VOLUME ISSUE SEPTEMBER , P143
point of view," adding that the
very best outcome would see
Knievel failing to even ignite
his rocket ship, resulting in the
crowd angrily yanking him from
his seat and pitching him, USA
jumpsuit and all, into the river.
There was something of a
love/hate relationship that the
motorcycling media of the 1970s
had with one Robert Craig "Evel"
Knievel. Motorcyclists were
decent human beings who loved
to ride, yet they had to fight the
stereotypes depicted in the
movies that showed riders as
either scallawags, thrill-seekers
or a little of both. Two-wheeled
enthusiasts often struggled
to distance themselves from
motorcycling ne'er-do-wells
like the Hell's Angels. This
was a hard-fought battle
for all, and the many (rest
in peace) magazines were
on a mission to polish
motorcycling's image and
showcase the best of the
two-wheeled world.
Knievel, however, presented
the motorcycling media with a
dilemma. On the one hand, he
was the most famous rider in
the world, inspiring Sting-Ray
mounted kids everywhere to
find a board and a cinder block
and fly several inches in the air,
thus emulating the Good Evel.
Many of those kids were itching
to ride real motorcycles, tugging
on their parents' sleeves to take
them to the local cycle shop to
gaze upon Honda Mini Trails and
the like.
Bad Evel, however, seemed to
diminish other riders, especially
pro racers, if only by merely be
-
ing Evel Knievel. The spotlight
should have been focused on
champions like Kenny Roberts
and Roger DeCoster, riders
whose performances lasted for
25 laps and 45-minute motos
instead of just four measly sec
-
onds in the air.
Additionally, the boy from
Butte, Montana, was something
of a small-time shyster. Knievel
tried his hand at everything from
insurance salesman to big game
hunting guide, and his business
practices were often as shady as
a Montana Ponderosa pine tree.
Knievel guaranteed his hunters
a big game kill—even if it meant
sneaking them into nearby Yel
-
lowstone National Park to bag a
protected elk!
Regardless of how the motor-
cycle journalists of the time felt
about the man, Knievel's Snake
River Canyon jump was very big
news in 1974, and it had to be
covered. For six years, Knievel
had been talking about jump
-
ing a canyon of some sort and
(Right) Knievel prepares for his
famous jump. The failed jump
earned Knievel millions of dollars.
(Below) Knievel hosted a high-
profile motocross during the
week of the jump with a $125,000
purse that attracted many of the
country's top racers.
