Bandit felt depressed as he poured another Jack on the rocks and sat in his office pondering the future. His staff meandered around the Cantina looking forlorn and without purpose. The mayor of Los Angeles lowered more Covid inspired mandates on small businesses. Bandit and his crew were being strangled by the folks they elected to serve them.
He turned to his computer to check his emails and one inspired him. It came from a guy who builds mostly Knuckleheads with his father, for the last 30 years. “I found an old frontend for you,” he said, and Bandit immediately responded.
“Tell me more,” Bandit returned.
“It’s a 2-inch over XA H-D frontend from WWII,” Matt returned.
“I’ll take it,” Bandit said and grinned. He previously owned two rare XA front ends and was excited to get another one. For a minute all the bullshit strapping society to the gutter disappeared and he was energized.
Bandit thought about a friend who promised him a VL frame for years. He dropped him an email and received a positive response. “I have one and my previous customer would be happy to see it go to you,” Rich said. “What do you want me to set it up for?”
“A Knucklehead,” Bandit responded.
“Will do,” Rich said. “It will be headed your way in two weeks. I just moved to Sturgis.”
“Perfect,” Bandit replied. “I may be headed in that direction.”
Marko followed him to the garage area, where Bandit made room for a project lift, like table, to build a bike.
A couple of local kids, who buzzed around the Pedro docks showed up on skateboards. “What are you guys doing.” One said as the other smaller Hispanic kid tried to pull him away.
Bandit looked at them warily. Drug addict kids were paid with drugs to scour the industrial area for cars, motorcycles and equipment to steal. “You guys going to school around here? Bandit asked trying to size them up.
“We both go to Banning High,” the taller of the two Hispanic kids said.
“I have the opportunity to build another chopper,” Bandit said after looking the kids over. They were clean. “I’m waiting for some parts to arrive.”
“You know, you shouldn’t do that,” The taller kid immediately copped and attitude. “You guys will be banned from the road soon. Global Climate Crises. We must act now.”
“What if you’re wrong?” Bandit responded. “What if there is no eminent doomsday?”
The smaller Hispanic kid with a head full of black thick wavy locks felt suddenly confident and approached Bandit. “My folks’ taco shop was shut down because of Covid,” He muttered. “We can’t go to school, and the homeless are taking over the school yard.”
He looked as if he was confused, and Bandit approached. “Hold on. There’s always hope.”
“Do you guys need something to eat,” Bandit continued. “We have killer taquitos and guacamole inside.”
The kids lite up like someone had given them a full tank of gas and they could go wherever they wanted. The Chinaman chef was only too happy to have customers, whether they paid or not. Bandit would cover the costs.
They ate heartedly and returned to the shop. “When do you think you’ll get started on your fossil fuel guzzler,” The taller kid said with a smirk. Pedro was a wild mixture of black, mixed race, Scandinavian and European cultures. Wilmington, next door and adjacent to the port of Los Angeles was 90 percent Hispanic.
“Within two weeks I’ll be rocking on this puppy,” Bandit said. “You tell me about your lives, and I’ll tell you about building a chopper,” Bandit said. “I’ll give you some terms to research. And when you come back, I expect you’ll know something. Will that work?”
They nodded.
“Look up CO2 and tell me what you find,” Bandit said. The youngsters peeled out. Bandit looked at Marko, who always focused on security. “Do you feel comfortable with those kids around the shop?”
“Why not?” Bandit said. “They have no place to go. Their lives are seriously messed with, and at least they are trying to figure it out.”
“Yeah, I get it,” Marko said. “But aren’t we about to peel out towards South Dakota?”
“Not before Christmas,” Bandit said. “We have the winter to prepare, learn and practice. We might learn something from these kids.”
“You’re right,” Marko said. He had experience training kids in Judo. “Let’s rock. There’s nothing like a Chopper to inspire us and them.”
Two weeks passed. The chromed XA frontend arrived from the WWII era and finally the VL frame slipped into the shop from the ‘30s, single loop and modified for a Knucklehead big twin engine and a ratchet top 4-speed transmission.
When the kids arrived again there were four youngsters on skateboards and bicycles. They watched as Bandit dug through lockers and boxes looking for axles, wheels, brake parts, etc.
They didn’t say a word as Bandit installed neck cups with shims, since the VL frame held a 1.120 stem and bandit needed to make shims and spacers to make the narrower springer stem work with common 1-inch Timken bearings, while eliminating the old ball-bearing races. Bandit explained everything he did to the kids.
