#Red rock coffee Patch#
#Red rock coffee crack#

I have not seen him since, but I have a feeling he is never far away. I buy a coffee for the road get into the car without looking at the goblin again. Normally, that part of the trail is cordoned off.” I tell her about the fork, but I don’t mention the goblin. Less than two hours have passed since I left the parking lot. Eventually, I find myself back at the trailhead without really knowing how I got there. Once or twice, I see him disappear around a bend, but I never get a good look at him. I try to catch up with him, but he is too fast for me. He is charging ahead, up the hill towards the left. I get back on the bike, and the goblin appears again.

#Red rock coffee Patch#

To the right, it winds gently down to what looks like a patch of green. To the left, the path snakes up a steep incline. After about twenty minutes, I get to a fork in the trail. When I try to look at him directly, he disappears. I only see him from the corner of my eye. It’s the goblin with the coffee bean head. I look over my shoulder, but there is no-one there. Once the coffee pot is out of sight, I get the feeling that someone is following me. The rest of the trail is a tangle of switchbacks. I lean the bike against a boulder to look at the map. On top, there is a bulge that could be a lid. On the other side, there is a smaller protrusion that could be a handle. On one side, there is a big protrusion that could be a snout. The coffee pot is less impressive than I thought it would be.

By the time I get to the coffee pot, I am soaked with sweat, and my water bottle is almost empty. The wheels keep skidding in unexpected ways. The trailhead is less than a mile from the parking lot. > More stories about cycling and coffee? Soigneur suggests: Cocoravelo < She hands me a helmet, a water bottle, and a map of the trail. “A red rock that is shaped like a coffee pot.” “In that case, I recommend the coffee pot.” It’s a two-hour drive to the airport, and I still need to return the rental. I lean it against the window and step back inside. But this one feels like it was made for me. Normally, I’m a road person, mostly because I have never found a comfortable position on a mountain bike. I take the Ghost for a spin in the parking lot. It’s the color of fresh blood, with handsome skin-wall tires. There is even one with an extra-large frame that looks like it might just be tall enough for me. “I’d love to, but I don’t have my bike with me.

The second espresso is even better than the first. After half a minute, she places a tiny red cup on the counter in front of me. I watch her grind the beans, load the filter, and fire up the machine. I order an espresso from the pony-tailed barista. The inside of the Bike & Bean is dominated by a shiny La Marzocco Linea, the stainless-steel version with ruby-red trim.

#Red rock coffee crack#

The crack in the bean looks like a crooked smile. Outside the Bike & Bean, there is a metal sculpture of a rusty red goblin riding a bicycle. I pull off the highway and into the empty parking lot.

My meeting in Flagstaff finished early, and my flight back to New Orleans doesn’t leave until late at night. I had people to meet in Flagstaff, errands to run in Tucson, or a plane to catch in Phoenix. Something else was always more important. Doesn’t that sound like heaven on earth? And yet I drove past it countless times. Imagine my delight when I spotted the billboard for the Bike & Bean on Highway 179 in Sedona, Arizona: “The cyclist’s coffee shop”.