As a vegetarian since 1989, I’ve never liked rodeos.

The whole idea of tying up an animal or wrestling him to the ground for sport always just seemed appalling to me.

I had never actually seen a rodeo in person before, but all these years took PETA on its word that  “rodeos are nothing more than manipulative displays of human domination over animals, thinly disguised as entertainment.”

Skill or Stupidity? You Decide.

When we were in Sweetwater, we happened to camp out at the fairgrounds the same weekend the West Texas Rodeo Association was in town. For just the price of our campsite, we had the option of checking out two days worth of events, free. Jim assumed I would want to leave, or at least organize a protest. But something compelled me to check it out. Being a cheapskate I figured I had nothing to lose if I found it as horrible as I always heard it would be. At least I would know PETA wasn’t exaggerating. After all these years, this veggie-burger eatin’, sprout growin’ hippie was going to judge rodeos for herself, I thought.

We watched all sorts of amateur rodeo competitions, like chute dogging, where a contestant (always male, wonder why?) jumps into the steer’s chute and when the gates are opened, hangs on by the horns while the steer runs down the field and then the guy attempts to wrestle the animal to the ground within 30 seconds.

There was also goat tying, where brawny farm girls wearing feed caps ride into the stadium on a horse, dismount, then try to throw down and tie up a tethered goat as fast as possible.

Now, call me crazy, but I think it’s pretty unfair to prod a steer to run down a field, then twist his head nearly 360 degrees around until it falls down and call it sport. Or run after a terrified baby goat that’s screaming to get away, because he knows exactly what’s coming.

On the other hand, I also learned that other competitions like barrel racing or team roping were far more reflective of true skill. Team roping is when two contestants ride alongside a steer and one tries to throw a lasso around a horn while the other goes after the steer’s rear leg with a lasso. You try throwing a lasso at a moving target and see how easy it is. I know I can’t.

Respect All Life, Silly Cowpokes!

Clearly, in the bygone days of the Old West, many of these exercises were of a way of life for cowpokes on the ranch. These competitions weren’t just games, they were a necessary part of making a living. Seeing amateur rodeo gave me a tiny glimpse into that world, and for that reason I was glad I went.

I didn’t see any evidence of livestock mistreatment, but apparently PETA has lots of footage of rodeo animal abuse, and it’s rampant in big money competitions.

Still, so much of what I saw billed as “competition” was just mean, violent and unfair to the animals. I can only hope that in a world where many of us recognize the value in making cats and dogs part of our families, more people will adopt these same compassionate attitudes toward all creatures great and small, not just the ones we consider “pets.”

Judging by the few spectators at the Sweetwater rodeo, this might actually be happening. One can always hope, anyways.

“Home” … it has a weird sound to it.

After nearly three years on the road, it’s strange settling back in here at Jerry’s Acres knowing that we’ll be here until it’s time to head south again next winter. We were only here a couple months before hitting the road again last season, and having returned I suppose we are officially Snowbirds now, or Snabbers rather.

Though I thought Snowbirds were supposed to travel away from the snow! It was snowing when we left last October, and as I look out the window now it seems we are living in a snow globe, and someone is shaking it really hard. Just a couple weeks ago we were sweating it out down in Texas – running the A/C all day, thinking it was time to head “home” … now we wondering when we might be able to stop wearing multiple layers!

The good news is, I must have done something right with my directions for how to winterize a mountain home.

After doing our best not to fear the worst for the past few months, we returned to a clean house, perfectly intact, where everything came back online without any problems. No broken windows, no burst pipes, no critters trapped inside, no worries. We were even prepared to spend a few nights in the RV, having no idea what to expect upon our return. But considering this crazy weather, I’m certainly glad to be inside, next to the fire.

Bonus: My motorcycle even fired right up after sitting stored over the winter. Before we left, I had added some Stabil to the gas tank and turned off the fuel line, letting it run dry. I disconnected the battery, wrapped the bike in moving blankets and forgot about it. Then, a couple months ago I got to wondering, “Can the water in batteries freeze?” Well, apparently not, at least not this time.

Best of all, we had a welcoming party greet us upon our return. The day after we got back, René spotted a moose walking down the road past our house. The next day, we saw two moose cows and a calf – the same one we saw last year I believe – crossing our property while out for a walk. And earlier today we had a nice little training session with Wyatt learning not to bark at deer right outside the window.

