from your Nirvana.”
She looked at him with warm searching eyes, as if fear erased her drive for zero footprint.
Bandit thought about something he read about the desires of man. If a man can’t find food for his family, the environment becomes a low priority.
“I think I need to find a restroom,” Melody said.
“Walk over to that truck stop,” Bandit said. “They will have clean heads.” He refueled Marko’s bike and checked it over. The sun was high and the temps in Gorman always seemed extreme. He pushed the chopper into the shade and dug out a map. They had 40 miles to roll into Bakersfield and Oildale where they would cut off the 99 toward Porterville on highway 65.
Melody returned with a startled look on her face. “It’s not friendly in there, but the bathrooms were clean,” she said.
“Wait here,” Bandit said. “Stay close to the bike. I’ll be right back. We have less than one hundred miles to go.”
Bandit walked in the blistering heat toward the big glass swinging doors as they burst open and six young hippies stormed out. “Fucking truckers,” one of them shouted. “Don’t they know they’re destroying the planet.”
They muttered and stomped to a slick looking low mpg Sprinter high-top van built by Mercedes. They each sported slick looking insulated plastic coffee containers and cell phones. The girls wore form-fitting yoga pants made from fossil fuels. Bandit looked on and shook his head.
As he entered the historic café, a group of truckers met in the corner with a CB radio and listened intently. “Trucks are no-longer allowed on Highway 65 past Porterville.” The truckers looked at one another is dismay.
There were a handful of bikers in the breakfast joint. None of them looked happy but deeply involved in strident conversations. Bandit approached a big cornfed trucker wearing denims and suspenders over a tattered T-shirt that said in faded colors Hollister 1978. “What gives?”
“It’s that zero-tolerance community in Lindsay, just north of Porterville,” The unshaven trucker said rolling an unlit cigarette between his blistered lips. “They won’t let trucks near that place. Hell, you’re not allowed to take any synthetics inside. I heard it’s not doing so well. We can’t deliver produce.”
“That will make it tough on them,” Bandit said.
“Tough?” the trucker muttered. “How the hell are they going to survive? Everything is made from fossil fuels, even solar panels. We are forced to take produce to Tulare where they have to come on bicycles to get fruit and vegetables.”
“That’s why it’s a test,” Bandit said.
“Not a happy one,” The big trucker said and returned to his booth.
Bandit looked around the dining room. There were other groups of hippies looking condescendingly at the truckers and bikers. Bikers didn’t look happy, and the truckers were in a bad situation. Bandit thought about the bullshit division going on, when folks should be happy we have what we have…
He used the head, bought a couple of water jugs and headed for the door. Melody paced by the bike. “Some young folks made a crack about your polluting bike,” she said as he approached and handed her a chilled water jug.
Bandit laughed, “It’s all nuts,” he said. “They are driving fossil fuel vehicles to Lindsay. If they had electric cars, they might need to stop for hours to refuel. If they were being zero there would be no air-conditioning, no ice, cold water or drinks, no plastic containers, you name it. Let’s roll.”
Melody looked at him quizzically and threw her leg over the chopper. Suddenly Lindsay wasn’t looking all so wonderful. They blasted down the pass toward agricultural and oil rich Bakersfield and sliced off Interstate 5 onto Highway 99 into Bakersfield.
As they approached their final junction truck traffic backed up. Marko sliced between, around and passed trucks piled high with produce, corn, chickens, and boxed goods. There were also Teslas stalled out alongside the road, folks on bicycles interrupting traffic flow, vans full of hippies shouting at the truck drivers. Oil trucks attempted to reach gas stations. Lumber trucks, Amazon and UPS trucks struggled to keep moving. For 30-some miles they dodged in and around growing congestion until they reached Porterville where they ran into a roadblock.
Several California Highway Patrol officers lined the highway. Marko pulled to the front, which sorta annoyed a female officer, but a big black CHP officer approached Marko. “What’s the deal officer,” Marko asked.
“No fossil fuel vehicles beyond this point,” the officer said. “It’s a mess. Folks are forced to walk, bicycle or take electric vehicles for the next 7 miles to Lindsay. There isn’t enough transportation, and it gets worse. There isn’t enough solar power in Lindsay to keep one refrigerator running. And they are fighting over whether Solar panels are petroleum based products. Wind doesn’t work. More folks are leaving than staying.
Bandit thought to himself and muttered, “They can’t have refrigerators, they contain freon.”
It was hot as hell as Melody dismounted the chopper and looked at Marko in dismay. “What do you think?” She spoke.
“I know what you thought back in Santa Monica,” Marko said. “Now you’re here I’m sure someone will have a warm carrot for you. Knock yourself out. I’d ask you to call me and report in, but I will bet they will take your cell phones. They are made with fossil fuels. I hope your Louie Viton boots last until you arrive in Fuelless the town of zero emissions.”
Bandit kissed her on the cheek, and she turned to get in line for the inspection prior to the 7-mile march to Zeroland. He looked at the crowd and it reminded him of a chilling episode in history when the Jews were searched and then told to march into concentration camps.
The crowd looked happy at first but questioning as they approached the checkpoint. Environmental Protection officers searched their belongings and took anything plastic, petroleum based or made from animal skins. Suddenly each person felt betrayed, violated and ashamed. Most lost their luggage, plastic or nylon back-packs and much of their clothing. Girls were shoved into tight, hot metal containers to disrobe of their Yoga pants and polyester garments. They were forced to don canvas slacks and cotton T-shirts and carry what they had left in paper bags.