“Okay,” Bandit said. What did you find out about CO2?
“You were right,” Juan, the tall kid said. “It feeds all of live on earth. Why do they say otherwise?”
“They have an agenda,” Bandit said. “I want you to look into what could happen if CO2 got too low and what the number is?”
“Okay,” Juan said, and Bandit handed him a note, with the question scribbled on it. “Don’t forget and always be prepared to take notes.”
Bandit called to Margaret who didn’t have much to do since the bar was closed due to Covid. She polished all the glasses and booze bottles. The bar area had never been so clean.
“Would you mind creating some sign boards to post in the shop? Bandit asked but knew the answer. She gathered colored felt pens and 2-foot by 2-foot white card stock sheets. “Make one our Christmas Chopper To-Do list. On the next one write: CO2 feeds all Life on Earth. It is not a Pollutant!”
“I’m digging this,” Margaret said setting up a table and gettting to work. “But do you think we will get in trouble for this?”
“Sure,” Bandit said searching for parts. “I’ve been an outlaw all my life. Can’t stop now.”
Bandit found a straight top triple tree and some risers. He also hunted down a couple of wheels, but he would ultimately need the classic star-hub wheels, maybe a 21-inch front wheel and a 19 in the rear. Before long, the kids watched a few parts become a rolling chassis. They were astonished.
“This is cool,” one of the local kids said. “I wish my dad would check this out, but I think he’s depressed.”
“Tell me about it,” Bandit said.
“He’s a truck driver,” Carlo said. “He drove trucks forever and took care of our family. But now the schools teach hate for anything including gas or diesel. He’s under so many restrictions, he can’t hardly make it.”
Bandit just listened as he dug for parts. One kid a mixed-race tough from San Pedro stepped up. “Our school is all fucked up. They want me to hate all the white kids in my class.”
“How do you feel about that?” Bandit said and searched a catalog for a cool gas tank.
Bandit just listened and so did Marko as the kids told their stories. Two of the kids were depressed by the homelessness. “We played in the streets forever, but not anymore,” Juan said and put his arm around his brother.
“We can’t for the needles,” Juan continued, but his younger brother tugged on his arm.
“They hit on us all the time. They want money for drugs or booze,” Enrique said and stumbled. “One wanted to know if I had any rubbers.”
He started to mope, but Juan tried to pull him up. Bandit approached.
“We don’t hate here,” Bandit said. “Here’s something to look up. It’s call critical thinking. All schools should teach it. Let me know what you find out.”
“You don’t know,” Juan got belligerent. “Our dad was shot by an illegal alien gang member who wanted to use our home as a distribution junction for meth. He wouldn’t have it. My dad worked hard, and we did good, but now my mom tries to support us working at Hoya’s coffee shop. It’s not cutting it.”
“Have faith guys,” Bandit said. “The truth always wins out.”
As the days passed after Thanksgiving, more kids started to show up. Bandit made sure the Chinaman made hearty platters of crab enchiladas, tamales, club sandwiches or fish soups on the colder days.
Mandy and Tina waited on the gang as if they were paying customers and Margaret served them iced tea and sodas. Between making signs and post them in the shop, including We Don’t Hate Here, More Polar Bears than Ever, Sea Rise 7-inches every 100 years for the last 2000 Years, Critical Thinking is Mandatory, Question Everything.
Toward the end of the first week after Thanksgiving a small compact pulled up in front of the Cantina and a short middle-aged woman jumped out and stormed around to the garages. She wore a mask and carried a monster heavy satchel over her shoulder and constantly pulled at her salt and pepper hair to shove it away from her face and thick round glasses.
“Are you Bandit?” she snarled.
“Yep,” Bandit said, and recognized teacher written all over her.
“You know motorcycles will probably be banned first!”
“What’s your name?” Bandit asked, “Or are you the CO2 police?”
“I’m Caroline, a teacher at Banning High,” she said. “I don’t want you talking to my students.”
“Shouldn’t someone teach them critical thinking?” Bandit asked. “They don’t seem to be learning the fundamentals from you.”
“I don’t give a fuck what you think,” she snapped. “Fossil fuels are done, and you know it. We’re in a crises situation.”
“What if you’re wrong?” Bandit said. “Why are you still driving a fossil fuel powered car. About half or more of what you’re wearing is made from oil.”
“You are not going to speak to my kids or any kids,” she continued to grit her teeth. “Science is settled, and you know it.”
