Standin’ on the corner in Winslow, Arizona, and nothing happens. No girl, my Lord, in a flatbed Ford, or anything else for that matter slows down to take a look at me. Ah well, back to runnin’ down the road to Bisbee.

The temperature stays in the low 50’s, and at these high elevations, snow still lines both sides of the road.

Then, finally, thankfully, the elevation starts to drop. Suddenly, where there were pine trees and snow there is now cacti and sand. That’s more like it!

My Garmin Everlost routes me off the highway, and for a change, I am happy for the detour. Usually the little wonder of technology will have me exit the highway only to perform a U-Turn or two and get right back on. This time the Garmin has excellent scenery and roads on the mind (or memory chips as it were) and I’m along in the Tonto National Forest for the ride.

The remaining miles between me and Bisbee decrease, speed and time conquering distance as always. The sun sets and the last fifty miles to my home for the night are completed in darkness.

Copper Queen Hotel – The Next Morning

I check in at the Copper Queen Hotel, and am told the room next to mine is supposedly haunted. I thumb through the Ghost Journal on the counter; some of the stories are quite well written. I don’t really believe in ghosts, but you never know…

I have dinner at a local restaurant, and the hostess, a kind older lady offers up the line of the night. A strange couple sits next to me at the bar, a couple that can’t seem to keep their hands off each other. When the hostess asks for their order, the lady spells out a complicated list of changes she wants to her dish, including adding shrimp. The hostess informs the woman that adding shrimp will result in a $3 additional charge, to which the woman starts loudly complaining. The hostess leans in close and whispers, “Listen lady, I’m pushing 70. Do you really think I need this shit? So, tell me. Do you want the shrimp or not?”

Stunned, the woman at the bar says, “Ummm, yes. OK.” My new favorite hostess then responded in a loud voice, “Well, the customer is always right!”

There is plenty of entertainment to be had in Bisbee, ghosts or not. The newly opened Old Bisbee Brewing Company is a great place for an India Pale Ale or three, and a story. After ordering my second, the bartendress, a cute girl around twenty-five asks if I’m enjoying the brew. Being a bit of a beer connoisseur, with the beer connoisseur belly to prove it, I reply, “Yes, very much. It’s just right.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear that. I’m the brewmaster, and that’s my recipe.”

Woah. Interesting. A girl brewmaster that makes excellent beer. If it wasn’t for Fiona………..

Turns out the Old Bisbee Brewing Company has only been open about a week, and on the night I am there, the place is packed. Mindy, the brewmaster, attended Brewmaster school in England. I sample every beer in the place, and have to say that there wasn’t a bad one in the bunch. Beer school paid off for Mindy.

I walk around Bisbee, and am almost in a constant state of amazement. Everyone in the town, from local residents to tourists says hello, which seems to have become a lost art in most parts of the US. Usually a single traveler in a bar will be roundly ignored, in Bisbee that doesn’t happen, because you aren’t a single traveler for long, you are almost instantly absorbed into a group. In an alleyway I’m convinced for a second that I see a ghost, then I wonder if it’s just the after effects of Mindy’s brewmastery.

Further down Brewery Avenue, I do another double take.

A house sits on the corner that is so interesting I have to go back in the morning for pictures, and to make sure I’m not losing my mind.

Yes, Bisbee is a very interesting place. I vow to come back someday, but as the Road to Wrestlemania is winding to it’s inevitable end, I know I have to leave. With one night left, and one more fun stop planned before work interrupts my ride once again, I sadly point Rain Cloud Follows away from my new favorite town towards the drier pastures of Tucson, then Phoenix, and the reason for this whole ride – Wrestlemania XXVI.

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Author: frenchy