Meet Tumbleweed Bill

Each evening, as the campfire crackles and stars blink awake, he cradles his Tumbleweed Latte, a smooth blend of espresso, steamed milk, and caramel that tastes like the sweet end of a wild ride.

One night, a young barista named Clara, her apron dusted with flour, sat by the fire and asked, “Bill, were you really raised by coyotes?”

Tumbleweed Bill’s eyes sparkled like the desert night. “True as the sand’s hot, Clara. Fell off a wagon as a babe, no bigger’n a biscuit, back when I was just Bill. Coyotes took me in, taught me how to howl before I could talk. That’s why, as Pecos Bill, I could ride a tornado and stare down a catfish. Coyote blood’s still in me.” He sipped his latte, steam curling around his weathered hat.

“And the Rio Grande?” Clara pressed, as customers leaned in, their mugs warm in their hands.

“Diggin’ that was half coyote stubbornness,” Bill chuckled. “Just a shovel and coffee—black as tar back then, not this fancy stuff. Kept me goin’ through the nights.”

The folks around the fire laughed, kids tugging at their parents for more. Tumbleweed Bill spun tales of roping a shooting star (it burned his lasso clean through) and wrestling that giant catfish till it called him friend. Each story wove the magic of the old West, the coyote howl faint in his voice.

Tumbleweed Bill wasn’t just a mascot; he was the shop’s heart and proof that a wild spirit can find a home. Folks came from miles around, not just for the coffee but to sit by the fire, hear his stories from his days as Pecos Bill, and feel the desert’s pulse. And Bill? He was content, his tornado-riding, river-digging days behind him, happy to sip his latte and watch the tumbleweeds roll by.

So, swing by Tumbleweed Coffee & Bake Shop. Grab a Tumbleweed Latte, settle by the campfire, and ask Tumbleweed Bill for a tale. He’ll tip his hat, flash a coyote’s grin, and spin a story from his days as Pecos Bill that’ll make you believe in the wild, wide world all over again.