Life of Evel: Evel Knievel - Stuart Barker

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memory. The first Commando was not released until 1967, and since Knievel started jumping a Norton in 1966 he obviously could not have been mounted on a Commando. Early pictures of Evel’s stunt-shows clearly demonstrate him riding a Norton Scrambler with ‘knobbly’ off-road tyres, but it is difficult to ascertain exactly which model due to the grainy nature of the photographs. The most accurate description he could offer in later years when asked which model it was, was ‘It was similar to the Triumph [Triumph Bonneville, which he would later ride]. It had two cylinders; I think it was a 750.’ He may have been a great stunt rider but Knievel’s knowledge and memory for makes and models of motorcycles is questionable.

      The team’s first stunt show lasted for approximately two hours during which Knievel and his motley crew smashed through burning wooden boards, performed wheelies and even jumped over small ramps which were being held up by other members of the team as they lay underneath them. At one point Knievel even parasailed behind a racing car at speed, though claims that he reached speeds of 200mph are clearly ridiculous. The show’s grand finale was to feature Evel leaping over two pick-up trucks parked tail-to-tail, a distance of about 45 feet. It was a short distance compared to what he would later achieve, but since few had seen this sort of stunt attempted before it proved a genuine crowd-pleaser.

      Knievel was paid $500 for putting on his show, which didn’t go far between his team members. But even in those early days he must have realised what would become one of the biggest downfalls of his newfound career: once he’d cleared any given distance he would be forced to better it next time. No one wanted to see Knievel churning out the same old stunts in the knowledge that he was operating well within his limits. Over the next ten years Evel would have to continue pushing the envelope by jumping further and further until those two small pick-up trucks would be replaced by 14 full-size Mack trucks – and even a canyon.

      Entertaining it may have been, but at this stage Knievel’s show was exactly where it belonged: in a small-town festival. It was a county-fair attraction, much as Elvis Presley’s music had been at the outset, and both men vied with coconut stalls and other fairground novelties to gain the attention of the gathered crowds. There was certainly nothing to suggest that the rough-and-ready motorcycle stuntman jumping battered old pick-up trucks would eventually capture the world’s imagination to such an extent that he would be able to single-handedly sell out the 90,000-capacity Wembley Stadium.

      Significantly, Knievel had still not yet hit upon one of the most memorable aspects of his shows: his famous white jumpsuit. For his early performances he wore a much duller black leather suit with golden stars down the legs, a suit much more typical of motorcycle racers at the time. Like any entertainment act, Knievel’s would need time to become fully polished and presentable, but for the first time in his life he had finally found something he enjoyed enough to persevere with, and with each performance he would introduce new levels of showmanship and professionalism.

      Television cameras were present to record what was only the Daredevils’ second-ever performance on 10 February in Barstow, California. It’s a date Knievel was unlikely to forget, it being the first time he was injured in his stunt career. It was also the one and only time he attempted the insane stunt which led to his injury.

      Knievel stood facing an oncoming motorcycle being ridden at speed by one of his colleagues. With timing being the critical factor, Evel would leap up into a star-jump position, allowing the bike and rider (who was tucked down flat on the tank) to pass through safely. At least, that was the theory, and it had worked in practice every time, but on show day it all went wrong. Knievel got his timing wrong by a split second as the speeding motorcycle approached and the bike smashed into his groin, flipping him over 360 degrees and leaving him writhing on the ground. ‘The motorcycle hit me right in the balls,’ he cringed. ‘I was thrown 15 feet into the air and my body turned a couple of flips. I landed on my back on the ground. I was in no pain, but felt paralysed. Most of my ribs were cracked or broken. Someone covered me with a blanket. That was the last time I ever tried that particular stunt.’

      He perhaps didn’t realise it at the time but Knievel had just added another very attractive, however morbid, addition to his show – the very real possibility that he could get a stunt wrong and suffer a spectacular injury. Getting it wrong would ensure crowds kept flocking back for more in numbers, which surely would not have been possible had Knievel always successfully pulled off his stunts. If there was no danger there would be no sustained interest. Knievel may have suffered serious injuries after being smashed in the groin, but if he was going to get paid for it he wasn’t complaining. And when pictures of his ugly mishap made it into several West Coast newspapers the following day, Evel knew he was on to something.

      But the money he earned in those early outings was pitiful, and if Knievel imagined he would one day make millions from his carnival act he was more of a visionary than he has been given credit for. The $500 the team was typically paid for a show had to be split up to six ways on occasion, and each man’s share was reduced further by the expenses incurred by travelling to and setting up each show. As Evel had already proved, the risks were extremely high for such scant rewards, but since he had no other obvious means of making cash he got straight back to stunting after being released from hospital. Knievel simply couldn’t allow the momentum to be halted; if he was going to make anything of this bizarre business he couldn’t let an inconvenience like pain stand in his way.

      In his fourth appearance with the Daredevils, Knievel suffered even more serious injuries. At Missoula in Montana he attempted to leap over 13 cars, having already realised that two pick-up trucks was old news. He came up short and ploughed into a van parked at the end of the line of cars. Apart from being knocked unconscious, Knievel broke his left arm and several ribs – again. He was in bad shape and wouldn’t be up to working again for at least five months. And when Evel wasn’t working his show had lost its main attraction; gigs had to be cancelled and all of a sudden the other riders weren’t getting paid. While some performances went ahead, such as the one at Montana’s Great Falls Speedway on 21 August where Evel acted as host but could not perform, others were cancelled and Knievel’s co-riders began seeking out more consistent forms of employment. They simply couldn’t afford to hang around for months waiting for Evel to recover from injury. During those months of recuperation it must have appeared to Evel that his new career was over before it had really got started. It seemed that everything he turned his hand to would be doomed to failure.

      With the benefit of hindsight, however, the disbanding of the Daredevils proved to be the best thing that could have happened as far as Evel was concerned. He had never been a team player and, since he was the main attraction anyway, he began to realise he could now perform on his own and keep all the money to himself. The shows would have to be shorter and more spectacular, even more risky, in order to keep audiences’ attention, but Evel Knievel the solo artist had finally arrived.

      Wasting no time, Knievel started calling up racetrack promoters touting for gigs. He’d ask them what size crowd they usually drew then boldly promise he’d double it for them. The promoter would profit from sales of popcorn, peanuts, beer and car-parking, as well as half the gate money, while Knievel would settle for the other half of the gate money. He invariably instructed the promoters to ‘jack up your tickets by a buck or two’, and so, with minimal outlay and a percentage of the gates guaranteed, Evel Knievel hit the road.

      Being a solo artist may have entailed a lot more work for Knievel but he didn’t seem to mind: it was, after all, in his own interest. So as well as performing he built all his own ramps, promoted and emceed his shows, and drove all over the western United States to whichever venue would have him.

      Evel Knievel’s first-ever solo performance took place at the Naranche Memorial Drag Strip near his hometown of Butte on 30 October 1966. Undeterred by his failure to clear 13 cars in Missoula, Knievel attempted, and cleared, 14 cars on his solo debut. To the crowd present it seemed an impossible number and, given his previous failure, many were expecting blood. Knievel may have denied the more ghoulish members of the audience their kicks but he thrilled the rest of his home crowd with a feat they thought impossible. Montana had a new home-grown hero.

      While his fame began spreading all over the west coast of America, Knievel was still desperately short of money, and while out on the road he and his young family were

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