CLEARWATER, Fla. (TNA) – Famed motorcycle daredevil Robert Craig "Evel" Knievel is dying.

He can no longer ride a motorcycle, rarely drives, needs assistance to maneuver in and out of automobiles and his impoverished frame weighs about a buck and a half sopping wet. Thin and gaunt, his jet-white hair is yielding to an increasingly balding dome.

When he does travel, he sucks oxygen from a portable tank.

"I'm on it 24 hours a day," he says.

Daredevil Evel Knievel

Knievel, who turns 69 on Oct. 17, has survived countless brushes with death including two strokes, a liver transplant due complications from hepatitis C and now finds himself succumbing to idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis (IPF).

IPF saps the body's blood of an adequate oxygen supply and is fleecing the life out of the cultural icon. Two-thirds of the patients diagnosed with the affliction die within five years.

"It's a terrible disease," he says.

"Nothing I've been through, none of the accidents can compare with this disease," he added, gasping for air as he breathes, sounding not unlike that of a three-pack-per-day smoker in the last stages of emphysema.

Ironically, Knievel has never smoked.

An implanted medical  device delivers morphine to ease Knievel’s excruciating pain from injuries sustained over a lifetime of spectacular crashes including a fused spine (he broke his back four times), a broken nose, jaw, both clavicles, both arms, and both wrists, a fractured (three times) and crushed (twice) pelvis, crushed sternum, numerous broken teeth, a broken knee, shin, toes, and each rib at least once.

It wasn't supposed to end this way.

The man should have been dead or at least permanently maimed by one of the many spectacular jumps and crashes spanning the 12-year hazardous career responsible for making Evel Knievel a household name long before a debilitating disease grabbed hold of him.

Such an exit would have been more befitting the Godfather of extreme sports.

And he recently embraced Christianity, or at least claims such. After all, one doesn't meet many non-believers on their deathbed.

Earlier this year, Knievel initiated a call to famed televangelist Dr. Robert Schuller. Schuller hosts the nationally televised “Hour of Power” religious broadcast. The call resulted in the former stuntman’s invitation to testify in front of Schuller’s congregation.

And testify he did.

Schuller introduced Knievel and asked the ex-daredevil if he remembered what he first said upon contacting him. Of course, Knievel couldn't recall not only to what Schuller was referring but also failed to recall just when he became a Christian and erroneously referred to Schuller’s broadcast as "the tower of power."

"I don’t know what in the world happened. I don’t know if it was the power of the prayer or of God Himself but it just reached out while I was driving or walking down the sidewalk or sleeping and the power of God in Jesus just grabbed me," he told the captivated audience.

Knievel, always the master showman, revels in attention. He addressed the congregation in the same manner he addresses any audience, cracking jokes at times , but with authority, bravado and a touch of braggadocio.

He is nostalgic about his jumps, speaking freely of his excessive indulgences including his five Rolls-Royce, five Ferraris, Stetsons, Lamborghinis, two jet airplanes, diamonds, gold, racehorses, women and booze.

"You're looking at a real sinner, but not anymore," says Knievel.

A last desperate attempt at publicity or authentic conversion?

Evel knows.

Nevertheless, religion had always played a factor regarding his upbringing, albeit a small role. Raised in a God-fearing household by his grandparents, yet not necessarily devout, the youth had numerous run-ins with the law, one of which resulted in a prison guard dubbing the youth "Evil" Knievel.

The moniker rubbed Knievel the wrong way and he changed the spelling to avoid angering the churchly.

Knievel's penchant for mocking mortality, appetite for adrenaline and ability to cause chaos was evident early on, yet he also possessed an astute and uncanny business acumen and passion for success.

By the 1970s, he was arguably one the most famous individuals on the planet. Men wanted to be him, children idolized him and women wanted to sleep with him.

Hordes of adoring female fans would line up outside his door to have sex with him "and their boyfriend or husband would wait outside,” he says.

“I could never figure that one out," he admits.

How many women has the aerial acrobatic motorcyclist banged?

"Thousands," he says.

One of those women happened to be Karen Lessing of the Tampa Bay area. Lessing is 30-some years younger than Knievel but one of his weaknesses has always been that of younger women, usually dancer-types with blond hair, svelte stature and just a tad sluttish. Lessing fit the bill.

