And now that the ranch cabins are for sale, there’s a lot more people who are going to discover the magic of this 100-year old Lake City legacy.

Recently I talked to Larry and Paul Vickers about the family’s exciting new Vickers Horse River Ranch Property that gives the public a chance to own one of their hand-crafted, historic log cabins.

I wrote about the family’s big endeavor in my latest GoColorado.com article, “Lake City Vickers Ranch: Frontier Spirit Thrives in the San Juan Mountains” but you can listen to the interview I based my article on in our latest project:

Live. Work. Dream on Blog Talk Radio

In this 15-minute intervew we talk with Larry and Paul Vickers, whose family helped establish Lake City during the peak mining years of the late 1800s.

Jim and I worked at their ranch during 2008 when we thought we wanted to buy a small resort.

Then we realized: What, are we nuts?!

Now that we know the realities of the resort life, we can say we’re definitely not cut out for this kind of gig. The work was the hardest we have ever done but the family’s kindness and generosity made it all worthwhile.

Our adventures at the ranch were chronicled in blogs post such as:

The Nitty Gritty Details of Running a Resort: Wimps Need Not Apply

Breakfast Ride Offers Best Biscuits, and View

Ode to the Laborer

Yeah sure, haying is safe.

The Vickers Hay Chronicles

We’ll hopefully be heading back to the ranch in a few weeks to get our share of hay buckin’, cowboy coffee and manual labor, so stay tuned for more Vickers Ranch workamping adventures.

Meanwhile, if you or someone you know would like to be a guest on our Blog Talk Radio show, drop us a line!

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.

Click here to view the embedded video.

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.

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.

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.

The Red Room is my kinda bar – a dark dive without the dank smell. This place is clean, has live music, free guitar hero on the big screen, and mystery shots. Their gin and tonic just left a bit to be desired. But hey, that’s where mystery shots come in to play.

Thinking she knew every proper bar fly etiquette, Rene sat down and promptly proclaimed, “I’ll try number 3!”

“That’s not how it goes,” said the bartender handing her a die. Six bottles, six sides. Roll ‘em and take your chances.

Cija went first. Her shot had a reddish tint, or it might have been the lighting. It smelled somewhat of apricots and I suggested it was probably Southern Comfort. She tossed it back and agreed. Alas, it was some unknown mango liqeur.

Rene’s turn. Roll, slam, “Yum!” Some kind of peach infused Vodka. She demanded a drink made with it, so I suggested a Fuzzy Navel and the barkeep looked it up. He was new on the job but aside from his well worn cocktail recipe book, we would have never known.

After tolerating my second cheap G&T, I figured I’d give the game ago. Another bagged bottle came my way. Sniffing the shot, I nailed it – Root Beer Schnapps.

Had I proceeded with the concoctions I started to dream up using this tasty treat, our visit to the Red Room would have been dangerous indeed.

I never got my free crack as advertised on the sign outside. But after a look around the neighborhood, I decided not to ask. A quick Guitar Hero solo and we were on our way.

We all made it home safe and topped the night off with margaritas. After all, one can only take so much schnapps, and only Cija had to work in the morning!

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.

No, I’m not whining because Lake City doesn’t have a HellMart. But I am sniveling about the lack of really good produce available. There’s one tiny grocery store, which carries a decent selection of dry goods and staples, but a miserable range of old produce that shrivels up the minute I bring it home. There are no local farmers or organic grocery sellers, and whenever I go to the crappy grocery store, it depresses me to think about how we’re missing out on the peak of the summer produce season. Nothing in that store is locally grown, even from within a 100 mile radius. If it doesn’t come on the Cysco food truck, they don’t carry it.

We were warned about the sad little store, so we stocked up on booze, dry goods, and Jerry‘s food before arriving. Now that we’re running low, I’m debating whether it’s time for a major shopping trip to the nearest big city (Gunnison, population 5k). We could make the 110 mile round trip there and back, but we’re having a contest with ourselves.

We want to know if we can actually consume every spec of food in our RV first, and we want to see how long we can live on the half tank of diesel we arrived with, on June 4th (today, fuel is $5.32 here). I’ve been riding my bike to get groceries, and we’ve only taken the truck out a handful of times.

So sure, we’re paying more every week by shopping locally, but the fuel cost of going to Gunnison makes it a wash.

The more iceberg lettuce we eat, the more I wonder if we could handle the sacrifices it takes to live all year in a remote mountain town, especially in light of fuel prices. Our job here is only temporary, but if we attempted to live in a place this small some day, we would just have to become year round farmers, that’s all there is to it.

Now that I think about it, I think I see a business opportunity here in Lake City.

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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Unlike some things, the time we spent in Luckenbach was truly amazing. Luck isn’t exactly on the beaten path, but we were heading through the general area. We thought if it was convenient, we’d check out the place where Willie held his cookouts and Waylon made famous in the song.

Well we found it. And we loved it. Even more so when we discovered they offered dry camping for just $15.00 a night. Even more still when the kind gentleman in the store said there would be some informal pickin’ going on in the bar that night. We pulled into the huge parking field behind the dance hall and had the place to ourselves.

Turns out there is music every night in Luckenbach. The setting is very intimate and the acoustics are incredible. If there’s a dozen people in the place you’re bumping elbows. But everyone makes you feel welcome. It’s true that everybody’s somebody in Luckenbach.

We didn’t want to intrude with our camera Monday night. But trust me, Jimmy Lee and Danny Terry put on an incredible show for just a couple guys pickin and a grinnin’ … If you can just get Bobby Wayne Burg to shut up, you might be able to thoroughly enjoy it! Just kidding there – Bobby’s family used to own Luckenbach where his aunt Marge was Sheriff and bartender for 33 years. So he deserves to be as loud as he wants. Unlike the obnoxious drunk blonde who pestered Jimmy to play some Billy Ray Cyrus, drawing the night to a close early.

We felt so at home and had such a good time that we decided to stay another night in Luckenbach. Everyone told us we just had to see Dale Mayfield and friends who were performing the Tuesday night. Friends included Hal on harmonica and flute, Levi Darr with his amazing fiddle. I didn’t catch the name of the fellow playing his homemade banjo. What a performance they put on indeed …

It is said that someone once told Hondo that Luckenbach is at the end of the world, or something like that. Hondo simply replied that Luckenbach was the center of the universe. It sure feels that way. Before we left, Danny told us that if we return we’d be sure to meet someone from where we came from. We already had. On Monday night we ran into a couple from Petaluma where I grew up. On Tuesday we met a guy from Redding, just over the hill from Eureka, CA where we began this journey.

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.

In New Orleans, life is more affordable than other major cities, and as a result, it appears that artists are converging here from everywhere, setting up galleries, playing gigs and living life.

One Friday night, our friend Gordon and his crew took us off the beaten path. We went far away from the Spring Break scene on Bourbon Street and onto Frenchman Street instead, where the locals hang out and listen to live music. We went from bar to bar with drinks in hand, and caught a number of talented bands like Sista Otis, all making their art work in this cool little town.

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.