I woke up and it was a clear motel morning. The turbulent skies of yesterday evening had cleared, leaving a whisper of cloud over the distant mountains, their undersides catching the early light. Wilcox was already coming to life. Trucks and cars were on the move, the gas station across the street receiving the first customers of the new day.
The Harley rider of the previous evening was out, making adjustments to his bike. We exchanged compliments of the day and he told me that the small group with whom he was riding were from New York City. Sparing their precious Harleys, and themselves, the two-and-a-half-thousand miles it takes to get down here, they’d hauled their bikes on trailers. On arrival, they’d unloaded and set out on a motorcycling round trip. Today’s spin out to the Four Corners would see them done, after which they’d rendezvous with their transport, load up and motor back to the east coast: they, like me, briefly living the illusion of freedom found between the lines on the road before surrendering to the maxim that – sooner or later - all roads lead to home. I wished him well and prepared to leave.
My plan today was to breakfast at the Gadsden Hotel in the border town of Douglas. The hotel was built in 1907, when Arizona was a Territory rather than a State and became home-away-from-home for cattlemen, ranchers, miners, and businessmen. Nearly every Arizona Governor has stayed in the Governor's Suite, as did Eleanor Roosevelt. Levelled by fire, The Gadsden was rebuilt and opened once more in 1929. It’s glory days long gone and on the brink of closure, in 1988 the hotel was rescued by North Dakota wheat farmers Doris & Hartman Brekhus.
Today, the hotel hangs on in a town that is struggling to adapt in a world that has passed it by. The main street has been all but stripped of the small-town, family businesses on which it once thrived and those that remain struggle to make a living from the dwindling number of tourists that once used Douglas as a port of entry for shopping and leisure trips into Mexico. In recent years, vicious and bloody drugs feuds waged openly on the streets of Mexican border towns has scared many away.
The Gadsden’s lobby, with its white Italian marble staircase and four soaring marble columns, remains the jewel in a somewhat battered and tarnished crown. An authentic Tiffany stained glass mural extends forty-two feet across one wall of the massive mezzanine. An impressive oil painting by Audrey Jean Nichols is just below the window. Vaulted stained glass skylights run the full length of the lobby. The front desk is of a time that has been consigned to the skip of the unwanted past in many a refurbished hotel, along with the staff, that here, continue to practice the antiquated rituals of yesteryear. Spend an hour or so in the place in company with the faintly surreal cast of staff and guests and it’s easy to imagine that you’re an extra in a movie directed by David Lynch or Wim Wenders.
I love this creaking old Registered National Monument and dearly hope that it survives for no better reason than that they do a great breakfast in The El Conquistador Dining Room. Viva El Gadsden.
SeasideMan
Pro 
I could almost swear that hotel lobby features in the film Barton Fink!