Motorcyclists have a special connection with one another. I have never been on a hog because I am what some may call a chicken. I didn’t learn to ride a bike until I was 9-years-old. I figure if God wanted us on two wheels we would have been born with them. A car is another story. You don’t expect me to walk everywhere? As a kid I would get on my Huffy bike, fall off and say to myself, “F-this!” Then, I would throw that sucker on the ground and go watch Saturday morning cartoons.
Motorcyclists take better care of their bikes. They also have clubs, matching jackets and a special wave. Actually according to a Google search they have 5 basic waves.
1) the left-handed low wave
2) the left-handed straight out wave
3) the left-handed high wave
4) the right-handed (ha, ha, I have cruise control) wave
5) the left-handed forward wave.
Now, you cannot randomly choose a wave. What are you some kind of an animal? There are some wave rules. I am not sure what happens if you give a #3 when you should have greeted the other rider with a #4, but I bet it ain’t pretty.
After I got my swagger wagon I joked that we needed our own wave. It is an exclusive club that takes some big kahunas to join. You have to be able to admit your life is over. I mean, that you are no longer cool. Comfort is our number one priority. We sacrifice our dignity to keep our kids as far apart as possible without driving a bus. The TV is a bonus. For years I crammed my children like sardines into an SUV. They would bicker, “Don’t touch me.” “He is touching me.” “She touched me.” I walked my mom jeans into the dealer and got a bitchin’ minivan.
A friend’s husband has come up with the perfect mini-van salute.
Please pass it on. Minivan owners unite!