By Pat Jordan

I ask Evel if he still thinks of himself as a tough guy. “Aw, I don’t know,” he responds. “I’m just me.” He still keeps a .44 magnum, and he gets up and shows it to me. “I’d rather have men fear me more than like me. Fear and respect go a long way. If a guy likes you, that comes with it.” He returns with a beer. “I was a bitter sunuvabitch when I was younger,” he says. Which brings us to his son Robbie.

In his 40s, Kaptain Robbie Knievel is the greatest motorcycle daredevil of his day, but  Evel and Robbie have a strained relationship. Robbie says his father is jealous because he’s successfully completed most of the jumps Evel failed at. He has not, however, attempted to jump the Snake River Canyon. “You don’t see no long line of guys trying to jump that canyon, do you?” Evel cackles like an old crone.

Robbie has said he was the only member of the family who had the guts to stand up to his irascible father. “That’s true,” Evel says. “I admire him for that. Robbie’s a better rider than I was. He started earlier, and he has better equipment. But I don’t think any daredevils today, including Robbie, had to bite the bullet like I did. It’s not so exciting to fans if there’s a 90 percent chance you’re gonna succeed.”

In fact, Evel’s publicity biography lists all his crashes proudly, while Robbie’s mentions only “three sprained ankles.” Robbie even pokes fun at his father in his recent Holiday Inn Express TV commercial. In it a motorcycle slams into a school bus. People come running, but the rider turns out to be a dummy. Robbie appears smiling, as if to say, “I wasn’t dumb enough to crash.” When a reporter asks if someone talked some sense into him, he says, “No, but I did stay at a Holiday Inn Express last night.” The subtext: Evel Knievel is that dummy.

“I got my own commercial,” says Evel. “For a lunch box. It was on in a recent NFL game.” No wonder the kid’s been battling his old man all these years; the sunuvabitch never quits.

Before Evel says goodbye, he talks about how he found God a few months ago, in a hotel room in Daytona Beach. “All my life I was an atheist,” he says. “I’d tell people I didn’t believe Jesus could walk on water. Then something happened in Daytona. God spoke to me. He said, ‘Robert, you got to stop tellin’ people you don’t believe in me. I been takin’ care of you for years, watchin’ over you. I done everything for you. And you go tell people you don’t believe in me. You gotta stop it.’”

Evel puts his hands over his face, then sobs, “I told God I’d never insult him again.” So did St. Augustine, who also asked God to send him chastity. But Evel’s not quite ready for that. Maybe later, when he’s an old man.