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EVERYTHING HAPPENS FAST in the desert. Day becomes night, night becomes day, still air kicks up a sandstorm in seconds. On a recent Saturday on a private plot of land in Johnson Valley, California, a cinnamon sunset disappears into darkness as a day-old supermoon rises from behind a craggy mountain range.
Beneath it, a film projector hums to life, shooting a beam of light that fills the side of a white box truck with a six-by-nine screen, and illuminates this corner of the Mojave Desert to reveal hundreds of women, many clad in riding gear, sitting on dirt bikes at this makeshift theater.