“Sorry, science is never settled,” Bandit said. “You know that, but if you said it, you would lose your job. Get the hell out of here.”
The next day more kids arrived, and two middle school girls showed up with the growing gang of boys, Maria, and Cecilia. Bandit heated and bent a bracket to mount his solo seat. He explained why and how to the kids. Some of the kids sat on milk crates, some sat on their bikes, and some leaned on the shop walls with their skateboards, but not too close.
Bandit moved around the shop from the welding table to the drill press and back to the bike. He cursed occasionally but mostly at his own blunders, but then kept going. He noticed the two young girls, one substantially shorter than the other, her face puffy as if she cried recently. He approached them and extended his hand.
“Are you the Christmas Bandit?” the taller of the two girls asked and snickers popped up in the crowd.
“What the…” Bandit muttered and glared at the crowd.
The other girl looked suddenly shaken and stared down at the asphalt surface on the pier and started to cry.
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“What’s her name?” Bandit asked and looked at the taller girl, who seemed to be waiting for a serious answer to her question.
“She’s Maria and I’m Cecilia,” Cecilia said. “Her teacher told the class there was no Santa and that the school was recommending no presents this year to reduce our carbon footprints.”
“Do you know what that means?” Bandit asked.
“Sorta,” Cecilia said.
Juan stepped forward. “Air pollution.”
“Did you look up Critical Thinking?” Bandit asked
“Sorta,” Juan said. “But I got in trouble at school for questioning.”
Bandit laughed, stood up tall and large and looked at all the kids. “One thing to remember, CO2 is not a pollutant.” The group perked up, like something significant happened. “CO2 is plant food for everything on earth including us. Did you know we breathe in Oxygen and breathe out CO2?”
Some of the kids looked stunned, like Bandit told them 2 plus 2 equaled 5. One kid leaning against the wall in the shop stepped forward. “You’re right, and I have a teacher who said half the population must die to save the planet, and no more babies.”
Other kids nodded and kicked at the pavement as if they were guilty of something. “The school is turning us against our parents,” one kid muttered. “They want me to be angry because my mother has an SUV and takes me to school. Hell, you’re the worst with your Harleys and performance bikes. You’re an outlaw.”
Cecilia raised her hand as if in class. “We can’t go see out relatives in Mexico this season, because of the mandates and flying is creating wild fires and only rich politicians will be allowed to fly in the future.”
“What about this our holiday parade, my teacher said they won’t exist in the future, unless electric,” Another kid piped up.
Kids put their bikes down and came forward. “I brought some photos of flat-track racing to school and was bullied by environmentalist who want to end all track racing, car and motorcycle competitions.”
“I’m worried about my father,” Cecilia said. “He’s a cook and my teacher shunned him for using fossil fuels. His job will be eliminated unless they shift to electric kitchens.”
“My father is a longshoreman, but won’t the sea rise cause the port to be eliminated and no more toys because shipping will end?”
“Should we be worried about the planet? Are we doomed?”
Bandit looked around at the dozen or so kids and looked at the sleek classic chopper with highbars he was building. The Knucklehead engine and transmission were now in place and the primary drive connected the two. A narrow rear fender swept over the 19-inch rear tire and no fender adorned the front 21-inch classic Avon tyre.
Marko approached and whispered something into Bandit’s ear, “Exactly,” Bandit added. It was the week after Thanksgiving. Marko disappeared for a minute and returned with a couple of large boxes marked, “Xmas.”
“Hey, do you guys want to help decorate the Cantina for Christmas?” Bandit said and most of the kids agreed, some were depressed, others confused. Two muttered something under their breathes and rode away. Marko led the kids to the boxes. Mandy, Tina and Margaret took a handful of the kids inside and started to decorate the dining room.
“Is that all,” Juan said as he approached Bandit. “What are you doing?”
Bandit and Marko were feverishly tearing the new Chopper down. “What do you mean?” Bandit inquired removing the engine and putting it on a milk crate.
“We are going to help you make the Cantina festive for the holidays and that’s how you respond to what’s going on?” Juan said in dismay.
Bandit stood up and the big man approached Juan. He wiped his grimy hands on a rag and placed a hand on Juan’s shoulder. “Hang on,” Bandit said, “I’ve got something for you. It’s almost 5:00 and getting dark. Round up the kids. I have an announcement before you go home.”
Juan looked curious but took on the duty to round up the kids. When they all stood in front of the garage, they witnessed the classic Chopper completely torn down. The XA springer front end lay on the wooden bench at the back of the shop. The wheels leaned against the bench with the axles still in place and the rear brake component were slid onto the rear axle.