Ironically, she resembles Krystal, his ex-wife and constant companion, in more than one fashion.

Lessing met Knievel at a Tampa Bay area racetrack. She left with him and the couple began a short-lived fling. She claims each time Knievel climaxed, he would literally cry out, "I'm pouring myself into you."

She also alludes to his gambling habit.

"He'd drop some serious cash, man,” she says.

He partied like a rock star and lived life lavishly.

In addition to the fleet of automobiles and planes, Knievel also owned several boats including the infamous "Evel Eye" aboard which all sorts of debauchery reportedly took place.

"I thought I was superman," he remarks, a hint of forlorn in his voice.

One “lady” he doesn’t miss is “Montana Mary,” the notorious, loathsome libation and liquid courage containing Wild Turkey, beer, tomato juice and a smattering of Harley-Davidson motor oil the motorcycle phenom was alleged to have downed before each jump.

Now, Knievel says, "I haven't touched a drop of alcohol in years."

Infamous for replying, "I don't get scared, I'm Evel Knievel," whenever asked of the fear factor, he finally admits, "Hell yeah, I'd get scared. Look, I talked to God before every jump. I remember sitting in the Skycycle staring at the sky and said, 'God, ready or not here I come.'"

"Also Wimbley," he adds almost in an afterthought. "I took one look at the buses and knew I couldn't jump that far."

The year was 1975. Knievel attempted to leap over 13 double-decker buses in front of a sold-out crowd at Wimbley Stadium in London. An estimated 100,000 people watched Knievel’s jump come up short, resulting in a horrific crash landing and one of two accidents crushing his pelvis.

Knievel not only stood, but with blood pouring from every orifice in his head, walked out of the arena much to the delight of the capacity crowd erupting in thunderous applause and providing a standing ovation.

"It was never enough," he says.

Knievel's wife, Linda, left him in 1986 after an arrest for soliciting an undercover policewoman.

Knievel married Krystal Kennedy in 1999 and the couple divorced in 2000. They reunited soon thereafter but failed to renew their vows.

"Krystal is my lifeline. She gave her life to me. We divorced but reconciled after I got my act together. If it wasn't for her, I'd be lost," he says.

Knievel prefers to rehash the glory years and good times. As such, certain subjects are strictly taboo and off limits such as the time he was charged with domestic violence for knocking Kennedy around in a motel room in Sunnyvale, Calif., in 1994. Police arrested him in a nudie bar a few blocks from the motel.

And there was the time he was in Bradenton, Fla., where his son Robbie was preparing for a jump and the two managed one of their many infamous but very public parting-of-the-ways.

Expounding upon what is most important to Knievel, absent was the awkward pause often detectable in his speech these days. Waxing philosophical with a side rarely portrayed in the media, Knievel responds in rapid-fire succession.

"The most important thing is believing in God, second most important is having good health, third is an education, stay in school. Fourth is having a job you love to go to every morning, fifth is having someone to love who truly loves you, sixth is to do right by your fellow man because it's the right thing to do. Lastly, follow your dreams and don't ever lose sight of them. If you can do that, wealth will come, wealth will find you."

Two of Knievel's grandchildren recently informed him of their decision to follow their own dreams, that of pursuing the same career as grandpa.

"They're active. Jesse is a nationally ranked rider. They're into all of it, baseball, track, even Melody [his granddaughter] is active but their mother, Tracy, is against it [a professional daredevil career]."

Superstar, icon, legend, daredevil.

"Just don't call me a hero. I hate it when they call me that. I'm no hero. I'm a professional risk-taker and I'm the best at what I do," he says matter-of-factly.

Knievel, responsible for proving to the world that motorcycles really can fly, not only wrote and lived by his own rules, but now is preparing to die by those same rules.

Epilogue
In 1974 Knievel commissioned a white marble stone marker as part of a publicity campaign regarding his upcoming attempt at jumping Snake River Canyon. The marker was housed in a warehouse for the last several decades. Two years ago Knievel had it shipped to his hometown of Butte. Inscribed upon the stately monument is Knievel’s date of birth. Also etched in the stone is the superstar’s image. It will serve as a marker for his final resting place.

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