It’s good to be “home” … but don’t worry, we have lots of stories to catch up on from our not so recent adventures. And before we know it the time will come to head back out on the open road in our home sweet home on wheels!

The Law of Attraction is simple: like attracts like. I’ve found the theory to hold true when it comes to the kinds of people we meet in life.

In the early 90s, Jim and I were riding our motorcycles in the Bay Area when we met Nancy, an 80 year-old woman who was riding a Gold Wing.

I was dumbfounded that a woman her age was on a bike, but then she told me she used to be a World War II Ferry Pilot, which made motorcycling look like child’s play. As one of the few women bikers at the time, I felt an instant kinship with her.

To this day, her courageous spirit still influences my life, even on our trip across Texas.

Flying Across Texas Into WASP History

In World War II, while the men-folk were off fighting the war, a small group of gutsy women were recruited by the US Air Force to fly military planes from factories to air bases. They also towed targets on the back of these planes while male fighter pilots practiced firing at them with live ammunition!

About 2,000 WASPS trained at the Sweetwater, Texas airport and just over 1,000 women graduated as the first non-combat US military pilots, known as “WASPS” (Women Airforce Service Pilots). As non-combat pilots, these women freed up male pilots from “drudge work” so they could fight on the frontlines.

Nancy was one of these courageous gals. Even after the program was disbanded at the end of the war, she continued flying until one day when she decided to fly a small plane underneath the Golden Gate Bridge!  That’s when she was banned forever from flying. So instead she hopped on a bike and continued riding for decades.

A recent story about the WASPs on NPR reminded me of her. That’s when I also learned that the official WASP museum is located in Sweetwater, Texas, which happened to be on this year’s “Eating Across Texas” route. Jim and I were headed there to do another round of home cookin’ at Allen’s Fried Chicken, and once I heard the NPR story, I put the museum on our itinerary.

The WASP Museum: Frozen in Time

The WASP museum is housed in the original 1920s-era aircraft hanger where the WASPs trained.

Inside, a collection of memorabilia, video and props tells the story of these heroic women who came from all walks of life to train as pilots, for a meagre $150 a month salary.

The program was controversial and had its detractors but these women endured to become the first military pilots in the country.

But because the Air Force hired them as Civil Service employees, the WASPs never received military status or benefits because the war ended before a congressional act could be enacted to give them military recognition.

The WASPs were nearly forgotten in history until the 1970s, when the Navy announced that women would be allowed to fly combat planes. As more military women aspired to and became fighter pilots, the story of their WWII  predecessors was resurrected.

The WASPs Get their Props

Years went by until these courageous women were finally recognized by our government. Just a few months ago the WASPs received the Congressional Gold Medal in Washington.

WASP Pilot Betty Wahl Strohfus, pictured getting her medal, is one of just 300 surviving WASPs.

I don’t know what happened to Nancy, but my memory of our run-in has always stayed dear to my heart. I can’t help but think that much of my good fortune in life comes from that chance encounter I had with such a courageous soul who wasn’t afraid of taking chances. She influenced me more than she’ll ever know.

Seeing the actual spot in Sweetwater where she and so many brave women earned their pilots wings will always serve to inspire myself (and many, many other women) toward more adventure in our lifetimes.

They came. They got to know each other. They made cocktails.

I’m speaking of the Nü Rvers of course, at their recent get-together in Gonzales, Texas for Days of the Nü II. One highlight from this year’s gathering was the first Bartender Wars.

Ben and Karen took first place with their Blazing Bloody Mary, and we brought home the Best Presentation award thanks to our Nü Hawaiian, complete with theme music and little umbrellas. (Thanks to Sam and Tracy!)

But as we promised the fine folks from Republic Tequila – who we met at the first Luckenbach Hat Festival, which they sponsored – we brought along a bottle of their new Reposado for the Nü Crew to try out.

Enjoy this video of us preparing a batch of Republic Texas Tea and getting feedback from a few true tequila afficionados …

After making this batch of Republic Texas Tea, and passing around a few straight shots, the votes were unanimous – well, almost. Among actual tequila drinkers the consensus was; Republic Tequila rocks! It is aromatic and mellow, ultra-smooth and easy drinking – fine to sip, and most excellent mixed.

