The death of Evel Kneivel touched a nerve (it didn't break tho, unlike most of the bones in the stunt-nihilist's body). When I was a kid, I had an Evel Knievel plastic stunt bike, which basically involved winding up a plastic rider and hoping he could maintain momentum long enough to perform a death defying piroutte (like Knievel himslef it always ended up spreadeagled on Rice Trevor lower school's playground. Realisation editor: actually, hang on a sec, that was probably the whole point. Bless the geniuses at Mattel). I saw a doc on Evel a few years ago and he was a narly old cuss who had a tendency to break the hands of any journalist who wrote negative stories about him in a good-ol-southern-bappist kinda way, and made me glad I wasn't plying my trade on Stunt Cycle Injury News or some illustrious publication. But he was a proper hero to the late 70s, early 80s kids, even if he failed at most things. And his disco-funk-country record he made showed a bizarre Barry White bent to his singing timbre. The walrus on wheels, perhaps?