No, it's not another Bibleburg homeless encampment — it's the Southern Arizona Road Adventurers, camping in the town park in Bisbee, Arizona.

Ah, wi-fi. Back to civilization, such as it is. What it is, is Bisbee, Arizona, where we’re enjoying a layover day in the town park. This means the tents get to stay up an extra day, which cuts down on the carnival atmosphere a bit and gives everyone a chance to rest, regroup and reorganize.

After yesterday’s rigors some of us opted for bed-and-breakfasts or hotels rather than spend another night in wind-battered tents, so I poached a little bathroom time from one of them and shaved for the first time since Saturday. I was starting to look like Papa Hemingway, only without all that annoying talent.

Everyone’s hoping for a little less wind — or, even better, a tailwind — when we return to Tombstone tomorrow via a different route. Me, I’m hoping to find some Guinness on tap tonight, St. Patrick’s Day being a holy day among my people (the Drunkards).

But there’s some local ale to be had here, so if the Micks don’t come through, I’m sure there will be alternatives. Last night it was Moose Drool — and yes, it tastes better than it sounds.

March 17th, 2010 | Tags: Southern Arizona Road Adventure | Category: Road trips | Comments (3)

The very latest in Road Trip Breakfast Technology (circa 2005): a cup of Starbucks and a 12-inch G4 PowerBook.

Comfort zone: A cage just big enough so that when you sit at its center, strangers can’t poke you through the bars with sharp sticks.

Like many of you, I’m a creature of habit. For instance, I must have powerful coffee immediately upon arising in the morning or someone will suffer. I used to haul a small espresso machine around, but in the age of a Starbucks on every street corner this has become unnecessary.

Or so I thought.

This morning I ambled into the motel’s breakfast nook and poured myself a cup of what appeared to be used chain degreaser, only not as tasty. Down the loo it went and out the door I went, cursing and spitting, in search of the velvety black jumper cables of life.

I prefer to deal with locally owned java shops when traveling but there was no time to waste on scientific experimentation. And besides, my motel is near the airport and nothing else. You’d think that where there are travelers there would be grog shops, taverns, alehouses, pubs, cafés, cantinas and yes, coffee shops, but not in South Tucson. Bubba. You want hot asphalt, fast food and faster cars, you’re in the right place. Everything else must be found elsewhere.

Incredibly, the nearest Starbucks was five miles away. A 10-minute drive! And I had to make it without coffee! Oh, the humanity. But I scored — a tall Americano, plus a bagel with cream cheese and a pint of Naked orange juice to stave off the scurvy (yeah, I checked out the motel’s “breakfast” before leaving, too).

Editor’s note: No motel staffers were harmed in the making of this blog post.

March 13th, 2010 | Tags: Southern Arizona Road Adventure | Category: Road trips | Comments (9)

El Minuto — a Tucson fixture since 1939 and a fave of mine since 1980.

My combo-plate tour of the Southwest continues with a visit to El Minuto in Tucson. I first ate there back in 1980, and whenever I’m back in town it’s the first place I stop.

The food isn’t like the fiery grub you get in northern New Mexico — it’s more like the Tex-Mex that hooked me as a kid in San Antone. The mild red sauce has a tomato tang, I’m pretty sure the tacos have some potato in ’em (I always gobble them down too quickly to be sure), and the beans are refried instead of whole. Good stuff all around, and smack dab between La Choza and El Sombrero in terms of price point.

The drive west was uneventful. Giant vehicles remain all the rage in this part of the nation, whether people need them or not, and Texicans with regard for neither law nor order owned the left lane from Las Cruces all the way to Tucson, roaring past the rest of us like Soviet apparatchiks passing proles in the Moscow Zil lanes. They gave no quarter, and even Californicators moved over to let them pass.

While dodging the sons of the Lone Star State I enjoyed periodic bursts of philosophy from the New Mexico Department of Transportation: “Dust storms may exist.” Ah, but then again they may not. And they didn’t.

The Suburu’s thermometer flirted with 60 but never quite closed the deal until I crossed into Arizona around 1. It’s 69 and sunny now, and doesn’t that feel good to this ghostly pale gabacho. I won’t be wearing three jerseys while riding around these parts. But I will be wearing a shitload of sunscreen.

• Late update: After getting settled at the hotel I thought about driving back into Tucson proper for a pint or two at Gentle Ben’s Brewing Company, but I wasn’t in the mood to deal with the traffic, which is slightly insane. Instead I picked up a sixer of another local microbrew, the IPA from Nimbus Brewing Company. Drinkable, but not spectacular; last night’s pints at High Desert were much livelier. In other news, tomorrow morning’s update may be the last on this site for a couple of days — I don’t believe I’ll have wi-fi again until Tombstone. So keep an eye on maddogmedia.wordpress.com for the latest in vertical gain and pain management.

