Though by nature a loner, Evel is an eminent social animal. He's a veteran VIP, an instinctive people pleaser with cowboy charisma to spare. He's been signing for a couple of hours. Meanwhile his jumps, crashes and jinxed experiments in rocketry loop in slow-motion on big screen TVs around the showroom.

Finally, flanked by his security troops, Evel rises and makes his way along the line to shake hands, sign loot and send everyone home happy. As he finishes, something unexpected happens. Something uncanny, unscripted, something I can only call The Evel Boogie.

Evel dances. Evel literally begins channeling Soul Train, rocking out at Galpin Ford as the people clap in time with his house band, San Diego's Bowevel Brothers, as they croon "I Will Survive." Evel spins his three showgirl assistants around the floor. He bops. He improvises. "I've got all my life to live, I've got all my love to give," as the song goes, "I will survive. I will survive! Hey, hey!"

At this point I could hardly be more floored if Muhammad Ali, Bruce Lee, John Wayne and Jerry Garcia parachuted into Galpin Ford and linked up into a kick line, but you cannot deny what you see with your own eyes. Evel is back, people. And more than that, the feeling is back, with interest, like the Spirit of '76.

"I've got a lot of living to do these next few years and I'd like to do it with you," he tells the folks in the showroom.

The greatest death-defying showman since Houdini almost went down quietly. He almost died largely misplaced in the instant amnesia of popular culture. Evel Knievel won't make that mistake twice. The King of the Daredevils is back in the game.