Welcome to the Wild West- as it exists today.  It's Eval Days-- a 3 day festival in honor of Eval Knievel-- and the roar and soup of Harleys reverberate around town. Set in lovely Butte, Montana- the "Richest Hill on Earth"- an untamed, unpolished, un-groomed and unassuming city of surprising richness.  Copper mining is the main industry, and the hills are fiery and orange, reflected by a mirror sky onto Limestone and Red brick buildings- some beautifully restored, and some in ruin.

It's the evening of my second day in Butte, the first day of the festival.  There is a Wall of Death Spectacle, inside of a pull apart wooden structure, with steps that sigh underfoot.  Spectators gather around the ring, looking into the cylinder- a small ramp connecting the floor to sheer walls.  It's noisy and smells like exhaust.  Everything creaks and moans, and the engines race and scream, around and around.  The audience cheers, and bangs on the splintered wood wall-

I ask to have my picture taken with the drivers following the conclusion of the show-- An Australian Criss-Cross Race that causes the house to shift and sway, when the drivers are neck and neck, when the sun is setting over the mountains, and soon it will be cool outside at dusk.

The drivers don't wear helmets-- just t-shirts and jeans.  The centrifugal force of the ring is equivalent to 4-G's, and the top of the ring is easily 30 feet from the base.  Still, for the drivers, who participate in 18 events in the rally circuit (concluding at Sturgis in 10 days) and perform 7-14 times daily, the vocation like any other must become routine.  I'm still astonished to find that these dare devils are just ordinary people.

In Uptown Butte, where the event is taking place, people stroll leisurely with open containers (welcome to the Wild West) in endless permutations- giant plastic cups that hold two bottles of beer, wizard sticks (read: empty beer cans taped together with duct tape), cups with tethers to be worn like necklaces, Daiquiris, Jungle Juice, Jello Shots-- Cocktailers working the strip in polo shirts.  I see twelve-year-olds smoking cigarettes, and high school kids drinking tall cans.  The fuzz are in abundance but seem unfazed.  They're apparently enjoying the sights and sounds as much as the citizens.  I see them jump into action the first time, when a disabled man- trying to molest women on the dance floor of this karaoke bar- The Party Palace (aka the Crack Palace) from his wheel chair. Unprovoked, he begins to flip off of the back of his wheelchair in the middle of the dance floor.  We keep dancing.   

There are events throughout the day, through Saturday, involving mechanical monstrosities of the highest order.  I'm looking forward to this event, later on today.

"The larger and better known annual celebration is Knievel Days held each summer. This event draws over 50,000 bikers and daredevils from across the world. The highlight of the event is when all participants share a moment of silence for the whole Knievel clan traditionally observed at 4:20 pm on the second day of the event. The moment is broken by five daredevils simultaneously jump 19 trucks while fireworks explode and fifty foot flames of fire shoot up through the trucks while God Bless America plays." (Wikipedia)