Here’s the topper, Republic Tequila is made with 100% certified organic blue agave at La Quemada, one of Mexico’s only organic distilleries. Even better, Republic uses recycled Jack Daniels charred American Oak barrels for aging their tequilas – 8 months for the Reposado and 20 months for the Añejo. And best yet, the people behind the brand are good-hearted, fun-loving folks who share a common goal; to create and market the world’s perfect tequila.

They might have done just that. Everyone has that one liquor they just can’t drink anymore. And while I make a mean margarita, I haven’t been able to sip straight tequila for years due to circumstances I care to not divulge, or can’t remember. But once I tasted the Republic Reposado, my aversion might just be cured.

Republic Tequila – “Born in Mexico, Raised in Texas” – was launched last August and is already in four states. Look for Republic throughout Texas at Spec’s Fine Spirits. I’m just glad it’s available in Colorado now! By the time of this writing you should also be able to buy it in Oklahoma, New Mexico and Arizona.

If your favorite liquor store doesn’t carry Republic Tequila, tell them they should! If they do, you can’t miss it on the shelf. It’s the one in the Texas shaped bottle. But this is much more than just a gimmick. It symbolizes the spirit of this spirit, its big hand-crafted taste, and the freedom you’ll feel after sipping some … responsibly of course.

Some stores may also have Republic in the “tall” bottle. But what fun is that considering this tale Jack told about how the Republic bottle came to be… “We started drinking in Amarillo,” he said pointing to the neck of the bottle. “By lunch we had reached Abilene,” he adds and points to middle of bottle. “It was so good, we kept on drinking until we reached South Padre Island!” Or something like that, but anyone who knows their Texas geography understands that means it’s time for a new bottle.

When I posted on Facebook that we were going to Houston, my Texan friend Karen said “Be sure to stop at Buc-ees!”

Thinking it was another great Texas BBQ joint, I said, “Sure! What is it?” Then she explained:

Buc-ees is a fast-growing chain of super clean, shiny gas stations in southeast Texas that people are fanatical about.

A gas station?

I gathered from the Buc-ee’s (pronounced “Bucky’s”) website that along with fuel, they sold touristy knick knacks and some Texas souvenirs. So I added this curiosity to our agenda. When we left the NuRVers Rally in Gonzales last week, we drove some 16 miles out of our way to see their flagship store in Luling.

“Bu-cees: Everything You Ever Needed, You Just Didn’t Know It”

Buc-ees is a new phenomena that’s exploding because of their crazy Texas highway billboard campaign and sparkling restrooms that rival any in the finest casinos in Vegas (and even my own RV’s bathroom!).

As we walked through the shiny doors in Luling,  I swore I heard angels singing. One look inside, and it was obvious: Buc-ees is more than a gas station.

It’s the closest thing to a religious experience I’ve ever had!

That cute little Beaver sells aisles of tasty road food, over 18 different kinds of the best fudge we’ve ever eaten, rows of homemade Texas eats like chow-chow and pickled okra, local music CDs, lawn furniture, toys, sporting goods and endless choices of Buc-ee’s propaganda.

Nothing is cheap looking or second-rate, it’s all first class and big, loud and proud, just like Texas!

And don’t think for a minute that the hook was in the gas prices, because they were cheaper than the competition.

After traveling over 35,000 in the last three years, I was practically on my knees, stricken with surprise and happiness at seeing a gas station that was so happy to see me!

My only gripe; they’re not big-rig friendly on purpose, so if you’ve got anything longer than a 40′ RV, you’ll need to park on the street. But trust me, it’s worth the effort.

Some people are afraid of Buc-ee’s cult-like following. And now that I think about it, they might be right. Maybe that sneaky little Beaver is dosing the fudge with something illicit. Because somehow before we walked out, I willingly surrendered nearly $40 on fudge, chow-chow, “Beaver Nuggets” (think: deep fried Corn Puffs) and a Beaver hat for Jim. Me, the biggest penny pincher there is, was happy to give it all up for Buc-ee’s.

Strange. Very. Very. Strange.

There is simply not enough time to enjoy all the barbecue goodness Texas has to offer. From the big cities and fast highways to every sleepy little town and winding FM (Farm to Market) road, the savory smell of smoking meat can be enjoyed as it radiates from rickety shacks and strip malls alike. It even overpowers the ever present aroma of Texas oil country.

