Riding with the woman who defies gravity on the Wall of Death

WILDWOOD — The autumn air smelled of surf and gasoline as Ariell Flight gunned the throttle and smiled, speeding round and round on rickety, wooden planks of pure Americana. Her blond hair whipped in the ocean wind, because she wasn’t wearing a helmet and the needle was flirting with 50 mph.

Thrill seekers in black leather and pinup skirts gathered on the beach on this sunny October Saturday to watch the 26-year-old West Chester native defy gravity and common sense on a loud, vintage Harley Davidson motorcycle inside the American Motor Drome’s Wall of Death. Her grandmother, Pat Olson, breathed in the fumes with them, beaming with pride at the hellion she raised, a young woman who’s been bucked off more horses and brushed by more sharks than most humans, all with a college diploma she may never use.

“What are you going to do with an art history degree?” Olson said to her granddaughter once.

But the Wall of Death is art, equal parts folk and performance, an American sideshow as raucous and original as demolition derbies or the late Evel Knievel, with some pro wrestling theatrics mixed in. There are fewer than a handful of these traveling venues left in the U.S. today and they’re all essentially unchanged since they debuted in Coney Island in 1911.

Wildwood, a veritable Coney Island of its own, even has its own, hard-to-believe Wall of Death story. Some of the walls incorporated lions — real lions — in a motorcycle sidecar, and on Oct. 5, 1938, one of them, Tuffy, escaped and killed a Philadelphia man. Police shot Tuffy dead in the night, on the boardwalk, and the next day’s story ran in The Inquirer just below headlines about Adolf Hitler.

While the Wall of Death is simple physics, it’s also terrifying. It’s more or less a giant wooden barrel with no lid, where vintage motorcycles and go-carts zoom around inside, stuck to the walls, 14 feet above the ground, thanks to ever-increasing g-forces. It’s a tactile experience too, with smoky exhaust and wooden beams making your ribs vibrate as the hundreds of pounds of steel rattle past.

The Wall of Death is adorned with beautiful art as well, hand-painted signs that promise “chills” and “spills” and “hell on wheels” and some carnivalesque showmanship: Ariell Flight is not her real name. Same goes for owner “Hobo Bill,” who learned the trade from a man who went by Jay Lightnin.

“He retired, reluctantly,” Hobo Bill, 40, said. “We had to drag him off the bike. They’ll have to drag me off one day, too.”

Flight met Hobo Bill a few years back in the U.S. Virgin Islands, where she was a diving instructor. They hit it off, as thrill seekers often do, and he asked her to travel the country with him, riding on the wall. There was one catch: She’d never ridden a motorcycle before. Fast forward to 2024, and Flight’s one of a handful of motorcyclists in the world who do it.

“I didn’t have any fear of the process,” she said on the beach a day before the event. “I didn’t have any fear of the motorcycles. This is probably one of the safer things I’ve done, actually.”

The Wall of Death travels by flatbed, erected and dismantled in one day at every stop, ideally with local help. The crew of three also includes a young go-cart racer from Ohio named J.R. Sparks, who has a James Dean aesthetic. Together they all live on the road, traveling from biker events to vintage festivals and state fairs to perform. Before last weekend’s annual “Race of Gentlemen” on the Wildwood beach, they were in the Catskills. They’ll be in Georgia for Halloween.

“We’re tearing down Monday and we got to be in Alabama on Tuesday,” Flight said. “Then we set up the Wednesday and do it all over again. We’ll go anywhere if you pay us.”

Wildwood was the first time the Wall of Death was on the beach, which presented a challenge or two.

“Well, for one, there’s sand everywhere,” Flight said. “Sand on the wall is not good, but it’s nice to be able to walk around barefoot.”

Michelle Wire came to the Race of Gentlemen as a spectator, fell in love with the event, and now she’s the general manager. She said booking the Wall of Death was always a goal.

“I fought for this. I went to the mat to get this here. Anybody who loves bikes or racing or cars can’t resist it,” she said.

The Race of Gentlemen brings custom choppers, ratty hot rods, and vintage motorcycles to the beach with participants who live the lifestyle. Hair was thick with pomade. Most everyone wore black, and the lipstick looked neon red.

Wildwood was Flight’s closest stop to home so far, the first time her family had a chance to catch her latest flirtation with danger. Olson, her grandmother, said it was harder to watch Flight on the horses as a child.

“She got a lot of concussions from horses. A motorcycle is lighter than a horse, so I guess that’s good,” she said. “This is her passion now, though, and she always tries to push the envelope. She lives life the way she wants and she’s a great kid who amazes me all the time.“

Olson said Flight takes after her late husband, Paul, a bricklayer and avid scuba diver who swam with his fair share of sharks.

“He would have loved it,” she said. “There were circus and sideshow people on my husband’s side of the family.”

Flight’s not sure how long she’ll ride the wall. She doesn’t plan life that way. She isn’t searching for art history jobs yet.

“I’m riding now and I love it,” she said.

Wildwood’s old Wall of Death is long gone, but it lived on for a few years after Tuffy the lion was shot dead, according to a help-wanted ad in 1946.

“Riders wanted,” the ad read. “Good salary and tips.”

Like the carnival barkers in her DNA, Flight said her American Motor Drome Wall of Death is looking for workers, too. She challenged any young hellion like herself to step inside.

“We need someone to sell merchandise,” she said. “And we need people to ride the wall. Get on a motorcycle and see the country.”