Bandit called Marko and Margaret together. “We need to do something to brighten Christmas for these kids. I’m going to paint the Chopper red and white for the holidays.”
“How about we enter the Christmas parade?” Margaret asked.
“Perfect,” Bandit said.
“Let’s involve the kids,” Marko said.
“We will,” Bandit said, “In a big way.”
“Hey,” Bandit said to the gang of local kids, and Marko and Margaret stood at his side. “We’re going to do something wild and crazy for Xmas this year, and maybe someone will learn something. I tore the bike down and Marko will take the parts to McQuiston’s Custom Motorcycles today to be painted, Christmas colors. We don’t have a lot of time, but let’s put the same theme together with you and your bikes and enter the Wilmington Christmas Parade. But there’s one thing more. At the end of the Parade, we will meet the Mayor of Los Angeles and we’ll give him a special Christmas present.”
Over the next couple of weeks kids came to the shop to decorate their bikes, skateboards and scooters. Margaret registered the group in the line-up for the parade and paid the entrance fee.
Right on time Ryan McQuiston called. The paint was ready. The kids scrambled on their outfits and decorating their rides, while Bandit and Marko hauled ass to construct a running and riding chromed and Christmas red Chopper with the Bandit Santa painted on the side of the gas tanks.
Saturday night before the Christmas Parade on Sunday, Bandit and Marko struggled with getting the bike started, bleeding the brakes and adjusting the clutch. School was out and Juan and his buddy hung out to see the bike start. Shortly after 6:00 in the evening harbor lights glittered off the main channel water and Xmas lights around the Cantina blazed. Due to Covid restrictions the Cantina was still closed for business, but a familiar sedan bounced into the Cantina parking area and screeched to a stop in front of the open roll-up garage doors as Bandit fired the loud, old 1942 Harley-Davidson and attempted to adjust the Linkert carburetor as two teachers scrambled out of the non-descript compact car.
“You’re a denier,” Caroline screeched. “You’re not going to enter that parade and have my kids follow that belching beast down Avalon boulevard.”
“You’re the denier,” Bandit said as he stood up and the wild looking chopper calmed and a mellow idle took over. “You deny free speech and open debate. Hell, that’s because you’re wrong and terrified the world will find out.”
“I don’t care what you say,” Caroline screamed. “Any of my kids who are involved in your stunt with fail my class.”
Bandit revved the new colorful beast, wide open and sparks flew as it roared in the night sky. Startled by the blast, Caroline hurried back to her faded compact, with her terrified associate and peeled out.
Marko moved away from the garage and into his office. Bandit didn’t know what to do, except to continue his mission and hope she was being an environmentalist bully. They closed the garage doors and crashed for the night.
The next morning Bandit awoke with a start. Would his kids be there, or would he ride the short parade route on his own? The Cantina Girls helped him dress in his finest biker Bandit’s Christmas attire, and he waved as he rode half-a-mile to the set-up point for the Wilmington Christmas Parade.
He arrived early and rolled to a shimmering stop in the early morning sun. No kids showed, and he was sure his notion failed. He checked in with the organizers but was received with distain as most bikers were when they arrived at a citizens’ event. He signed in and inquired about the kids but was met with an unknowing response or did they just not tell him.
He grabbed a cup of coffee from the Red Cross table and returned to the beautiful crimson Chopper dressed as Santa. As he finished the coffee his phone pinged a text message and he heard a skateboard grinding against the pavement and popping up the curb. As he saw one and then two and three of his kids arriving, he looked at his phone and the text message from Marko was a simple emoji thumbs up.
One after another the kids arrived dressed to the nines in holiday elf garb of colorful assortments. At 10:00 in the morning the parade got underway with bands, high-dollar floats sponsored by big companies and dignitaries in luxurious cars. But finally, it was time for the Bandit’s Cantina gang to fire up and meander up Avalon Boulevard with over 20 kids of all ages following Bandit on his new glimmering chopper and carrying a banner touting, “THERE IS NO CLIMATE CRISES.”
The most photographed parade entry, the crowds went wild. Just a few blocks up the street they came across the judges’ stands containing city officials and the mayor of Los Angeles, who stood in dismay as the group of youngsters stop and unrivaled another banner as bright and colorful as the holidays, which said, “Stop Trying to Destroy Our Lives!”
He was stunned…And the kids enjoyed every minute.
Merry Christmas. The truth is the greatest gift.
