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I like bikes. Motorcycles, mainly. Motorcycles have long featured in my relationship with this place.

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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.

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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.

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Anyway, in Bisbee the whole town kinda caters to the mindset of people who get around on 150-horsepower bicycles just because they wanna.

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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.

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