Spent two nights in Bisbee, Arizona, an old copper-mining town in the Mule Mountains and near the traditional lands of the Ópata and O’odham peoples. I’ve fallen in love with the century-old architecture, the narrow streets and public stairways that climb and wind through the hills, and the creative community that now lives there.
Being nestled in the mountains, my rides to and from weren’t the easiest days, especially with busier traffic pushing me mostly to the shoulder, which on the climb up was riddled with tar snakes—those black strips you see filling cracks on the road—and on the steep descent had patches of gravel that had me white-knuckling my handlebars to keep steady and ready to brake.
Thursday (day five)
I had been eyeing my back tire after replacing it the morning before, wondering if I should try to get some more air in it. Using the hand-pump takes some effort and the air pressure felt a little lower than I prefer. I decided it would be fine for the 25-mile ride from Douglas to Bisbee. So I grabbed some coffee and a pastry for breakfast before getting another fairly late start at 11am.
I was wrong about the tire. Some of those tar snakes on the shoulder ended up being pretty thick, and I hit one just right to cause a pinch-flat that could have been avoided with just a few more strokes of the pump before leaving. Even more frustrating was that I couldn’t find the holes in the tube (at least not with my current level of patience for the situation) so I threw in the last of my spare tubes and kept pumping past the point where it seemed like air was still going in the tube so I could have it as full as possible for the rest of the climb.
There’s a shop called the Bisbee Bicycle Brothel that I had made a note of earlier. I stopped by shortly after checking into my hotel to find it closed, but with a phone number on the door. I learned that the owner, Ken, lived a little further up the mountain and was snowed in. He would try to open the next day for me so I could pick up another spare tube, and another patch kit while I was at it in case this was going to be a trend.
I walked up and down Main Street, in awe of the architecture and window-shopping at the galleries. Then I took a rest in my room, feeling oh-so bourgeois-bohemian to be staying in a 1907 Venetian-inspired Italianate building with decor by the accompanying boutique downstairs (as described in the literature on my bedside table), and plotting what fine establishment I’d get take-out from that night. Only by the time I was ready for dinner, most of those fine establishments were already closed, and I ended up waiting 45 minutes for a mediocre, overpriced salad.
Friday (day six)
I decided to make Friday a rest day, not so much because I felt like I needed a rest day as that I wanted to explore the town more. Determined to make this a day to have an eating adventure in Bisbee, I got up and out the door by 8am and found that the trend of businesses closing relatively early extended to them opening relatively late. I was able to find some coffee, which I enjoyed in my room with a stoopwafel I had in my stash.
I called Ken from the bike shop again to make sure he was able to make it down the mountain, and after chatting on the phone for 10-15 minutes about everything from Johnny Depp‘s new place in town, to the illustrious career of the owner of Patisserie Jacqui, and the rotating global cuisine at Cafe Roka, he confirmed he had my tube and I said I would be down in a few.
Ken had been clear that I wouldn’t be able to go into the Bisbee Bicycle Brothel, but once I arrived he quickly became too excited to show off his collection of bikes and memorabilia to keep me outside. I can’t say that I followed even half of the history lesson he was giving, but the bikes were pretty. I made my exit when he mentioned that Patisserie Jacqui sometimes sells out, and they had already been open for an hour.
I got an almond croissant, and decided to save it for breakfast the next day. I also dropped by Cafe Roka to take a look at their take-out menu and placed my order for a Hungarian lecso stew for dinner. Finally, I stopped by Poco, a vegan market and restaurant and grabbed a “seitanic” Mac and cheeze burrito for lunch.
My only plans for the day settled, I went for a hike up Miracle Mountain at my hotelier’s recommendation. She directed me to turn right past Mimosa Market to the Jesus statue, then follow the path up to his cross. Not knowing what to expect, I was amazed by the views once I started up the path, and in awe once I got to the top and saw the umpteen altars of all sizes and styles that had been labored on over decades. I felt compelled to leave an offering of some sort, so poured a little of my water into each vessel I found.
Saturday (day seven)
Decided to save a couple bucks and make coffee in the shared kitchen at the hotel. I don’t often use a drip coffee maker, so put in far too many grounds, and—this was probably the coffee maker and not me—it took the better part of an hour to finish brewing. I stomached a little with my almond croissant from the day before (delicious, even a day old) and decided to use the rest as a coffee concentrate while camping over the next couple days. I loaded up on two more vegan burritos from Poco, and had some of their quesadilla tacos for brunch.
I made a brief stop in Tombstone after a harrowing descent from Bisbee that involved biking through a tunnel that was marked with a “no bicycles” sign, but I didn’t know of another way down. I don’t have much to say about Tombstone. One of the cowboy actors told me I didn’t have to wear a mask as I was putting mine on. I got an ice cream cone and ate it away from the crowds.
I decided to make a last-minute route adjustment the night before, turning west onto Arizona highway 82 instead of taking the busier Interstate further north. After turning, the traffic was immediately calmer, the pavement smoother, and the hills more rolling and fun. I wandered through a ghost town before setting up camp on what I’m pretty sure was BLM land. Ate another mac and cheeze burrito for dinner, and heard the coyotes start to call as I settled down for bed.
