Bisbee is an odd little town. Set in a geologically fascinating canyon that juxtaposes gray limestone bluffs, crumbly red hills, and solid granite mountains, the town has a surreal, foreign feel to it. The streets wind up and down the hillsides, many only wide enough for one car to pass at a time. Wooden houses built in the early 1900s with corrugated tin roofs perch one above the other, some accessible only by the many long concrete stairways that ascend Bisbee’s steep canyon walls. I could write a book about Bisbee. I was born there and have fantastic memories of being young and free to explore the quirky old nooks, shady, dead-end streets, and beautiful wilderness, literally out my back door. In the photo above, my dad’s house is circled in red. As far as we can tell it was built sometime around 1903. I was born in this house, and I love it.

I’ve been meaning to write about the last 4th of July since, well, the 4th of July. 2 weeks later and I’m still in draft mode…ah such is my blogging life when my job involves sitting in front of a computer for 40 hours each week. It doesn’t exactly make me excited to run home and blog my fingers off. But enough of my whinging. Lets talk about the 4th of July in Bisbee. [Big, slightly fake open mouth smile + thumbs up]

I should give some account of all the cool stuff that goes on on the 4th in Bisbee, like the coaster races in the morning, the stupid parade that comes after that is just a bunch of local kids riding around in pickups and on flatbed trailers throwing candy to the spectators. But the real reason I want to talk about this last 4th is because of me. Me, me, me. I won $250 on the 4th. I knew I was going to win something, and I actually really needed the money to finance my funtime 4th party weekend. Gas, eating out, booze, it all takes its toll on the ducatry, the cheddar, the dollar-dollar-bill y’all onetime-onetime, if you will.

You see in addition to all of the other fun things, Bisbee hosts some unique contests, feats of strength, on the 4th. Around 2pm everyone gathers in the Gulch, which is an area down near the center of town where the seediest and oldest bar in town, St. Elmo’s (aka “Smellmo’s”), is located. The street is blocked off, bleachers go up, and drinking in the street is permitted. A giant granite rock, flat on top and bottom, sits on top of a flatbed. Men compete to see who can drill the deepest hole with nothing but a hammer and chisel bit in 10 minutes. It is a grueling contest, but the winner can expect as much as $1000, so people take this contest seriously.

The next feat of strength is the mucking contest, and this is what I have come for. Eli and I have placed well in this event before, so we feel confident. Mucking is a dirty sounding word for shovelling. Teams of 2 guys (sometimes girls) compete to see who can fill up an old ore cart with rock gravel in the fastest time. Winning times are usually around 1 minute 15 seconds or so, and again the winners can expect in the neighborhood of $800, with money being paid down to 5th or 6th place.

This year there were 17 teams in the mucking contest. Eli and I took 4th place with a time of 1 minute 20.3 seconds, winning $500 between the 2 of us. Not bad for a minutes worth of work, but I will say that the last 40 seconds are some of the longest, most difficult seconds of my life. My lungs burn, my back screams, my legs feel like wood, and I wouldn’t mind vomiting. But I would like to win a couple hundred bucks, so I reach back and pull out everything I have left. I throw the shovel down and stagger away when the whistle finally blows, oblivious to the pats on the back and cheers from the drunken crown. As I catch my breath and hear our time announced over the PA, I smile. Were were the last team to go, and I know we placed 4th and made some money. I laugh and say “You’re welcome” to my good friend Noah, because he and his partner came in .5 seconds ahead of us. He had asked us to please not to beat his time…