What a thrill to see that Casiokids are Amazon’s “Free Download of the Day.”

Who are Casiokids you ask? Only one of the best bands we saw last year at South By Southwest in Austin! What a thrill to know that we saw this quirky, 80′s-style Norwegian techno group when they were unknowns here in the U.S., playing in a parking lot where they had to throw free beer into the audience to get people to show up.

Ok, gotta admit, the free beer is why we stayed to check ‘em out. But it worked! They left an impression on us, and we’re so glad to see they’re about to make it big here in the states.

Download their free MP3 and you’ll see why we loved them. Buy their vinyl album (or MP3s or CDs). Tell a friend. And remember, we saw them when they were nobody!

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.

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.

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!

Once the weather finally warmed up here in the Southwest, time seemed to speed up as quickly as the fat grew around our waistlines from all of the good eats and tasty Shiner beer we’re consuming (we are in Texas after all!).

Our road trip adventures are happening faster than we can write about them, and as much as we don’t want this blog to be a “this-is-what-I-did-today” journal, for the sake of catching up, here’s a quick recap of a few of our favorite stops:

The Pepper Pot, Hatch New Mexico

Hatch is nothing more than a wide spot in the road, but it’s got a worldwide rep for being the green chile capital of the world. When we heard that Anthony Bourdain once said that he had the best red enchiladas of his life at the Pepper Pot, we had to find out if it was true.

Bourdain was right. The Pepper Pot’s menu was the finest of traditional New Mexican cuisine, and I’ve never had a better green or red sauce than theirs (with the exception of my Mom’s, of course!). The aromas and flavors were a smooth, smoky blend of New Mexico’s finest chilies, the staff was friendly, and this massive lunch was just $25 for the two of us.

The Texas Hill Country

There’s an unexpected beauty to the Hill Country region that’s drawn our rig back since 2008. This year the countryside was especially green and lush, with incredible spring flowers and overflowing creeks and rivers.

We love Texas so much that next time a pile of money falls from the sky, we’ll buy a small piece of Hill Country land to winter on. The food can’t be beat, the people are friendly and open, and most aren’t afraid to express their opinions. Texans tell it like they see it, which even when I don’t agree with it, I can appreciate.

Luckenbach

Still, we love Texas but we’re not sure if Texas loves us. Last year the trailer got stuck in the mud at Luckenbach. This year, a flash flood almost took our rig on the Guadalupe. After that near-death experience, once again, our truck almost drowned in the slippery, deep mud of the Luckenbach parking lot.

But it was totally worth it.

Come hell or high water, nothing was going to keep the good people of Luckenbach from holding the first annual Texas Hat Festival.

If anyone knows about hats, it’s Texans. The Luckenbach Hat Festival was all things hats, with a ton of incredible Texas bands, vendors, games and contests.

Like the ugly hat contest I entered. I didn’t win, but at least I can say I got my fifteen seconds of fame, on stage at Luckenbach. I also got a pretty nifty cowgirl hat for just twenty bucks, then ended up wining one later from an event sponsor!

Staying in the Hill Country hasn’t been cheap. Texas doesn’t believe in free public lands or have a whole lot of national forests, so we haven’t boondocked since New Mexico. While it’s been a luxury hooking up to the grid for the last few weeks, RV parks are spendy, costing no less than $27 a night. While there’s deals to be found, like the “By the River” campground we almost died at in Kerrville, they are few and far between.

Despite all of our misadventures here and the high cost of RV parks, it’s the Texas music, the diverse scenery, the food and the people that make it all worthwhile.

Of course, there are always exceptions . . .

René recently cut out another quote and taped it inside our bathroom cabinet door:

“At its core, adventure is the willingness to commit to an uncertain outcome with and open heart and an open mind.”

I don’t know where she got that one or who said it, but her timing is impeccable as it certainly applies to our latest adventure.

Had we known of the uncertain outcome that awaited us at By The River RV Park in Ingram, Texas, alongside the lazy Guadalupe River, we might have left after our first night. But who would have thought this pretty park could be covered in water within the next 24 hours? And after nearly three years on the road, we’ve come to expect the unexpected. Without such an outlook, panic may have set in even earlier than it did the other night.

No, that first photo is not a picture of the park. It’s just where we ended up spending the night, along with all the other rigs from the park, which is a very good thing considering how events of the evening unfolded …

Earlier in the day, we had walked across a spillway path over to an island on the river across from the park. It’s where they allow tent campers – of which there were none, fortunately – and the path was clear of water. We later took the short drive to nearby Hunt, TX to see Stonehenge II – noticing along the way various river crossings that would clearly become impassable with the slightest rise of the river. A sign of things to come. Later that night, three people would be washed downstream after trying to cross the river there. One has yet to be found, another spent most of the evening up a tree crying for help.

