Erick D. Norviel
My Evil Knievel Stunt Unit 3, Assignment1
October, 11 2013
“Just because you think you can does not mean you should”. Those words spoken so many times by my Mom still echo in my mind. That summer day in 1978 in Cheyenne Wyoming was a hot day, blue skies overhead and the typical Wyoming wind was down to a soft breeze that helped cool us kids as we rode our bikes, played in the dirt and entertained ourselves using our creative ideas to come up with the next death defying stunt we would soon try to once again attempt to replicate our current hero, Evil Knievel.
I was 11 that summer, finally playing with my older Brothers and their friends, accepted as one of them and this I felt, was my summer to prove to them that I was old enough and daring enough to attempt a stunt on my bicycle. That day the idea for our new stunt included a bike ramp and the neighbors Volkswagen Beetle car parked on the side of the road. So, began the planning, the construction, the design, all being done by the brightest and best carpenters and engineers from amongst the group of kids ranging in ages from 9 to 14. What could possibly go wrong?
My clothing that day was pretty typical of most kids, cut off blue jean shorts and a t-shirt with basic tennis shoes. My bike was a picture of precision craftsmanship, created by my own hands from the many pieces and parts left over from my older brother’s previously wrecked, mutilated and destroyed bikes, not to mention the many ‘perfect’ parts found in the local dumpsters around my neighborhood. After a grueling hour of seeking out the many pieces of wood, hammering them together with the rusty nails we could find and several heated discussions of the height and length of the ramp, we stepped back in awe of the final project.
Standing back, I lifted my bike from the pavement, my eyes scanned the ramp once more, I knew the time had come for me to ride to the top of the hill and finally attempt my stunt. As I turned and hopped onto my bike and began to peddle, my friend Bobby hollered out; “Wait! let’s find a helmet for you.” Another 10 minutes passed as we dug through his garage until we found one of his Dad’s motorcycle helmets. I was now set. The ride up the hill the first time was a bit of a blur to me as so many thoughts raced through my mind. Reaching the top I turned my bike and prepared for the test run. This run was to be sure that the ramp wouldn’t break or bend; that I would get high enough to clear the top of the car and most importantly, that I would land right. I pulled the face plate of the helmet down and pushed off. I peddled as hard as I could, never taking my eyes off the ramp and before I knew it; Whoosh! I hit the ramp, soared into the air and landed on the other side to a bunch of loud whoops, hollers and clapping! I had done it and the ramp had held, as if there had been any doubt. The second test run resulted as the first time and only had to be done so that this time the kids by the ramp could actually watch to ensure I actually would clear the height and length of the car. Even though I had been under the assumption that, that was the reason for the first test, it was ok by me to jump a second time without the car being beneath me. The consensus after the second test ride was that I had definitely went high and far enough and that now they would slide the ramp into place for my third and final jump.
I hopped onto my bike once more, this time for my final ride up the hill. About half way up the hill as I got off my bike to push it the rest of the way up, I admit the thought did come to me, that the first two test runs had definitely tired me out. As I got to the top and spun my bike around and looked down at my brothers and friends, I took note of where the ramp was and that this time the car was behind it. Taking a couple deep breaths, I straddled my bike and convinced myself that the hill itself would help me gain the speed I needed to make the final jump and I pushed off and began peddling as fast as my tired legs would allow. Once again, I aimed for the middle of the ramp and once again, Whoosh! I hit the ramp, soared into the air, came down for my perfect landing and as my back tire ricocheted off the back bumper, I recall a major headache, thanking god for the helmet and a lot of stinging and burning pain from the road rash I now had in several places on my exposed skin.
There were many stunts attempted during the summer of 1978 and each one had its danger involved. I look back on those days and wonder how it is kids survived those dangers when things such as the bike helmet, elbow pads and knee pads were not a normal piece of attire put on when a kid went out to ride their bike or skate. I survived many more stunts, I had my share of bruises, bumps and broken bones and admittedly I recall each one with laughter, a smile and a wonder of how I survived it.