Begging for a Jail Cell

Jail time. Johnny Cash sang about it, Waylon Jennings lived it, and I was begging for it. Although I had committed no crime against humanity, I found myself standing in a police station waiting for a jail cell. Outside the station the night was dark and cool. I had already been talking with the police for what seemed like an hour and yet my jail cell was not forthcoming. Now, it’s not every day that one begs to be placed in jail, so an explanation seems necessary.

My story begins in the waning hours of dusk, which found me descending from the forested mountains on a bicycle. By the time I reached the historic mining town of Bisbee, in southern Arizona it was pitch black. The only camping available was a graveled RV campground, which had an appeal factor of zero. A talk with the locals was a necessity. I road my bike along what seemed to be Main Street and stopped on the plaza.

My first encounter was with a woman selling jewelry to tourists at a small mobile stand. Explaining that I was traveling by bicycle and in need of a place to camp, I asked for suggestions. She gave me somewhat vague directions to a dirt road that lead to a hill overlooking the town. Thanking her, I made my way to the swinging doors.

As I went outside into the night a man looking to be in his mid-twenties approached me. He had overheard the conversation and urgently recommended against camping on the aforementioned hill. He explained that the hill was regularly used for religious rituals that included cat sacrifices. I harbor a well-earned dislike for felines, yet being awoken to the sounds of a sacrificial cat ritual is not my idea of a good time. The man recommended that I camp along a certain side road, and gave me directions. I gratefully thanked him for the warning and for suggesting a better alternative.

The sky had been dark for well over an hour before I reached the road the man had recommended. After about a mile I started searching the shadows for a secluded camping spot. Soon I came to a sign that abruptly ended my searching. It simply read: Prison area, do not pick up hitchhikers. So after hours of darkness I was still without a place to sleep.

Having spent the last few weeks traveling the backroads of America I was adapt at finding places to camp, but now I was at a total loss. I wearily rode in the darkness to the local police station and explained my situation to the dispatcher on the intercom outside the building. She let me inside and we talked across the bulletproof glass. My situation was worsened by the fact that Bisbee is within fifty miles of the U.S./Mexico border, where illegal immigration and drug running is a huge concern. She explained that illegal immigrants were relatively harmless; they might approach me for some food and water. Of course, drug runners were a whole other story.

So now I found myself seated in a hard plastic chair waiting while she talked on the radio with the patrol officer on duty. Tired and desperate for a place to sleep I begged for a jail cell for the night. They simply didn’t know what to do with me. After about an hour they told me that I could camp on the high school’s athletic field. Back on my bicycle it took only a few minutes to reach the high school. Seeing that it was a clear night I simply laid out my sleeping bag in the center of the high school track field, made a quick dinner, and went to bed exhausted.

As I awoke in morning I felt the strange sensation that I was being watched. Raising my head ever so slightly, I discovered that I was at center-stage for the morning walkers. About half a dozen of them were circling me on the track getting their morning exercise. I was so embarrassed! Yet I needed to eat so I cooked and ate a quick bowl of oatmeal as they circled me. Then without the protective walls of my tarp I had to change into my cycling clothes in the tight confines of my mummy sleeping bag; which was not an easy task! I left my track field spotlight and hoped no one would notice my red face of embarrassment. Now, years later I simply laugh at the thought of my awkward predicament and the night I spent begging for a jail cell in Bisbee, Arizona.