December 31, 2025 to January 2, 2026:
I felt better today, which—spoiler alert—turned out to be the eye of the storm. Still, spirits were high as we headed out of Arizona with plans to stop at Kartchner Caverns, plus the towns of Tombstone and Bisbee. What could possibly go wrong?
Kartchner Caverns was genuinely amazing. We went on a guided cave tour that involved four separate air locks, all designed to protect the cave from drying out. Then—because caves are apparently very sensitive—we were lightly misted to keep our lint from falling off our bodies and blanketing the cave like some kind of sweater apocalypse.
Immediately after our lint misting, George began blowing his nose. Repeatedly. With an aggressively linty tissue. Oops.
Despite this, the cave was absolutely pristine, with dramatic formations. Except for one very large pile of 45,000-year-old bat guano sitting right next to the tour path. Apparently that is okay to leave behind. Lint? Unacceptable. Ancient bat poop? Museum-quality artifact. After the tour, we emerged blinking into the sunlight, feeling cultured, slightly damp, and only mildly responsible for the slow destruction of a protected natural wonder.
After the caverns, we stopped at Fairbanks Ghost Town, which had some interesting history and absolutely zero interest in pretending it was still alive. Then we headed to Tombstone for the night.
Tombstone is an old town that has fully leaned into its Wild West past in a deliberate effort not to become Fairbanks. The result is a carefully curated version of the Old West, right down to the streets—which look dusty and rugged but are, in fact, concrete with dirt sprinkled on top like seasoning. Authentic vibes, modern infrastructure.
We biked and walked around town, taking it all in. If you have ever been to Deadwood, Tombstone will be a letdown. Deadwood is gritty. Tombstone is cosplay, though its history is still very interesting.
We stopped into Big Nose Kate’s Saloon and sat at the bar like real outlaws… and ordered two sarsaparillas. They tasted like rust, which I assume means the bottles had time to age naturally beneath their caps. Apparently not many people wander into a saloon and order sarsaparilla. Lesson learned.
While there, we got our free Old West photo taken and listened to live music before the town officially shut down around 5:15 p.m. Not quite like the “Wild West” of old.
To celebrate New Year’s Eve, we returned to the camper for hot cocoa, microwave popcorn, and the movie Tombstone, all about the O.K. Corral shootout—featuring Doc Holliday and the Earp brothers taking down the infamous Cowboy Gang.
I also lit my new Christmas candle because the camper batteries were officially dying, and once the sun goes down, everything becomes flashlight-based. Candlelight felt festive. Also necessary.
The movie itself was pretty good, but I ruined it immediately afterward by reading Wikipedia. Turns out Wyatt Earp wasn’t exactly a hero. Even though he was techinally a lawman, he also had four common-law wives (at different times) and ran several brothels. Same with Doc Holliday. History is complicated. Hollywood is generous.
We retired long before midnight and listened to it rain all night. Too bad we left our shoes outside.
On New Year’s Day, we continued out of Arizona, stopping in Bisbee. Bisbee is apparently the gayest town in the United States—and I do not mean happy. It has strong San Francisco energy, except miniaturized and dropped into the middle of nowhere. Many of the streets don’t allow car access to individual homes; instead, you climb anywhere from three to eight flights of stairs. Imagine being the pizza delivery driver. Or just… living there.
We checked out the massive old copper pit mine just outside town and read about its history, then drove on to Chiricahua National Monument. The monument features a steep six-mile scenic drive leading to a wonderland of hoodoos and balanced rocks. There was a short one-mile hike I really wanted to do, but by then my illness had returned with a vengeance and absolutely vetoed that plan.
When George said he wanted to bike back down to the bottom, while I drove, I let him go. Normally I’d cry “unfair,” but I was so sick I didn’t even want to bike. On my drive down, I saw a coati for the first time, which felt like a consolation prize.
We drove onward and finally entered New Mexico. We’ve barely scratched the surface of Arizona, so we’ll absolutely be back.
That night we stayed at Pancho Villa State Park, a border town near Mexico. The park is named after Pancho Villa, who once invaded and ransacked the U.S. town of Columbus, killing civilians and soldiers. Apparently, naming the park after him was meant to show goodwill and our “continuing friendly relations with Mexico." I'm still shaking my head at that one and wondering how it escaped the modern canceling trend.
I woke up the next morning—or possibly never slept at all—feeling like a ball of misery. You know the feeling: head, ears, neck, and teeth all hurt. Lips painfully chapped because mouth-breathing is now your personality. Chest on fire every time you cough up whatever horror settled in overnight. Add in completely failing camper batteries, forcing us to live by flashlight after dark.
Yeah. That was me.
Despite all this, and because I hate resting, we got up and explored the historical exhibits at the park. Did you know Pancho Villa’s 1916 raid was the last foreign incursion on U.S. soil? Or that Germany encouraged Mexico to distract the U.S. while they prepared to attack our allies by submarine during World War I? Very educational.
After that, we walked across the border into Puerto Palomas. This was especially interesting to us because we have a white neighbor whose family comes from an old LDS colony in Mexico called Colonia Dublán, and this is where they always cross when visiting home.
Honestly, Puerto Palomas was the nicest Mexican border town we’ve seen so far. Small, calm, Christmas decorations still up, and a sign that matched the one in Columbus. It felt peaceful. Which was nice, because I felt like absolute garbage.
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