I can’t dance but I can rock a track bike like a champ. My lady likes to dance, I on the other hand don’t. It’s not that I don’t want to; it’s just that I can’t. Dancing takes something that I just don’t have, maybe my DNA is missing a few lines, I don’t know.
Last night we were out drinking at the Moon Temple with friends when the topic turned to dancing, and bikes. What does dancing have to do with bikes you may wonder? Nothing really, unless were talking about The Sprockettes’s or B:C:Clettes. But last night the link was all about my hips.
I got moves, when I’m on my bike. I can swing the rear wheel all over. My personal favorites are big smooth skids around corners. You know the ones where you swing the ass end of the bike out 90 degrees. Or wiggling thru the sea of side mirrors on the cars stuck in traffic down at the Fremont Bridge. It’s all in the hips. Shift, shimmy, contort.
But on the dance floor my hips are something else and that something ain’t pretty. My lady however, well her DNA includes both the bike gene and the dance gene, maybe they grow ’em different down in the A.
So the girls are going dancing and the boys are coming along too. I’ll be working on my Bankhead Bounce, drink my Rainiers and watch in awe as those girls do their thing. It’s all in the hips.