Evil Is Gone

But not forgotten. Butte Montana (or as the locals say, Butte America) legend Evil Knievel finally jumped across a divide most never get back across. He was a member of a very rare breed of truly crazy showmen, flying across the Snake River Gorge on a rocket powered motorcycle, breaking every bone in his body (more than once) and squeezing every last drop out of this thing we call life. I suppose a dare-devil has to be "evil"but the incredibly tough exterior was a facade covering a soft hearted ,generous guy, very much the living embodiment of the cold-ass, hard living, hard playing town at the headwaters of the Clark Fork. Not that I ever got to meet him,in fact the closest I got was, SURPRISE, in a bar! and a couple of times he roared past me on his Harley. I've spent the last eighteen summers working on a river about forty five miles from Butte and have had some times there. Luckily I have friends on whose couches I'm welcome because it's a treacherous piece of highway comin home.

If you like pure adventure and liquor you definately want to come to Butte to take in the celebration held each year in honor of their favorite son,sometime towards the end of July. Spanky Spangler is likely to set himself on fire and jump off the roof of the Findland Hotel, someone will be trying to jump over a bunch of cars on a bike or hotrod,and every bar in town will have crowds spilling out into the street. The sons of sons of hardworking immigrant miners will presently start fighting, as tradition dictates, and around dawn everyone left will be falling into their bisquits and gravy over at the M&M. I've been around a bit and Butte has one of the most unique party cultures left in America. The uptown is somewhat dilapidated and "authentic" and has the highest bar per person ratio of anywhere in the Universe.And Evil Knievel Day is just rookie practice for St. Patty's! Go by go, Evil. R.I.P