I know it’s obvious to say the desert is hot but 2020 was absurd.

On top of a compressed and stressful week in the Phoenix area juggling work, job interviews, travel, and exploring the desert and forest, I watched the temperature display in my aging BMW climb to 118F. The cooling fan made sounds indicative of a helicopter landing while the oil temp gauge crept disconcertingly upward.

I desperately needed to calm down. After an hour long massage in Scottsdale followed by steaks with old friends up in Surprise, I drove two hours south to Tucson.

I love the Phoenix area for what it is — highly transactional and briskly paced. It isn’t as lonely as Los Angeles but it’s missing some local culture. Phoenicians are fine people but they come from everywhere, a contrast to the midwest where everyone knows everyone and traces their local lineage back several generations. Though I have a huge network of friends and family there, Phoenix is primarily a town of strangers.

Tucson’s different. A metro area with just a half million people, it’s a younger and more independently minded place. Offbeat aesthetics take the place of commercial polish. Hotel McCoy fits the vibe perfectly, a place to enjoy the comforts of the present with the bright aesthetics of the 1960s.

McCoy’s bones are a highway motor lodge that would have been popular in the Mad Men era with spacious and sparkling clean rooms flanking each side of a large parking lot, greeting visitors with a bright blue Ford Thunderbird.

I rolled in at 11:30pm completely exhausted, greeted by a friendly clerk and a stunning lobby, detailed in every way from the pens to the light fixtures.

After receiving a drink token and room key I wandered around the lobby taking in the local artwork (for sale, commission free).

Each parking space bears the name of someone or something from the region, a Walk of Fame for locals. The building itself serves as a canvas, adorned inside and out with spectacular murals, light fixtures, and messages of peace, calm, and compassion.

My room featured a mural painted by the same young woman who checked me in, an outline of Arizona’s boundaries with a rattlesnake and blooming foliage. It is, effectively, a perfect summary of the rugged yet beautiful landscape that defines the high desert.

My deluxe room came with a retro-styled fridge, 55″ television with Roku, hangers, luggage stand, a spectacularly comfortable mattress, a kitchenette with a waffle maker, and a spectacular air conditioner. During the pandemic, food and beverage service were handled by employees properly masked and gloved for guest safety.

My old friend Brandon works here (he invited me) and tossed in a couple bonus items. Loved it!

I wandered the property taking photos and checked out the pool and artwork, fetching a fresh beer at the front desk.

I love the physical indulgence of hotels — sleeping in the nude on someone else’s sheets, rolling around on a cloudlike mattress, cranking the AC down to 65, knocking back a few drinks, leaving the lights on, showering until my fingers wrinkle, and sprawling out in careless solitude. But the Hotel McCoy goes beyond bodily comfort and achieves something spiritual. I felt calm, like I’d found peace. After the stressful, intense, and gut wrenching day I endured, I really needed this.

Add to that a year that involved losing my job, getting it back, my dog dying, this bizarre pandemic, and relocating several times. It’s been a stream of endless chaos and the Hotel McCoy was a much needed reminder of humanity, decency, and peace.

They say Tucson is magic. I’m starting to get it.

For the best rate, call them directly at 1-844-STAY-MCCOY or visit https://hotelmccoy.com/

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