In my twenties, I was a fan of Evel Knievel. After all, he rode a motorcycle, and was not a criminal, so I felt like a kindred spirit. And because he came from Butte, this city took on some of the significance of Jerusalem. Evel has passed away now, and my enthusiasm for his stunts faded with the Snake River Canyon jump. But now for the first time I can walk where Evel walked and see what Evel saw when his name was just Bobby. And my conclusion? It looks a bit run down from the glory days, or to put it a different way, it had to look better than this when Evel was around.
Pictures: some of our motel, some taken on our walk this evening.