Not made like that anymore

You can imagine the view from the Pearly Gates: parked outside is a row of mid-70s Dodge vans, perhaps bulked out with a few yellow school buses and a flaming hoop or three. A ramp is assembled at the far end and way in the distance is a familiar figure, clad in a star-spangled red, white and blue jumpsuit, revving his souped-up motorcycle and waving to the cheering ranks of the heavenly choir, who have gathered to observe the goings-on.

St Peter calls out, "Mr Knievel, if you can make it over, you're in."