See No Evel | Off Center

According to popular mythology, Evel's Triumph coughed on the Caesars Palace takeoff ramp, putting a serious dent in his intended trajectory. After coming up short on the incongruously named "safety ramp," everything went jelly-side down.

According to popular mythology, Evel's Triumph coughed on the Caesars Palace takeoff ramp,

I didn't trust that plywood ramp. The Morton twins were sure it would work. This did nothing for my confidence. I didn't trust them either. Chuck the Dot did his best Steve McQueen. "Oh Boy" Bob didn't look worried-I don't think he ever did.

Eight 31-gallon galvanized-steel garbage cans wedged side-by-each span exactly 14 feet. It looked like 140 from the seat of a Schwinn American, despite the extra top-end potential afforded by the two-speed kickback rear hub.

Nobody wore a cape, and our motorcycles were locked in their garages. Some of us were crazy, but none of us were stupid-strictly human-powered daredevilry here. Sting-Rays, a Yamaha Moto-Bike and my American: a Harley-Davidson XR-750 with pedals. Nobody would admit any Evel Knievel inspiration. We pledged allegiance to Roberts, Lackey and DeCoster. That other guy was an over-inflated carnival act immortalized on little kid's lunch boxes, ABC's Wide World of Sports Halloween costumes and the glorious Stunt Cycle, complete with adjustable ramps, 14-piece brick wall and hoop of simulated fire.

Still, everybody in the alley between Santa Theresa and Filice Drive was looping some Evel Knievel video clip in the back of his head. Mine was the ever-popular Caesars Palace fountain jump on December 31, 1967. I knew the story by heart. Evel slams a shot of Wild Turkey, drops $100 at the blackjack table and then goes over the bars of his Triumph twin on the safety ramp. He rag dolls into the tarmac in sickening slow motion, busts both ankles and a wrist, crushes his pelvis and ends up out cold in the Dunes parking lot. Linda Evans was allegedly behind the camera-yeah, that Linda Evans. Thankfully, our reenactment was less newsworthy. The Lord had pity on misguided suburban children. Moto-Bike boy was cued up ahead of me and cleared the cans before some buzzkill dialed 911. I pedaled home with my wheels and spinal column intact.

I didn't quite buy the whole King of the Daredevils shtick then. I still don't. The original Mad Stuntah was born on October 17, 1938. He died last November 30 and I'll miss him. Nobody has ever gone farther on pure diamond-studded 24-karat testicular mass and an XR-750. He was a walking-OK, limping- trash-talking superhero who could pull longer wheelies than "Oh Boy" Bob. If intestinal fortitude were legal tender, the man could've bought Bill Gates. I still didn't get it.

By Tim Carrithers

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