I don't know if I can manage the strength to go into work today. The world seems like such a dark place right now. My childhood (and adult) idol, Evel Knievel, died last night, and, to quote Lewis Grizzard, "I don't feel so good myself".
Evel was more than a Wild World of Sports figure to me. He's the reason I jumped my bike off the four foot rock wall that lined my driveway growing up. I still have the scars to prove it. He's the reason I had to fish my bike out the pond about a half a mile from my home in a failed attempt to jump the gap where the water flowed down to a small stream. He's the reason I determinedly hauled my bike through the front door, up the stairs and out the window of my parents' bedroom and sat precariously balanced on the ridgeline of our first floor roof. I straddled my bike and sat there, heart racing, wondering to myself "What Would Evel Do?".
I was pearched on that roof for what seemed like a half an hour, seriously contemplating the ramifications of what a 10 foot drop onto our front lawn would do to my bike and my 9 year old body. I don't remember where my parents were, but I was aware, even at that age, that they might be a little upset if they discovered their son lying in an unconscious (or dead) heap in the yard when they got home. At one point, I thought to myself "At least they'll still have my brother and sister." It was a turning point in my life - The day I knew that both my prepubesent nuts would never amount to one of Evel Knievel's enormous King Kong-sized balls.
It was a different time. No ESPN. No Internet. Sports on TV were a big deal. Watching one of Evel's jumps was as good going to Disney World for me. I probably only saw him jump live (on TV) four or five times, but I relived those in my head everytime I mounted my plain 20 inch bike that my dad helped me put BMX bars and a Lexan number plate on. I built a ramp out of plywood and two-by-fours that I meticulously painted with Evel's trademark stars and stripes theme. Ultimately my dad would weld my handlebars to the stem of that bike from all the hard landings I took off that ramp.
Knievel's failed attempt at jumping the Snake River Canyon was hard for a kid like me to take. I think I was only 7, but I was in full Evel awareness mode. There were only two results from a Knievel jump - triumphantly land that beast of a Harley or roll like a cheap rag doll, breaking bones and making a yard sale out of what was once a beautiful motorcycle. Floating peacefully to the canyon floor in a multi-million dollar rocketship was unacceptable. My hero was tarnished.
Evel was more than a Wild World of Sports figure to me. He's the reason I jumped my bike off the four foot rock wall that lined my driveway growing up. I still have the scars to prove it. He's the reason I had to fish my bike out the pond about a half a mile from my home in a failed attempt to jump the gap where the water flowed down to a small stream. He's the reason I determinedly hauled my bike through the front door, up the stairs and out the window of my parents' bedroom and sat precariously balanced on the ridgeline of our first floor roof. I straddled my bike and sat there, heart racing, wondering to myself "What Would Evel Do?".
I was pearched on that roof for what seemed like a half an hour, seriously contemplating the ramifications of what a 10 foot drop onto our front lawn would do to my bike and my 9 year old body. I don't remember where my parents were, but I was aware, even at that age, that they might be a little upset if they discovered their son lying in an unconscious (or dead) heap in the yard when they got home. At one point, I thought to myself "At least they'll still have my brother and sister." It was a turning point in my life - The day I knew that both my prepubesent nuts would never amount to one of Evel Knievel's enormous King Kong-sized balls.
It was a different time. No ESPN. No Internet. Sports on TV were a big deal. Watching one of Evel's jumps was as good going to Disney World for me. I probably only saw him jump live (on TV) four or five times, but I relived those in my head everytime I mounted my plain 20 inch bike that my dad helped me put BMX bars and a Lexan number plate on. I built a ramp out of plywood and two-by-fours that I meticulously painted with Evel's trademark stars and stripes theme. Ultimately my dad would weld my handlebars to the stem of that bike from all the hard landings I took off that ramp.
Knievel's failed attempt at jumping the Snake River Canyon was hard for a kid like me to take. I think I was only 7, but I was in full Evel awareness mode. There were only two results from a Knievel jump - triumphantly land that beast of a Harley or roll like a cheap rag doll, breaking bones and making a yard sale out of what was once a beautiful motorcycle. Floating peacefully to the canyon floor in a multi-million dollar rocketship was unacceptable. My hero was tarnished.
Again, without the internet and True Hollywood Stories, I still idolized the World's Famous Daredevil. It wasn't until I was in my thirties that I realized that Evel Knievel was kind of an ass - an arrogant, womanizing, hard drinking ass. I'm glad I found out later. It makes me sad that we tear apart anyone successful these days. I wonder if my daughter will ever look up to a person in the spotlight and not have that person ripped to shreads when a story appears that could have happened to anyone, but because they are famous, it effectively ends their career.
I'll remember the Evel whose stunt cycle I yearned for my sixth Christmas. The one that stood atop a ramp overlooking 13 Greyhound buses in his Star Spangled Banner cape. The Evel that refused to be carried away on a stretcher after breaking numerous bones. The King of Daredevils.
The King is dead. Long live the King.
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