We had taken the trike out for a quick ride through town and stopped at the O.K. Cafe for breakfast. Over coffee and a substantial meal, we laid out the plan for the day.

Our primary destination was the site of Johnny Ringo’s death and the isolated grave where he was buried in 1882.

The Plan Looked Simple

From Tombstone, the route would take us through southeastern Arizona toward Pearce and then onto Turkey Creek Road in the Chiricahua foothills.

On the map, it didn’t look particularly difficult.

The weather was clear, there was no rain in sight, and although Turkey Creek Road was unpaved, we figured the dirt-road portion would be less than five miles.

How bad could it be?

We would eventually get an answer to that question—but that is a story for another post.

For today’s trip, we decided to take the trike.

During our stay in Tombstone we had been using it to get around town and the surrounding country. One of our photographs from the trip shows it parked beside the Crystal Palace on Allen Street. Afternoon rain had been passing through the area, but that morning the weather looked good for the ride ahead.

Breakfast in Tombstone

The O.K. Cafe provided a good place to make our plans before heading out.

The breakfast menu had plenty to choose from. My wife ordered a Swiss cheese omelet, while I went with something resembling a cowboy skillet—the exact name has been lost to memory. Whatever they called it, there was plenty of it.

Breakfast finished, we headed out of Tombstone.

Our GPS routed us back past the house we had rented for the trip. That unexpected detour produced one of those moments that has nothing to do with the history you’re chasing but becomes part of the trip anyway.

An Unexpected Roadblock

As we approached the house, several deer began crossing the road directly in front of us.

We stopped the trike and watched.

The lead buck looked our way but seemed remarkably unconcerned by our presence. After giving us a brief inspection, the group continued on its way toward Fremont Street.

We managed to get a photograph before they disappeared.

It was a good start to the morning—and a reminder that despite the traffic, tourists, historic buildings and gunfight stories, Tombstone still sits squarely in the high desert of southeastern Arizona.

Then it was time to get back to the reason we were there.

Into Ringo Country

We left Tombstone and headed toward Pearce and the country surrounding Turkey Creek.

Johnny Ringo had been found dead there on July 14, 1882, seated against a tree with a bullet wound to his head. He was buried nearby, far from the streets and saloons of Tombstone with which his name is so often associated.

More than 140 years later, we wanted to see the country for ourselves.

Where was Ringo actually found? What did the terrain look like? How isolated was the location? And after standing on the ground and comparing it with the surviving accounts, would the circumstances of his death make any more sense?

We were about to find out.

The road ahead would provide some answers.

It would also raise a few more questions.

And before we ever reached Johnny Ringo’s grave, we were going to learn that “less than five miles of dirt road” can mean something very different in the mountains of southeastern Arizona.