Saturday. No school. On a late Summer’s Saturday, typically a slow news day, most TV viewing might usually be planned around pennant races and Bob Newhart. On one such Saturday, two unusual broadcasts would go out over the airwaves. In one, Gerry Ford would pardon Richard Nixon, one month to the day after Nixon’s resignation. As was seemingly typical of President Ford, he accidentally stated the pardon covered Nixon’s entire term in office, commencing on “July 20, 1969” (Nixon was sworn in on January 20).

What got my creative juices flowing that very same day, however, was the ABC Wide World of Sports broadcast of Robert Craig "Evel" Knievel, Jr.’s latest and greatest stunt. After wrangling with the US Parks Service for permission to jump the Grand Canyon, Knievel settled on the Snake River Canyon in Idaho. He had considered and discarded plans for a jump of the Mississippi River, and jumping between tall buildings in NYC. He tentatively set the date for Labor Day weekend, 1972. However, it took an additional two years for money to be raised and for the optimistically-named “Skycycle” to be built, with the help of a NASA engineer.

As we all know, Evel didn’t make it. The steam-powered projectile that he rode that day ended up half-in, half-out of the Snake River , at the bottom of the canyon. Apparently, a drag chute opened at launch, and pulled out the main chute. I was disappointed, to say the least. Deep in my KarnUtty brain, I hatched a scheme. What if I could do what Knievel could not? It was obvious to me what I had to do. I had a box of Hot Wheels, a fair bit of track, and access to a hobby store. There, I could source Estes model rocket motors and igniters that I would need for the stunt that had popped into my imagination, fully formed. Over the course of the week after the botched Snake River jump, I assembled the bits I needed.

The following Saturday, I was ready. First, with the packaging tape my dad kept in his truck, we affixed Hot Wheels track joiners – those magenta-colored biscuits that went into the ends of the track pieces – to the tops of a few Hot Wheels and Johnny Lightning cars (Matchbox, even their Superfast models, didn’t have the same free-wheeling speed we believed we needed), so that they had a wing of sorts. Then more tape bound a model rocket motor on top of each of the cars. A ramp was set up in the far end of the backyard, the high end following the incline of the chaise lounge upon which it sat. Made from 3 or 4 pieces of Hot Wheels track, it allowed for rapid acceleration and minimal bumps. Dad’s heavy-duty orange outdoor extension cord was dragged into service, as well. Typically, it powered the above-ground pool filter in that corner of the yard. We needed a lot less than 120VAC to light the igniters, and used the extension cord to power up an old model train transformer that had been languishing under the workbench in the garage.

It was clear, warm and Sunny. I’d enlisted the help of my pal Brad, an equally mischievous lad from a few blocks over, so I’d have a lookout in case my Dad came out back to see what we were up to. I’d also have a witness. Neither of us had access to a super 8 camera, which was a shame. What happened that Saturday, seven days after Evel went in the drink, was a spectacle beyond what I’d imagined.  

We had our rocket cars and we had our ramp. We had our means of propulsion, and we had our launch control. Now- what would we jump? Being thinkers of big thoughts, jumping over the pool would not be enough. No way. Not nearly good enough. The track was turned so that the high end was facing the back of the house, and we went immediately for the Big One. We’d launch over the house and with any luck, clear the street and land in the neighbor’s yard across the street.

Our first launch was a purple Fleetside. Igniter inserted, it was placed at the low end of the ramp. Since the igniter was nothing more than a slow-blowing fuse that heated the rocket motor’s solid fuel to the flash point, we’d be shorting the transformer, so I cranked up the juice quickly. The Chevy was about halfway up the ramp when it veered to the right, flew off the track, and spun mightily, like a July 4^th pinwheel. It landed near the fence, and died. Near as we could determine, the rocket’s exhaust was pointed just a smidge to one side. We looked at the rest of our fleet, and did the best we could to make sure the motors were aligned with the centerline of the cars. Time for launch number two.

This time, it was as metallic-painted ‘Kalifornia Kustom’ of some kind, with a bubble top. The launch went much smoother. Up the ramp it charged, and became a self-propelled projectile, speeding mightily toward the bathroom window! The horrors! This was going to be an expensive AND painful lesson.  If the whole thing had taken more than a second or two, I think I might have soiled myself. The previous year, I'd been suspended from school for a similar incendiary experiment, involving firecrakers in gym lockers.

Amazingly, the rocket car missed the window, smacking into the siding above it with a huge BANG. We were going to get it. No window to replace, but a visible dent in the siding, and at least a long-term grounding was in order.

It wasn’t my Dad who came out see what had happened. Out of the house came my oldest brother, who could usually be counted on to spill the beans, or to give me a good pounding in exchange for his silence. He looked at the transformer, the track, and the line-up of rocket cars, and put two and two together. “You know, every time you do that, the lights in the house dim”. It seems the short-circuiting igniters were doing more than we had suspected. Now, why the transformer didn’t have a circuit breaker or other protection, I don’t know. Nevertheless, the old man, in rec room watching sports, drinking Stroh’s and smoking Pall Mall’s, hadn’t been bothered enough by the Big Bang to come see what happened. But we knew we’d be able to get off maybe one more launch before he became suspicious of the dimming lights and begin investigating. 

Intrigued by the potential destruction in which we were engaging, my brother stayed on as an observer of our quest to better Evel’s vainglorious boondoggle. I don’t think he cared if we succeeded; he wanted to witness any window breakage, fire, electrocution or putting-out-of-eyes that might be part of the show. He was to be disappointed in those regards, but would be witness to something amazing.

The third and final launch: we selected a Johnny Lightning this time (I think it was a ‘Cuda). It was set up for launch, the ramp was adjusted for a steeper launch angle, and the lever on the transformer was jammed to its highest setting. Houston : we have liftoff! The little car with wings accelerated just as quickly, if not quicker, than the first two launches. Off the end of the ramp, the car climbed at about a 130 degree angle, and just kept going. Up through the branches of the maple tree at the back of the house – it missed every branch, but ripped off a couple of leaves, which drifted slowly to the ground. And still it climbed! Over the tree, over the roof, only then beginning the arc that would, we presumed, bring it back to earth. I say ‘presumed’ because we never did find exactly where it had landed. But we were satisfied that we had more than met the objective of our mission. Back-slaps all around.

Then my glee turned to fear. My dad had seen just about enough of the lights dimming.

As expected, I heard the screen door on the side of the house. Brad stuffed the remaining car, along with the dud from the first launch, into his pockets. We pulled the plug on the transformer and plugged the pool back in, which promptly blew a fuse in the house.

Ah-ha! An alibi! The duty cycle of our launches had weakened the fuse enough that the sudden load of the electric motor put it over the edge. My dad came into the back yard.  He noticed the filter was plugged in but silent. “What are you doing back here?” he inquired, not really spoiling for a confrontation, and more interested in getting back to whatever sports show that was on TV.  We said we were “just goofin’ with Hot Wheels”. He looked around, and found nothing to implicate us, but his expression said he was disappointed that I'd still be playing with little toy cars at my age. He went back inside to tend to the fuse box.

Car #4 was never launched. Brad took it and car #1 home with him, and pulled the motors and wings off. And that was the end of ‘em, as far as I know.