Early Sunday morning, it wasn't even 10 yet, we headed south, my brother, sisters, the crazy Estonian and me. As we drove down the interstate my older brother jabbered on about Montana History. He informed us about the gold rush, the famous Butte copperkings, and the old mansion that he occupied during his college years. His chatter ceased as we reach our primary destination, a landmark that Oakley (brother) had been talking up for weeks - the
Ringing Rocks. As we stepped out of the car an elderly cohort of Montanans were talking about their favorite county western songs while taking a quick break from fourwheeling. After greeting these friendly folks my brother promptly handed each of us a hammer and urged us onto the mountainous pile of unassuming volcanic rocks. This may sound weird, and maybe it's hard to comprehend, but seriously there was just a huge pile of rocks awaiting us. So we dutifully began climbing the rocks, tapping on them with our hammers. Lo and behold, just as we had been told , the rocks chimed like a giant heap of naturally formed church bells. It was magical.
After our musical talents expired, we piled back into the car and traversed the wild montanan terrain to Butte. At one time one of the biggest cities in the West, now it requires vivid imagination to picture its former glory. It even does not have a downtown, but rather something called an 'uptown.' The local favorite sandwiches are ones with a fatty pork chop, one of which Heiki promptly consumed. We spent the rest of the day lazing around - playing tennis, drinking coffee, and trying to avoid the ghastly winds - all in the shadow of the Berkley Pit, one of the biggest Superfund sites in the US. The pit used to be populated by a mutant-looking
dog, whom we missed during this trip, however. All we saw was a huge statue of Mother Mary, arguably the size of the Statue of Liberty that the locals had for some reason erected in the mountains far above Butte. It is sure we missed many other weird wonders the place has to offer.
The obvious way to end this lazy day was with dinner and a movie. So we went to an old family favorite to grab some sweet grub - the Pekin restaurant (if you come to Montana, I'll take you there). Entering an old dusty building, like any in Butte, we climbed up the creaking stairs and ended up in a corridor lined with entrances to booths. No, there were no tables under the window - the old Chinese miners liked their privacy. Each booth was protected from bypassers with a pink curtain. The color of choice of the owners for the restaurant was worn out pink, of all possibilities. The aged waitress poured us some tea and icewater. In an attempt to avoid the consumption of meat, we inquired into the substances going into the sauce that covered the vegetables. 'Just a very light brown gravy,' said the waitress comfortingly. Now that was reassuring.
After our fine dining experience, we drove out to the last standing drive in movie theater in Montana. Neither of us had every sat outside below the stars, the moon rising on our right while the sun set to our left, and watched a current flick on the big screen. But it seriously was a lovely setting. So there it was the end to a fun filled day, in the fresh air embraced by mountains watching
Leatherheadsand drinking
Moose Drool brew. What a day!
