Evel Knievel's Last Ride

Certain events have transpired over the past few days that have caused me to seriously stop and ponder my life. Monday, I was taken to emergency room for chest pains and shortness of breath. Hours later, they determined that I did not have a heart attack. Thank God. However, the cardiologists are still scratching their heads and whatever else they have that itches trying to figure out what’s happening. The chest pains are still there, but not as painful or persistent. More alarming, is the shortness of breath I continue to wrestle with. But, this is not the focus of my post.

As you can well surmise from the title, this is another one of my tributes to a fallen hero. I am almost ashamed to keep writing and thinking about the passing of the daredevil, Evel Knievel. It has nothing to do with the man himself. Rather, where was my tip of the hat when the Man in Black left us? Mea Culpa, Mea Culpa, Mea Maxima Culpa…

Regardless, while recovering from this “episode” I thought about this tragic event. Friday, the day I returned to work in my stress-free environment of teaching junior high school, the news report came across the radio on NPR. In fact, it was my wife, Raquel, who shared the solemn news with me. We were meeting, as per our usual Friday morning rendezvous, at our local 7-11. She told me as soon as I got out of the car, with my trusty refill mug in hand.

We were sharing our laments and memories of this oddity of an individual as we walked into the store. Now we have known the morning crew at this particular 7-11 just about as long as we have lived in this town. Stories and bad jokes have been shared over coffee, Big Bites, and Slurpees. They have watched out daughter grow up alongside of us, and even jokingly offered employment to her as a Christmas gift one year. And yes, in her own adolescent sense of humor, filled out the application and returned it the following week.

Needless to say, we were greeted with usual banter of morning chatter as we entered the store. The overheard our conversation, which is easy to do in a 7-11. What happened next was like an awkward orchestration that can only come about in times like these. An odd, unannounced moment of silence fell upon all of us in the store at the time. The solemn silence was just as abruptly broken as another customer entered the store and one of the cashiers announced prophetically, “Bummer…”

It wasn’t until the following evening while talking to my best friend on the phone and sharing stories about Evel Knievel that his significance hit me. Greg and I were reminiscing about an Evel Knievel toy I once had that we loved to play with. It was one of those plastic action figures that was attached to a self-propelled motorcycle. You had to put the combo on this ramp and rev the motorcycle by cranking a small handle on the side.

When you thought you had enough potential energy ready, you pulled the release trigger and the motorcycle and rider would shot off and do tricks. It was an awesome toy. I remember it sparking stories from my Dad about his days when he owned a motorcycle. A time that resulted in him having pins and screws surgically inserted into his leg after laying down the bike. Anyway, Greg and attempted to see if we could actually break the speed record without breaking the toy itself.

What was even better was the set came with a replica big rig, tractor-trailer combination you could set up the plastic ramps and have the toy Evel Knievel jump on his motor cycle. One afternoon we came up with the bright idea that we should set up the jump so that Evel landed inside of the open trailer. It was sheer genius. I believe it was divinely inspired by the then hit television show, “Knight Rider.”

So we set up the jump. Over and over again, it failed. Miserably, it failed. Nonetheless, we were not going to call it off. Evel Knievel wouldn’t have, neither would we. Of course, we both were unaware of the obvious. Yes, the opening of the trailer could in no way possibly fir the airborne Evel Knievel on his cycle. We were not to be deterred. We did what any other adolescent boys at the time would have. We removed, forcibly, Evel Knievel from his trusted motor mount. We thought this might help get the cycle into the trailer after arcing beautifully through the air in my parents’ garage. That didn’t work either. Okay…everyone in unison…The bike wasn’t weighted correctly. Is it surprising that neither Greg nor I ended up as engineers, even though we both thought that’s what we wanted to do with our lives.

But I am neglecting the bigger picture, and my duty as a teaching historian. The legacy of Evel Knievel was enacted in that same garage as we foolishly attempted to overcome the forces of gravity, inertia, and weight through sheer force of the will. We knew we could do, just a Evel Knievel was sure he could make all of those jumps. And he did complete most of them. But it was his cavalier response of bullshit whenever he was told something couldn’t be done. This, ladies and gentlemen, is what this particular individual has left us with in living the life he did.