• Later update: How could I forget? Today is not only Herself’s birthday, it’s Jack Kerouac’s birthday. An auspicious day to be on the road. Herself was treated to a pleasant dinner at The Blue Star by our mutual friends Steve and Doris, but Jack got jack shit ’cause he’s all like dead and stuff.

March 12th, 2010 | Category: Road trips | Comments (7)

An iPhone shot of soggy downtown Santa Fe, just off the Plaza.

Yuk. Santa Fe was a gray, soggy, gloomy mess when I arose this morning for the traditional breakfast burrito at Tia Sophia. I thought briefly about having a soak at Ten Thousand Waves, but the frosty clouds shrouding the mountains sent me packing. I’m on the road to escape that sort of thing, not wallow in it.

Stopped in sunny Socorro for the combo plate at Frank and Lupe’s El Sombrero, a place I haven’t visited in a few years. It was everything La Choza was not — prompt, attentive service, delicious food and reasonably priced at $9.57, or less than half what I paid for an uninteresting dinner in Santa Fe. The chiles they use in the green are obtained locally, too.

Now I’m in Las Cruces, planning a visit to the High Desert Brewing Company, whose motto is, “None of our beers suck.” Not strictly grammatical, but true as of my last visit, circa 2007 or thereabouts.

I’m extrapolating, of course. Not even I can drink every beer in a brewpub. But don’t think I haven’t tried.

March 11th, 2010 | Category: Road trips | Comments (4)

New Mexico via the iPhone through the windshield.

Whaddaya know — I found a weather window and drove right through it. Raton Pass was dry as the proverbial popcorn fart and the snow didn’t start falling until just outside Santa Fe, when the fuel light blinked on a few miles earlier than usual thanks to a stiff headwind.

The food and service at La Choza was undistinguished once again, which is a shame. It used to be the cheaper, easier little sister of The Shed, but I’m afraid I’m gonna have to start cuddling up to the higher-priced spread on the Plaza.

Happily, the IPA at Second Street Brewing was excellent as always, as was the cream stout. It was open mic’ night, and there was a kid’s birthday party going on right next to me, but the right beer takes the edge off that sort of thing.

It was interesting to watch as nearly everyone who walked into the brewpub instantly checked their smartphones to see if they’d missed anything in the handful of minutes they’d been untethered from the Giant Electronic Titty (this from a guy who just sent an iPhone pic to his PowerBook).

There won’t be any riding here tomorrow. The place has mud season and snow season going on simultaneously, and I didn’t bring a power washer with me. Maybe I’ll just grab a breakfast burrito at Tia Sophia, enjoy a leisurely soak at Ten Thousand Waves and then beat it for sunnier country — either Las Cruces or all the way to Tucson. I want tan lines, not brown stripes.

March 10th, 2010 | Tags: Southern Arizona Road Adventure | Category: Road trips | Comments (5)

Left behind: The Turk', as captured through the glass of the front storm door.

Upon finally getting out of Dodge I usually snap a shot of Bibleburg receding in the rear view mirror, but this time I thought I’d take a pic of Turkish wondering why I get to be outside and he doesn’t.

The Turk’ is fond of me in a benevolently rapacious fashion, but what he really loves is to be outside on a sunny day, rolling around in the driveway, thunking his shovel-shaped skull against the concrete with each ecstatic flip.

Turk’ can’t follow my peregrinations online, lacking the requisite interest, computer skills and thumbs, but you can continue to catch my little act here and/or at my backup blog, maddogmedia.wordpress.com. That rascal has up-to-date software and can be managed from the iPhone.

And should you pop round on Friday, be sure to wish Herself a happy birthday. No matter how many laps she jogs around the sun, she retains her ageless beauty. Maybe she’s running backward.

March 10th, 2010 | Category: Road trips | Comments (3)

Well, son of a bitch. There is a winter storm warning between me and points south. It seems a pile of snow is anticipated in Trinidad, Sex Change Capital of the World, and if it closes Raton Pass I will be in something of a time bind.

I do have a substantial cushion — I don’t really need to be in Tucson until Saturday afternoon. But I like to take my time on road trips, savoring this, that and the other, and this friggin’ storm may cost me some much-anticipated eating, drinking and soaking time in Santa Fe.

At moments like this I can understand why some people fly. Buy the ticket, check your luggage, fork over $175 each way to take a bike along, sample any number of airborne viruses while strapped down in your pressurized aluminum tube, reassemble the bike at your destination — assuming that (a) it and your toolkit get there, and (b) none of your stuff is destroyed — do your ride, then repeat the whole process in reverse, only this time with a severe upper-respiratory infection and an $8,000 bike with a dent in the down tube and an inexplicable stain on the saddle.

Y’know, come to think of it, driving a Subaru Forester packed to the gunwales with bike crap, journalism tools and camping gear through blizzard conditions seems kind of pleasurable by comparison.

March 9th, 2010 | Category: Bike stuff, Kvetching, Weather, Winter | Comments (4)