Knievel showed how good it was to be Evel

Every boy who grew up in the ’70s learned three of life’s most unique truths you could not learn being a kid at a different time.

• G.I. Joe is not a doll, he’s an action figure.

• Nothing was as cool at school than a wide-striped T-shirt with bell-bottom corduroys.

• Evel Knievel was a real-life superhero.

Kryptonite can kill Superman, Marvel Comics killed off Captain America and it seems a life of hard knocks and fast living finally caught up with the superhero daredevil. Knievel, 69, died Friday, and it’s unfortunate it takes his death to recall how he was larger than life to a young boy growing up in Northglenn, Colo., glued to the television every time he jumped his motorcycle. My first memory of Knievel is sitting with my father watching him jump 14 Greyhound buses in Ohio. After that, I was hooked. Every time Knievel was on television jumping something else, I couldn’t miss it.

It was the times between stunts that every boy of the 1970s has Knievel to thank for. I lived across the street from two other boys, Kevin and Kelly, and between the three of us we got into a lot of mischief over the 18 years we spent as childhood buddies. Nothing was more fun than playing Evel Knievel.

You know the game. At the bottom of a hill we’d take an old piece of scrap plywood, prop it up as a crude ramp and come off that ramp with every bit of the excitement and adrenaline we had watching Knievel do it. A small creek behind a field we played in became the “Snake River,” our bicycles were our rocket jets — only we made it. We would jump anything we could think of and took more than our fair share of lumps.

Our parents would probably stroke out if they knew all the unprotected risks we took on those super-charged bicycles; no helmets, no pads, no medical crews standing by, no safety checks. One summer we dragged that piece of plywood all over town looking for things to jump.

Most of the time we’d make it, too, but not always. The hardest spill came when that poor piece of plywood finally had it and splintered as I attempted some feat of daring. The bicycle stopped. I didn’t. My face broke the fall and 20 minutes later my frantic mother had me in the emergency room. It looked worse than it was, and I only had some minor scratches.

Having been instructed by both parents numerous times to not do jumps on my bicycle, I was reluctant to tell Mom what happened. I made up some lame story she didn’t buy and I finally confessed. Yes, this was another Evel Knievel stunt. As part of my punishment, she took away my favorite toy at the time, which happened to be the super-cool red Evel Knievel Stunt Cycle. It had this red ramp-like gizmo that the bike would lock into and you’d turn this crank to rev it up. When it hit a certain speed, it would be released and race across the floor.

Along with Legos, Stretch Armstrong and electronic Mattel Classic Football, the Evel Knievel Stunt Cycle still ranks in my book as one of the top toys of all time.

The axiom you never miss something until it’s gone is true. I admit to not thinking much about Knievel in years or how much I enjoyed him as a kid. He was one tough dude, and it’s sad to know his cantankerous view of the world isn’t with us anymore. As a tribute to the first and last real American daredevil, I think I have one more jump in me.

I’m going to find a piece of wood, construct a ramp … and have Mom send my old Stunt Cycle up here to rev up another session of jumps. Think I was going to get the old Huffy out of mothballs? Hey, I’m 39, fat and would kill myself doing the things I did when I was 10.

At least I have those memories of the times it was so good to be Evel.

Greg Johnson is managing editor for the Mat-Su Valley Frontiersman. He can be reached at greg.johnson@frontiersman.com or 352-2268.