I love the feeling of the fresh air on my face and the wind

“I love the feeling of the fresh air on my face and the wind blowing through my hair.” Thus spoke Evel Knievel, the fearless rider of steel and legend, whose life was a dance with danger and a hymn to freedom. Though his words seem simple, they carry the heartbeat of eternity — the yearning of the human soul to live unshackled, to feel life rushing past like the wind itself. For Knievel, the fresh air was not mere breeze, but the breath of existence; the wind was not mere motion, but the spirit of liberty, whispering to those bold enough to chase their dreams beyond the edge of fear.

To understand this saying, one must understand the man. Evel Knievel, born Robert Craig Knievel, was no ordinary soul. He leapt over canyons, cars, and crowds — not only to thrill others, but to conquer the invisible chains of limitation. He was a mortal who dared to test the boundaries of mortality itself. When he spoke of loving the wind on his face, he was speaking of something sacred — the communion between man and the open world, between courage and the infinite. It was not comfort he sought, but aliveness — that raw, untamed feeling of standing face-to-face with fate and refusing to bow.

In the ancient world, heroes, too, spoke of such sensations. Achilles, the warrior of Homer’s song, felt the same wild ecstasy when he raced across the fields of battle, his hair streaming behind him like flame. Alexander the Great, when he first rode Bucephalus across the plains, must have felt the same freedom — the rush of wind and destiny blending into one. The ancients called it thumos — the spirited energy of the soul that drives a person to greatness, to risk, to creation. Evel Knievel, in his own time, embodied that same fire. His leaps were not just stunts; they were acts of defiance against fear, proof that the human spirit was never meant to live in cages.

Yet there is more to this quote than the thrill of motion. It speaks, too, of simplicity and presence — the wisdom of finding joy in the very breath of life. Knievel, who faced countless injuries and narrow escapes, knew that life could vanish in an instant. To him, the wind was not merely a companion of speed, but a reminder of existence itself — a touch from nature that said, “You are alive.” The fresh air on his face was a blessing, proof that he still moved, still breathed, still belonged to the vast and living world. It is a lesson often forgotten: that true happiness lies not in possession, but in experience, in moments that stir the heart and awaken the senses.

Consider the story of Amelia Earhart, who, like Knievel, felt the call of the wind. As she piloted her aircraft across oceans, she wrote of the freedom of flight — of seeing the earth fall away and the sky open like eternity itself. She too loved the air against her skin, the song of the wind in her ears. She once said, “Adventure is worthwhile in itself.” Both Earhart and Knievel remind us that life’s greatest treasures are not found in safety or comfort, but in motion, courage, and wonder. The wind they both cherished is the same wind that calls to all who dream beyond boundaries.

And yet, this quote also carries humility. For the one who feels the wind must remember that it is greater than himself. The air and the earth, the sun and the sky — these are the eternal companions of humanity, long before fame and after death. Knievel’s love for the wind was, in truth, a love for the natural world — for the primal connection between man and nature, between movement and meaning. The ancients, too, worshiped the wind as divine: the Greeks called it Zephyrus, the bringer of renewal; the Hindus, Vayu, the breath of life. To love the wind, as Knievel did, is to love existence itself — to find reverence in every breath and beauty in every moment of motion.

So, my child, take this wisdom to heart: seek the wind. Not merely the wind that blows through the trees, but the wind that stirs within your soul. Step outside the walls of fear and duty; lift your face to the sky; feel the air of the world against your skin. Whether you leap across chasms or simply walk beneath the open sky, remember that life is meant to be felt, not merely endured. Let the wind remind you that freedom lives in motion, that joy lies in courage, and that the heart of man was born not to hide, but to soar.

For in the end, Evel Knievel’s words are not just about the thrill of the ride — they are about the sanctity of being alive. To love the wind is to love life — fierce, fleeting, and beautiful. And the one who learns to love that feeling, to savor every breath of the open air, will never grow old in spirit, for he will have touched eternity while still in this mortal frame.