USATODAY.com - Just vote

SAN FRANCISCO — Attention, America. If you spot a metallic-jade shuttle bus whose exhaust pipe smells like chow mein as it disgorges a gaggle of Afro-beat fanatics led by a guy who's channeling the mojo of Hunter S. Thompson, please stay calm.

They don't want your money. They don't even want your love. They just want your attention — and maybe a few gallons of used vegetable oil to power up their VoteMobile. (Related story: Advocacy as accessory)

"Staying home on Election Day is unacceptable," says Ezra Gale, 32, co-founder of the Bay Area band Aphrodesia, whose Ken Kesey-esque troupe has put day jobs on hold so members can launch their quest this Sunday.

The mission of their Just Vote Tour is uncomplicated: to register voters, play raucous, African-inspired music and nurse their aging veggie ride from coast to coast.

Last election, Gale cruised this politically superheated town on a flatbed truck with a banner that read, "Vote, you idiots!" He has dropped the drill-sergeant tone and is sticking with a non-partisan vibe.

"Our message is really simple," he says. "If everyone just voted, it'd be a better country."

This just might be the year when Americans shelve a "Gee, do I have to?" attitude and beat our usual turnout in which half the electorate makes it to the booths.

The expected closeness of this presidential election has the nation crawling with a wacky array of Joe Citizen-led groups who share the same message: If you have enough time to help crown an American Idol, you probably can spare a few minutes on Nov. 2.

Among those stalking the disinterested are twentysomethings canoeing the Mississippi, mothers mailing personal letters out to unregistered women, techies organizing road trips to swing states and a group targeting single women by distributing free emery boards that read, "Don't let this election be a nailbiter."

As for any guys who think they can hide from this do-your-duty juggernaut in a darkened strip club, that industry's Association of Club Executives has kicked off an initiative in many states that encourages dancers to whisper a bit of that sexy "Are you registered?" talk into patrons' ears.

"People are far more receptive to personal communication than any ad," says Sam Popkin, veteran Democratic pollster and political science professor at the University of California-San Diego. The other side agrees: President Bush's chief strategist Matthew Dowd recently noted, "Television ads are not going to win this election. (It's) going to come down to neighbor-to-neighbor and block-to-block."

Popkin detects record levels of voter interest, second only to the 1992 race, in which a relatively unknown Democrat ended a 12-year GOP run: "There are very, very large numbers who seem to think this is a big one."

And so some people hop on a bus fueled by French fry oil and take their message to the masses.

The Aphrodesiacs do not preach the merits of any one candidate. But like many of these eccentric get-out-the-vote groups, their stance on the issues makes it clear John Kerry should be doing a giddy little Afro-beat dance himself.

Creative Republican-leaning groups are tougher to come by. Why? "Republicans are corporate" in their campaigning, Popkin says. "Democrats are guerrilla."

Indeed, most Republican volunteers channel their efforts through the party machine. And they're busy: The GOP's top volunteer is Steven Gonzalez of Belleville, Ill., who according to the Bush-Cheney Web site has contacted 50,025 unregistered voters, called 2,532 radio talk shows, rounded up 10 volunteers and written 9,020 letters to the editor.

Even young Republicans shun quirky drives and instead sidle up to the party bar.

"There must be some pretty hard-core conservatives who've put together some fun activities, but I just can't really think of any," Alison Aikele, spokeswoman for the College Republican National Committee, says with a laugh. "Maybe it's boring to say, but we're content with the way things are, so we don't feel the need to go off to rallies or whatever."

The Rev. Joseph Fuiten, pastor at Cedar Park Assembly of God in Bothell, Wash., is calling the state's 5,000 churches to register their traditionally conservative flocks.

"It's not like I'm saying, 'Republicans who want to register, come on up; Democrats, file out the back door,' " says Fuiten, who urges church leaders to set up registration displays in houses of worship. "We're registering everyone. But I realize that most of these folks are likely to help our side."

Just like anyone who's drawn to Megan Matson's group is likely to stand on the other side. The former advertising creative director recently started Mainstreet Moms Oppose Bush, a San Francisco-based group that so far has signed up volunteers in 40 states.

Among their projects: sending handwritten letters to voters in the critical swing states, 50,000 so far.

"You make a leap of faith that this can make a difference," Matson says. "Then again, just look at the 2000 vote in Florida," where a few hundred votes decided the outcome. "You can't say one vote doesn't count."

Though techniques vary among get-out-the-vote posses, exploring the unexpected is a shared tactic.

The Bay Area group 1000 Flowers decided that the best way to reach the 22 million single women who did not vote last election was to meet them at the nail salon.

"It's where you bond with other women and discuss issues," says group co-founder Francesca Vietor, who aims to distribute about 1,000 salon voter-registration kits in eight key states in the West and Northeast.

Mike Goldstone, 23, and a dozen other Colorado College graduates are the brains behind The Paddle for the Presidency, which blends "a love of the outdoors with something more philanthropic." Along the way, they're stopping in 14 cities to register the natives at events organized with local activists.

"It's been hard," says Goldstone. "We're fighting an apathetic generation." Though there are unexpected triumphs: "We met a convicted felon who was really fired up, but since he can't vote, he took materials and promised he'd register his friends. That was cool."

After Seattle-based techie Matt Lerner decided to drive to Portland to register voters, he launched a Web site to help like-minded souls coordinate their efforts. That has mushroomed into drivingvotes.org, which has helped everyone from art-car fanatics to rock climbers combine travel with activism.

Back in San Francisco's gritty Mission District, the band puts final touches on its home away from home. The rig looks like a rolling dorm room. Clothes and instruments litter the cramped interior, which features a jury-rigged CD player and makeshift bunk beds.

The group is an earnest bunch, who mean it when they say things like "I fear we're losing control of our democracy" (singer Vanessa Morrison, 29, whose band Rock Me Pony will join Aphrodesia on this romp) and "We want to shout to kids, 'This is your life, wake up!' " (bus owner and guitar player David Sartore, 25).

They're determined to convince a few folks that wasting a vote is as lame as dropping the tempo in an endless Nigerian highlife jam. But first, their bus has to make it.

"We have a new filtration system in it, which should make it easier to fuel up on just about the dirtiest oil," says Sartore, who shuns McDonald's ("Nasty oil," he says) in favor of the slick detritus from Asian mom-and-pop shops. The source is important: Whatever was cooked in the oil is what the fumes from the bus smell like.

As Sartore shuts the engine's hatch and smiles, Ken Taylor walks over. He's the actor who has Hunter Thompson down cold and will serve as master of ceremonies for this traveling circus.

"It's going to be great," he says in a nasal monotone, empty cigarette holder flapping between top and bottom lip. "We're headed deep into the heart of Bush country."