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andyc740
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A sign on the wall of my favorite burger joint in the Valley reads, “I want to die peacefully in my sleep like my grandfather, not screaming and yelling like the passengers in his car.”
During my rides, I often get sleepy in the afternoons going down the highway. Not wanting to wake up plowing through the weeds at 60 miles an hour, I try to find ways to stay awake on the bike; singing as loud as possible or banging the side of my helmet. One day I thought of doing the Hokey Pokey on the bike as I went down the road. Obviously, I had to adapt the moves to the bike and I got a lot of strange looks from passing motorists, but it worked pretty well and kept me awake. Then I had the disturbing mental picture of a whole group of motorcyclists doing the hokey pokey in unison as they rode down the highway. This is the story of how I made that happen:
I was hanging out at a Sinton bike rally with my buddy, “Hooligan Hal” when I was approached by several members of a local bike club, the Zopilotes from Papalote. (If you don’t know where Papalote is, it’s on Hwy 181, halfway between Sinton and Skidmore and if you don’t know what a zopilote is, it’s Spanish for buzzard.) Their president, Okie Dokie and his sidekicks, Smokey and Rattle, had a proposition for us: they wanted Hal and I to lead their club on a bike trip to Tampico, Mexico. The Zopilotes were chartering a new chapter in Mexico and, rather than take the bus, they wanted to ride down there. They knew Hal and I made frequent trips to Mexico and if we would guide the group, they’d cover our expenses. Sounded good to me.
I told them, “We’d love to, but when you’re riding with us, there’s a few ground rules you need to follow:
1. Keep up,
2. Don’t complain,
3. Wear a helmet (required in Mexico),
4. No drinking till we’re off the bikes at the end of the day, and
5. If I or anyone else I see gets sleepy, we’ll all do the Hokey Pokey until we’re not sleepy anymore.
The Zopilotes put their heads together and said they’d go along with everything but the last one. No hokey pokey. They’d never live it down. I insisted; this was gonna be a deal-breaker and they finally agreed to my terms.
The weekend before we were scheduled to leave, Hal and I met with with the group at their clubhouse and I talked about riding in Mexico, checked to make sure they all had passports and bike registration papers and we demonstrated the motorcycle version of the Hokey Pokey.
Now, on the bike Hokey Pokey, in and out are opposite and we start with our feet. When the song says, “Hands,” we actually use our elbows (so we can keep our hands on the bars). When we “turn ourselves about,” we settle for twisting our shoulders. On the last line of the chorus, “that’s what it’s all about,” we use our left hand (not the one on the throttle), slap the left handlebar twice, the tank twice and the side of your helmet twice (but not too hard).
We worked on the Hokey Pokey with the club a while, then got out on the bikes and practiced it on the road. They made me find a back road so nobody would see, and once we started, they actually got into it a bit, at least until the local law pulled us over. The law wanted to know, “What’s that you’re doing, the macarena?”
“No.”
“Gangnam Style?”
“No! It’s the Hokey Pokey.” When we explained the reason we were all practicing the Hokey Pokey, the deputy agreed that was a good idea, but I could see him shaking his head as he walked back to the squad car.
During my rides, I often get sleepy in the afternoons going down the highway. Not wanting to wake up plowing through the weeds at 60 miles an hour, I try to find ways to stay awake on the bike; singing as loud as possible or banging the side of my helmet. One day I thought of doing the Hokey Pokey on the bike as I went down the road. Obviously, I had to adapt the moves to the bike and I got a lot of strange looks from passing motorists, but it worked pretty well and kept me awake. Then I had the disturbing mental picture of a whole group of motorcyclists doing the hokey pokey in unison as they rode down the highway. This is the story of how I made that happen:
I was hanging out at a Sinton bike rally with my buddy, “Hooligan Hal” when I was approached by several members of a local bike club, the Zopilotes from Papalote. (If you don’t know where Papalote is, it’s on Hwy 181, halfway between Sinton and Skidmore and if you don’t know what a zopilote is, it’s Spanish for buzzard.) Their president, Okie Dokie and his sidekicks, Smokey and Rattle, had a proposition for us: they wanted Hal and I to lead their club on a bike trip to Tampico, Mexico. The Zopilotes were chartering a new chapter in Mexico and, rather than take the bus, they wanted to ride down there. They knew Hal and I made frequent trips to Mexico and if we would guide the group, they’d cover our expenses. Sounded good to me.
I told them, “We’d love to, but when you’re riding with us, there’s a few ground rules you need to follow:
1. Keep up,
2. Don’t complain,
3. Wear a helmet (required in Mexico),
4. No drinking till we’re off the bikes at the end of the day, and
5. If I or anyone else I see gets sleepy, we’ll all do the Hokey Pokey until we’re not sleepy anymore.
The Zopilotes put their heads together and said they’d go along with everything but the last one. No hokey pokey. They’d never live it down. I insisted; this was gonna be a deal-breaker and they finally agreed to my terms.
The weekend before we were scheduled to leave, Hal and I met with with the group at their clubhouse and I talked about riding in Mexico, checked to make sure they all had passports and bike registration papers and we demonstrated the motorcycle version of the Hokey Pokey.
Now, on the bike Hokey Pokey, in and out are opposite and we start with our feet. When the song says, “Hands,” we actually use our elbows (so we can keep our hands on the bars). When we “turn ourselves about,” we settle for twisting our shoulders. On the last line of the chorus, “that’s what it’s all about,” we use our left hand (not the one on the throttle), slap the left handlebar twice, the tank twice and the side of your helmet twice (but not too hard).
We worked on the Hokey Pokey with the club a while, then got out on the bikes and practiced it on the road. They made me find a back road so nobody would see, and once we started, they actually got into it a bit, at least until the local law pulled us over. The law wanted to know, “What’s that you’re doing, the macarena?”
“No.”
“Gangnam Style?”
“No! It’s the Hokey Pokey.” When we explained the reason we were all practicing the Hokey Pokey, the deputy agreed that was a good idea, but I could see him shaking his head as he walked back to the squad car.
Try the "Big Shoe Dance" next time that may work. Drew