Last year in Luckenbach, René promised me a dinner at Hondo’s in Fredericksburg. This year, she kept her promise. Hondo’s is an informal, self-serve restaurant with a menu sure to please any discriminating taste, and yes, they have BBQ. Place your order and have a seat on the shaded patio sipping a cool tea until your pager blinks. We might have sat inside and stuck around for the live Music if we weren’t taking a break from the Hat Festival.

After seriously considering the brisket, I opted for the special – “a generous portion of whatever David’s been smokin’ all day” – and was informed that the 2 lbs of ribs came just like that, just ribs. So I added some fried onion strings, and was reassured by a sincere “Mmmmmm…” from the woman taking our order.

I traded a bunch of crispy strings for for some of René’s succulent grilled Mahi Mahi salad. There was no way I could eat so many ribs without some fresh greens. And fresh they were.

I would have certainly hurt myself even trying to finish the big ol’ basket of ribs, so leftovers were in order. With some grits and greens topped with remaining onion strings, I got tasty BBQ two days in a row – bonus!

After passing far too many BBQ joints – with names like Fat Boy’s and Bubba’s BBQ – over the next couple weeks, we found another gastronomical treasure at Pop’s Pit in Brookshire, Texas. Pop’s is old school BBQ at it’s best, but these days you’ll even find traditional places like Pop’s Pit on Facebook!

Pop’s Pit is home of the Heart Attack sandwich, chopped beef and sausage. But after ordering the ribs, I spotted the brisket sitting on the counter. It comes sliced or chopped, on a bun or in a bowl, and it looked – and smelled – too good to pass up. I opted for the sliced beef sandwich, and got a funny look when clarifying our side order of beans and slaw. After all, René had just ordered the Suicide Spud wit the same sides, to split. “She’s gonna eat all that?” the woman asked. “No” I said with a grin, we were splitting the side dishes. “I’s gonna say…” was her only reply as she turned to shout our order to whom I presume had to be Pop.

The woman’s reaction was clearly understandable once our food was ready in the walk up window. Another bonus for me: the sausage and chopped beef that comes with the monster baked potato smothered in melted butter and sour cream. The beef was tender and tasty, but leftovers were once again in order. The smoked sausage scrambled up with eggs the next day made for another one of those memorable all day breakfasts.

The final bonus at Pop’s was that we got dinner and a show! Shortly after sitting down at the shaded picnic table with our mess ‘o food, police cars started zipping by with sirens blaring. Then they went the other way, and back again. A parade was about to begin. As I sat licking my fingers, feeling satisfied, and finishing René’s iced tea, she ran off with the camera to capture the colorful Cinco De Mayo celebration passing by.

As paramedics brought up the rear, I felt safe knowing help was nearby if I decided to eat just one more piece of sausage. Allen’s, here we come!

One last word about Slab City*: Freedom

My final answer to those who may question a stop at Slab City based solely on it’s outward appearance is that the whole scene is all about the people, and the freedom they choose to experience – and share – with others.

Boondocking on the Slabs is free, in many more ways than cost. You can’t beat the price, but then it’s free of any services whatsoever too. Life on the Slabs is free of that sense of urgency which has polluted society. It is free of any rules, really, and it’s the people who are truly free.

One could easily drop out of society with residence at Slab City, as I’m sure many have. But we’ve never felt unsafe At the Slabs, and we have met some very fun and interesting folks.

Freedom can be seen in the smiles of anyone at The Range on a Saturday night. Genuine happy faces and permagrins alike share the good vibes and great music. While minding their own business, each person we meet there is always welcoming and warmhearted.

Chance from Airracket sums it up best …

yeah freedom, i’m free to love you.
i’m free to care for you.
i’m free to fly …

Watch the video for our neighbor Dakota who frequently took flight in his self-propelled parasail. He succinctly summarized his own freedom when he answered our question of where he was headed next with, “Wherever the wind takes me.”

We’re thinking the wind wants to blow us North soon to check in at Jerry’s Acres, but Crystal Lakes received another foot of snow last time we checked. So, there’s no rush to get “home” and we are free to take our time. Freedom is a good thing.

A big shout out to Chance for his mind-bending guitar work and lyrics. He’s got some great sounds and will always get ya thinkin’ … Freedom has always been a personal favorite, thanks.

* Until next year.