Live Evel

from November 30, 2007

http://ap.google.com/article/ALeqM5iWWuZ0wDGsiJxYa_PFQLAH5qe-AwD8T8B56G0

It's sad enough when a hero dies and any death brings to mind thoughts of mortality, but when that hero seemed as immortal as Evel Knievel did, the loss sounds loudly.

For boys of a certain age, Evel Knievel represented the limitless possibilities of imagination and fearlessness of childhood itself. In his American flag jumpsuit and cape (the only man in America who could rock that look other than Elvis) he was the living embodiment of the American ideals of outsized dreams and picking oneself up after a spill and trying again.

When I got my first bike, a red metalflake Schwinn, I couldn't wait to get the training wheels off so I could jump something like my hero. As soon as that moment came, I, like probably ten million kids somewhere across America put a piece of plywood on top of a cinder block, and lived out my Evel Knievel dreams.

Now he's dead, gone not with a bang, but a whimper, having lived a post-daredevil life that leaves a bad taste in the mouth. He leaves behind a world where extreme sports and adrenaline junkies have become mainstream. But his death also echoes the death of those childhood dreams of flying through the air, scoffing at the feeble bonds of this earth. Maturity brings responsibility, responsibility brings caution, and caution is the very antithesis of Evel Knievel.

Evel Knievel dies only if we let the spirit of adventure die within us.

Honor the memory of Evel Knievel today. Dream something impossible. Dare something foolish, do something reckless. Live for a moment as if anything was possible. You may fail, but then you can fulfil his legacy by picking yourself up, dusting yourself off, and starting all over again.