Bisbee, Arizona
February 22–24, 2022
February 22–24, 2022
First off, the drive from Winslow to south central Arizona was so much cooler than I had anticipated. Yet again, my love of blue highways paid off, and I found myself rounding a bend in Route 60 and taking in a much smaller (but by no means objectively small!) version of the Grand Canyon. The Salt River Canyon came as a total surprise to me, and for that reason it actually made more of an impression than the big guy with all the hype. (No disrespect to the GC, but when visiting I found that I couldn’t convince my brain that the actual view in front of me was not just yet another photograph. I hope to finagle a burro ride down toward the canyon bottom on a future visit, which should break the spell and increase the magic.) The road wound and dipped dizzily, and I had to tear my eyes away from the steep, colorful canyon walls and focus on the driving.
My plan had been to stay at Patagonia Lake State Park, just north of Nogales, but when I arrived at my site it was on a fairly substantial tilt and there was absolutely zero cell phone reception. (Don’t get me wrong—I’m fine with ignoring my phone, but not when I’m planning to use it as a hot spot to work from my campsite the next day!) I had dinner at Elvira’s, an upscale Mexican restaurant in nearby Tubac (which would have been cooler if they’d flipped the B upside down), and then spent one sleep at my campsite, but I ended up ditching my reservation for the second night.
I’d heard from a couple of fellow campers that Bisbee was an interesting spot, so I decided to drive west and stop at Tombstone on the way. Despite any historical inaccuracies, the 1993 movie with Val Kilmer (swoon) and Kurt Russell has been dear to my heart since I first watched it at 10 years old, from a hotel room while my parents played music in the bar downstairs. (Why I found Doc Holliday so sexy when I was a 10-year-old kid is a question for another time.) Tombstone itself may be a tourist trap, but I couldn’t resist It. I visited the graves at the Boothill Cemetery, strolled down Allen Street (the main drag since the 1880s, which still looks like a mining pioneer town), and passed by Wyatt Earp’s old home (for sale, like every other house in the US right now).
And then I finally found my way to Bisbee. The town is an artsy mashup of Brattleboro, VT, and some imagined small town in the mountains of Italy, plus a little cowboy flair. I could see myself living there quite easily, and the time I spent wandering the steep, twisty, art-covered streets, dining at the Old Bisbee Brewing Company and at Kafka (a fabulous coffee shop that opened last August), and stealth camping on a residential street just beyond the old copper mine were just the taste I needed to make me crave the whole meal.
My plan had been to stay at Patagonia Lake State Park, just north of Nogales, but when I arrived at my site it was on a fairly substantial tilt and there was absolutely zero cell phone reception. (Don’t get me wrong—I’m fine with ignoring my phone, but not when I’m planning to use it as a hot spot to work from my campsite the next day!) I had dinner at Elvira’s, an upscale Mexican restaurant in nearby Tubac (which would have been cooler if they’d flipped the B upside down), and then spent one sleep at my campsite, but I ended up ditching my reservation for the second night.
I’d heard from a couple of fellow campers that Bisbee was an interesting spot, so I decided to drive west and stop at Tombstone on the way. Despite any historical inaccuracies, the 1993 movie with Val Kilmer (swoon) and Kurt Russell has been dear to my heart since I first watched it at 10 years old, from a hotel room while my parents played music in the bar downstairs. (Why I found Doc Holliday so sexy when I was a 10-year-old kid is a question for another time.) Tombstone itself may be a tourist trap, but I couldn’t resist It. I visited the graves at the Boothill Cemetery, strolled down Allen Street (the main drag since the 1880s, which still looks like a mining pioneer town), and passed by Wyatt Earp’s old home (for sale, like every other house in the US right now).
And then I finally found my way to Bisbee. The town is an artsy mashup of Brattleboro, VT, and some imagined small town in the mountains of Italy, plus a little cowboy flair. I could see myself living there quite easily, and the time I spent wandering the steep, twisty, art-covered streets, dining at the Old Bisbee Brewing Company and at Kafka (a fabulous coffee shop that opened last August), and stealth camping on a residential street just beyond the old copper mine were just the taste I needed to make me crave the whole meal.
