If you’d only heard about Evel Knievel since his ‘second coming’ in the 1990s, then it’s unlikely you’d know that Robert Craig Knievel was once better known for being a petty crim than the notorious daredevil he reinvented himself to become in later years. Four-time AMA Motocross Champion, Gary Jones, however, knew both sides of Evel. He’d had some dubious dealings with the man at the motocross races that Evel often staged in the 1960s and ’70s to help pull a crowd to his stunts. Back in 1999, over a boozy Mexican lunch in Southern California, Jones regaled Transmoto’s Andy Wigan with the fascinating story about Evel’s suicidal Snake River Canyon jump in 1974, and then went public with it some years later for this cracker of a Ripping Yarn, which was originally published in Transmoto’s printed magazine in August, 2012 (Issue #22).

Ripping Yarn

The story behind Evel Knievel’s suicidal Snake River Canyon ‘jump’ in 1974 and the $100,000 motocross race he held in conjunction with it.

Once a petty crim and failed ice-hockey promoter, Robert Craig Knievel reinvented himself to become the world’s most notorious daredevil. “Evel” Knievel came to epitomise showmanship and bravado, and his hair-brained stunts in the 1960s and ’70s are now the stuff of legend. On September 8, 1974, Evel undertook the maddest stunt of his illustrious career. With dwindling funds and amid intense public pressure, the self-avowed over-sexed alcoholic attempted to jump three-quarters of a mile across Idaho’s Snake River Canyon in a steam-powered rocket he called the “X-2 Sky Cycle”. The stunt was part of a festival that’s been described as “Woodstock on two wheels”, and included a motocross race with a $100,000 prize purse – which most believed Evel wouldn’t be alive to pay out on!
Along with several of the top Pro riders of the day, four-time AMA Motocross Champion, the mercurial Gary Jones, turned up to race. Together with his father, who’d been friends with Evel for years, they had front-row seats for Evel’s big night out and his rocket-powered stunt – both of which Evel was convinced would be his last! Gary picks up the story of that bizarre weekend in Idaho…

Marty Tripes and I had just finished racing the AMA Nationals, and I remember that we had to drive clear across the country to get to Evel’s motocross race. He’d talked up a $100,000 prize purse, with something like $15,000 for the win. That was really big money for us motocross guys back then, so Brad Lackey and a bunch of the other top guys showed up, all looking to get a piece of Evel’s money. The track was right next to the canyon cliff where Evel’s rocket sled contraption sat. They’d flooded the track and then drained it before we raced – like they do with crops – so it was a slippery, slimy son-of-a-gun. I won my heat, but I busted my ass in the mud and, if I remember right, ran sixth in the end. Marty Tripes got serious about the race and won the 250cc main event.
But the really interesting part of that weekend was what happened the night before the stunt. Evel was in the bar and having a few drinks with my father. They’d been buddies for a while, so they drank a bunch of whisky. I think Evel might have even been drugged up because he was shaking and sweating. Y’know, he genuinely thought he was going to die the following day. And he told my Dad that he was concerned about how many people would turn up and that he might not be able to cover the prize money for the motocross. So the next morning, my Dad says to me and Marty, “Hey, we’re going down to the bank to get the prize money the first thing on Monday morning because I’m not sure everyone’s going to get paid.”

At another one of Evel’s races in 1972, I was the only guy who got his money. Evel put on motocross races at a lot of his stunts to make sure he pulled a crowd. He rode Triumphs at first, and then Harleys and American Eagles – y’know, whoever would pay the bills. Evel Knievel was a hell of a bullshit artist. He had to be. But he had balls that were bigger than … bowling balls!
On the Sunday, we had front-row seats for the stunt, right near his “Sky Cycle”, which sat on a 45-degree angle out over the canyon wall. I remember my dad was ribbing Evel and saying, “Get your ass in that thing. C’mon, let’s see it. Let’s go!” It was pretty funny. But I guess he was trying to make light of the situation because he knew that Evel was really concerned. I think Evel was still drunk – or something – from the night before because he was nervous as hell. We could see him shaking and sweating and hollering as he was being strapped into the rocket.
We all thought there was no way he was going to make it, and Evel was convinced he was going to become a bug-spot on the far wall of the canyon. There wasn’t even any landing area on the other side. He had a guy over there in a pick-up, but that was it. Evel ‘planned’ to just shoot up into the air and then hope his parachute would float him down safely. I mean, it was crazy. Plain ridiculous! And Evel knew it.

Anyway, the parachute apparently “malfunctioned”. It blew out just after he left the ramp and screwed up the attempt. Evel landed at the base of the canyon, just a few feet away from the river. Later on, Evel said that if he’d landed in the water, he would have definitely drowned because he was strapped into the thing so good.
We ended up going down to the bank first thing on Monday and Marty got his money. I remember him rolling around naked on the hotel bed, lighting $20 bills with a match, saying, “I’m rich, I’m rich!” I think Brad Lackey won the Open class, and I made some decent money, but I’m pretty sure there was never a true $100,000 prize purse. Yeah, things were always interesting and unpredictable when Evel Knievel was involved.

About the Author

Garry Jones
He’s best known for winning the AMA Motocross Championship in 1971, ’72, ’73 and ’74 – on Yamaha, Honda and Can-Am machinery – but Gary Jones also won the 1971 Baja 500 and a Hillclimb Championship. “You had to be versatile back then,” he explains, “because the national motocross all took place in one week of the year.”
After breaking his leg in 1975, Jones used the contract payout from Can-Am to help buy the Cooper Motor Company and began producing Cooper motorcycles out of Mexico. He developed the bikes, renamed them Ammex (American Mexican) and sold some 1500 units into America before the radical devaluation of the Mexican Peso in 1978 put Ammex out of business – as it did with Ford and Dodge’s Mexican operations. Jones went on to head up the R&D department for SoCal-based performance specialists White Brothers for 15 years before a stint with Hinson clutch products. These days, he makes a living working on bikes out of his own workshop, and helps his two sons with their motocross and mountain bike careers.