I like bikes. Motorcycles, mainly. Motorcycles have long featured in my relationship with this place.
My first night at the Copper Queen hotel was in a shared room with longtime BMW pilot and all-around ubermensch Don Stanley. I was on my Honda ST at the time. We kinda sneered at each other in a good-natured way. I had a couple more cylinders to play with, so I knew I’d win had we decided to lay it on the line on an all-out deathrace back to I-10. We had a beer instead. I let him off easy.
Bisbee makes a nice target for a motorcycle ride from Phoenix–the eternal f-ng now of I-10 between Tempe and Tucson notwithstanding. Once you’re south of Benson things get more interesting.
Anyway, in Bisbee the whole town kinda caters to the mindset of people who get around on 150-horsepower bicycles just because they wanna.
No one can really explain the lure of motorcycling. No one can really explain the lure of Bisbee. You either get it or you don’t.