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.

Almost a year to the date we were in Luckenbach last year with Jerry, we returned to boondock in the same field in April. Remembering the fun Jerry had romping in their field and hanging out at the bar was bittersweet, but the kind folks, cold beer and incredible music of Luckenbach helped to soothe our aching hearts just a little.

How comforting it was to see that some things stay the same. Musican/bartender Danny Terry was still there, and Tuesday night, master fiddler and guitar player Levi Darr and friends jammed at the pickin’ circle.

Poor Levi wasn’t so lucky that night. During a break he got served by the local sheriff for something, but without hesitation he returned to the pickin’ circle, looked at the audience with a cute smirk on his face, and lit the place on fire! Nothing like suffering to make creativity blossom.

We had only planned to stay there four nights (despite the latest increase from $10 to $15 a night to camp in their field…ouch!), but Friday night after the big dance, those big Texas skies opened up. By Saturday morning, there were lightning shows, golfball sized hail, and three inches of water on the field surrounding our trailer.

Later that day, I got the truck stuck in wet, soggy mud while leaving to go shopping, and that’s when we realized we weren’t going anywhere for at least another day.

While there are far worse places to be stuck in, we were running out of waste water tank space, and after five days at the bar, the accumulation of smoke in our hair and our increasingly swollen beer bellies was getting old.

Thankfully, on Saturday afternoon, the sun came out and dried the field. On Sunday, Jim was able to carefully navigate the trailer back onto the road.

Another lesson learned in Texas: If the skies open up and you’re parked off pavement, move!

Here’s a five-song playlist of the great bands we saw.

If you’re familiar with Austin’s South by Southwest music festival, you know that it took place in mid March. It’s now mid-April. So as you can see, we’re a little behind in our postings but hey, we’re busy out here on the road.

We were so stoked to finally catch this scene. The whole city comes out for it, and they’re really quite welcoming to the hordes that show up from around the country, clog the streets, and run around showing off their prestigious wristbands to bartenders.

And while you can pay the high ticket price and get into some really incredible shows during the festival, there’s plenty of great bands, free music and free beer (I told you Texans know how to party!) to catch on just about every block. We rode our bikes all around town with Skinny Chef and Flux (thanks you two!), and sampled some great tunes, all for F-R-E-E! Here’s a sampling . . .

Haight Street at Night, San Francisco

Before we got to L.A., we stopped in San Francisco to see old friends and reminisce about our life back in The Day. Veering from our usual frugal routine, we splurged and stayed at the Red Vic Inn in the Haight, just around the corner from the old party house where I spent the better part of my 20s.

Back in 1995, I was a slacker with five roommates inhabiting a non-stop party house. Jim was a long-haired biker posing as a responsible marketing guy in a Saab. One night Spoonie played matchmaker, and brought us together. Despite the vast differences in our lifestyles, our lives converged and we were never the same again.

In December, thirteen years later, we were back where we started, at least for a night. After a walk through the city and several cocktails, we returned to our room. I promptly climbed out onto the fire escape overlooking the scene on Haight. I had to take it all in again, at least one more time.

The energy below felt exactly the same as it did in 1995. All of the same characters were there. Street punks with their dogs, musicians playing on corners, bicyclists coming home from work, and strolling tourists. Nothing ever changes.

I sat outside, barefoot and hoarking down an Anchor Steam. My mind played back scenes of our life together; they went through my brain like the pages in a flip book.

The Gold Cane on Haight, Where We Met

We’ve been through so much together, and come so far from where we started. It’s been a wild ride getting here, and after all these years, it just keeps getting better. I can’t wait to see what’s around the corner when we hit the road again in a week or so.

Where can you get a good stiff shot for only a dollar? Why, at the Red Room in Portland of course. You just don’t know what that shot may be!

What a great gimmick though. When Cija told us about the “Mystery Shots” at a bar down the street, we just had to find out for ourselves. What’s the harm? We could always stumble back to our home parked in her driveway a few blocks away.

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Find us a boondocking spot in beautiful country in the middle of nowhere, and we’re all over it. When we started looking for a summer workamping gig, we wanted a job in remote, mountain location. There were a couple of forest service jobs we could’ve taken, but we ended up here at Vickers because 1) it paid more, and 2) it offered us the chance to see if we’re resort owner material.

But the one thing we didn’t really consider, were the foodie sacrifices we’d have to make to live and work in a really remote mountain town with a year-round population of 500 people.

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Let’s go to Luckenbach Texas with Waylon and Willie and the boys
This successful life we’re livin’ got us feuding
Like the Hatfield and McCoys
Between Hank Williams pain songs, Newberry’s train songs
And blue eyes cryin’ in the rain, out in Luckenbach Texas
Ain’t nobody feelin’ no pain …

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I started out this trip behaving like a spoiled little West Coast snot, like a character out of that famous New Yorker drawing that shows a map of the U.S., with the Left Coast and the East Coast, and nothing in the middle. How wrong that is, and what an ignorant turd I was for falling for it.

The middle of this country has the nicest, most down to earth people we’ve met, and some of the most creative. And since arriving in the South, we’ve witnessed more talent, and met more artistic individuals here than anywhere else. Maybe it’s because they’re at arm’s reach here, whereas on the coasts, the artists and musicians I’ve met have gigantic egos, stick to their own kind and don’t make an effort to blend in with the masses, unless it’s to try to make a buck.

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All play and no work makes this a dull blog.
All play and no work makes this a dull blog.
All play and no work makes this a dull blog.

Need to do some serious catching up on the blog front after a whirlwind tour of the south where we’ve caught up with some old friends.

In the past week or so we’ve crawled the the French Quarter music scene, visited a Humboldt friend across the lake at his Slidell biodeisel compound, seen what’s left of Cajun Country after Rita, gotten a crawfish farm tour, hit Sixth Street in Austin with my best man and his wife, hosted a three legged dog party and cancer fundraiser with Jerry, and caught some local pickin’ at the Luckenbach bar.

Now we’re boondocked in the field behind the Luck dance hall with the place to ourselves. Lots to do. More to come.

There’s a lot of talk here about how “Old Florida” is disappearing. Kitschy roadside attractions are being paved over for gated homes along golf courses, and old timey family diners are being squeezed out by Chick Fil A and Olive Garden. It’s like this in a lot of the country, as Americans allow national chains to destroy the very things that make our hometowns unique.

We get a kick out of finding new, divey places to check out. In the last couple of weeks, we’ve found two great places that are sadly, a dying breed: Archie’s Seabreeze on Hutchinson Island, and Mrs. B’s in Vero Beach, off I-95.

We didn’t find them on our own; our online friend Chelsea told us about Archies, and the locals we met at Earl’s told us about Mrs. Bs.

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