FICTION
appeared to be topped with a row of lights .
Lenny instinctively opened the throttles a little more , resulting in an initial stuttering misfire before the Stuka settled and began to gather speed . The colourful uneven shape was a building . More than that , there was a large vehicle ... a truck ... no !... a bus , parked outside .
It looked old and was daubed with colour . Great red and orange flowers ... and swirls and stars .
As the lads rolled the Stuka to a crawl they found they had edged to the meeting of crossroads . The old building to their right , its parking area out front dancing with gentle swirls of dust , bore a cheerful sign atop its roofline , declaring it to be the ' Crossroads Diner .'
Atop the dusty parking patch sat the bus , its side windows either painted over or curtained .
The words ' Peace is Now ' adorned one side in purple .
It was Max who spotted the two motorcycles parked some distance away from the bus . " Harleys ," he said quietly . It was Bert who noticed more bikes , older , more tatty , parked behind the diner . And it was Lenny who spotted an old darkskinned man sitting diagonally from them on the other side of the crossroads .
He was quietly strumming a guitar , an occasional high note , from some otherwise longforgotten blues lament from the delta , reaching their ears .
A smallish man sat beside him . They couldn ' t make him out properly as his features seemed to shimmer . There were voices coming from within the diner .
In terms of the emotions of the three weary lads , bewilderment would have been an understatement .
They shook the dust from their shirts and trousers and warily made their way toward the door . In the distance they heard a train ' s whistle blow . " I didn ' t see any tracks ," Max murmured . Lenny pushed the door open and the lads were confronted by the sight of ... a reasonably busy diner and bar .
GRILLED BACON & BEEF The aroma of grilled bacon and beef , infused with sweet aromas of incense and flowers , hit them like a hammer .
The smell was as eclectic as the people who sat , slumped , reclined and loitered within a place which appeared to have shut the clocks down in the late `60s .
" Howdy doody ," a smiling old man , his faced lined and creased , said as he wiped his hands on an apron which had clearly not seen the inside of a Laundromat for a decade . " You boys look hungry ." Bert was too stunned at what was happening to reply , as was Lenny . Only a few minutes earlier they had been beating across a lifeless landscape , fuelled only by the hope they would find help before the avgas and the water ran out . Now they were in a diner ... with people and food and effectively salvation .
" We don ' t have any money ... we kind of mislaid a lot of our stuff out there in the wilderness ," Max said .
" Your credit ' s always good at the Crossroads Diner ," the old cook said with a wink .
Lenny and Bert took up places at a small table , while Max enquired about the telephone .
" Ain ' t never had no phone ... never seen the need ," the old cook said as he flipped a fatspitting slab of minced beef into the air .
Max asked if he had a map . He got the same answer .... ' never seen the need .'
Lenny and Bert had meanwhile checked out the diner , whose occupants largely ignored them , apart from an occasional stray glance .
There were what appeared to be a troupe of colourful travellers . Had it been 1969 the lads would have tagged them as ' hippies .' There were young women in lace and velvet and men in badly-sewn vests and faces unknown to razors . A couple of older men , with pinched expressions , moved among them . They seemed cheerful enough . And there were a couple of weary-looking bikers ... closer to the renegade variety than to Ulyssians . They were at a table with a man in a tired linen suit . He seemed out of place with them ... but then again , he kind of fitted in . They sat in an enclave off the main diner ... beneath a sign which declared ' The Dennis Hopper Lounge .'
The old black man with the guitar had by now also entered the diner , and was talking to his companion who never stopped smiling ... although it was not the sort of smile endearing to children or the elderly .
Then there were the strange bunch of riders in the far corner who seemed totally disinterested in the other bikers , and more intent on what the oldest one of the group appeared to be saying . Helmets and jackets cluttered their feet .
" This is plain weird shit ," Bert whispered to Lenny as Max sat down .
BURGERS & BEER " Burgers and beer on the way ," Max smiled , drumming the table with his open palms , before taking in the expressionless faces of his mates .
" What ' s up ?" he asked , although he knew the answer .
" We still don ' t know where we are and we don ' t know where we ' re going ," Bert replied .
" And there ' s no phone and no petrol pump and ..." Max raised his hand . " The old guy said there used to be a town here called Garcia years ago , but one by one the folks drifted away . He kept the diner going as it stood at the crossroads ... ' always a traveller to feed .'
Bert said that didn ' t help their cause much , apart from the fact they could now eat something as the burgers and a pint had arrived courtesy of a sweetly spoken girl in a long floral dress who quietly introduced herself as Rosemary ... and that she hoped they would have a nice day .
" We go straight through the intersection on the same road ... we don ' t go left and we don ' t go right . He said it ' ll take us through the Timothy Leary National Park and onto Highway 61 ... which takes us home !"
The lads all smiled together and turned as one to acknowledge the old cook . He smiled , nodded and waved before returning to his work at the grill .
Their stomachs aching from the intake of something other than the raw seed pods and brackish water which had sustained them for too many days , the lads leaned back in their chairs ... everything felt okay , although they still had a fair journey ahead of them .
It was Bert who said he ' d approach the group of bikers in the corner , as they might have traveled the road they would soon be setting out on . Lenny said it was a good idea , Max ordered another round of beers , which the old cook happily poured for no charge . Bert approached the group and they bristled , as if wary of strangers encroaching in their apparently secretive conversational space .
" Bert Day ' s the name ," he said with a smile , extending his hand to the oldest one of the group . " People call me ' Happy '... Happy Bert Day ," he added .
The old biker slowly looked him up and down , and seemed satisfied the young stranger posed no danger . " My name is Gandar ," he said .
Next Month - Part 4 : Piston Rings and Gas Rings ... Homeward Bound !
68 KIWI RIDER