Upon returning to the park, I noticed only an inch or so of water covering the path we had walked. That would soon change.

At about 10:00 p.m., the park manager showed up only suggesting that we “may want to hitch up and be prepared to leave” – a high water advisory was in effect until midnight. I figured we had plenty of time and decided to dump our sewer, not knowing where we might be in the morning. While doing so, I walked over to the river bank and noticed it was much closer.

The water was about 8′ higher than it was, and only about 5′ lower than our site. I poked my head in the trailer and told Rene, “Uhh… we might just want to leave now and beat the rush. Come check this out!”

Our pace hastened, we disconnected our power and water, and proceeded to get going. That’s when we heard the sirens, saw the fire truck and noticed emergency personnel suggesting we hurry up because, “This end of the park floods first.”

Gee, thanks for letting us know now, I thought.

A look over their shoulder showed the water about another two feet higher. Everything was fine, it was pretty exciting, but that was it. Then we couldn’t hitch up.

This is when it started to get scary. Multiple attempts to connect the trailer resulted only in a frightening clunk. Apparently I had bent something while trying to hook up in such a hurry. Fearing the damage was permanent and we would be forced to leave the trailer, Renee scrambled to determine which belongings we absolutely needed to grab and I remembered something I learned when getting SCUBA certified: Panic = Death.

Each time I jumped out to adjust the legs of the trailer up or down, there were more volunteers trying to help. One wearing a safety vest and helmet, diligently tried to calm down René. Another tried to assist me by holding our hitch plate level. Clunk. I panicked and tried to force the hook up.

That’s how I pushed the trailer legs off their blocks, causing the fifth wheel kingpin box to slam down on top of our truck bed rails. Doing my best to remain calm, it was clearly time to poop my pants. But no time for that. I wasn’t leaving without our home. The water was another foot higher. I raised the trailer, pulled out from under it and started dismantling our hitch. I think that’s when René really started freaking out.

I quickly confirmed the hitch was still functional and put it back together. One last attempt after adjusting the trailer height again – with the park manager holding the hitch, and me holding my breath – we connected, but it didn’t feel like it. I knew something was wrong. The manager insisted he heard it click, and he must have. I was clearly out of my mind and the water was another foot hgher.

Side Note: Old time RVers throughout our travels have more than once made the same comment one fireman did as we waited for our trailer’s legs to retract: “Are those things moving?” he said. The Arctic Fox may indeed have the slowest retracting legs in the RV industry. But this time it seemed to take an eternity. With water lapping at our site, we were on our way, just in time.

We joined dozens of other RVs up the hill in a church parking lot for the night, hoping the trailer wouldn’t fall off, wondering if we would be able to unhitch. As more continued to show up, one frantic woman asked if I had a fifth wheel. She said someone needed help getting their trailer out because they had no way to pull it. My heart shrank as I had to say no. Our Pullrite Superglide requires a kingpin adapter to function without damaging the hitch and/or trailer.

Walking down to survey the damage the next morning, I noticed our site had clearly been under at least a couple feet of water. All the RVs and trailers did get out, some with their sewer hoses draped over their bike racks. Others who left theirs behind. With only our end of the park truly getting flooded, we feel very fortunate to have our home with us. We moved on to a park down the road a in Bourne called Top Of The Hill RV Resort, thinking we might need to be there a while waiting for hitch parks. But upon further  investigation, the damage done was nothing a few whacks from a hammer couldn’t fix.

Epilogue: As we were leaving the morning after, I noticed a trailer tire was low. Pulling away in hopes that we would find a service station soon, we immediately pulled into a tire shop right across the road. We had not one, but two punctured tires.

I guess when it rains, it really does pour. Especially in Texas. After all the excitement, I did little math and calculated that the river was rising a foot every five minutes. That may not sound all that fast, but consider the gentle slope of the terrain and it’s easy to imagine that flood approaching like an incoming tide – we don’t need to, we were there!

It’s time for the annual NuRVers Gathering of Friends!

NuRVers is a group of young, non-retired RVers living the dream life now, instead of waiting for a someday that may never happen. We come from a variety of backgrounds but all share one thing in common; the desire to live an adventurous life on the open road.

Come join us in Gonzales, Texas in April for good times and great people! Last year’s inaugural  gathering was a blast, we know this year’s will be even better.

Space is limited. Sign up today!

Just in case anyone was wondering if perhaps we thinking of “settling down” here at Jerry’s Acres, for the record, we are not ready to commit to staying here for the entire year. I know, I know, we just got here. Seems like yesterday we were getting bombed on champagne and playing Scrabble on our first night here.

But the aspens are turning yellow, there is a definite chill in the air. Soon we’ll do the sensible snowbird thing, and head south for the winter. For there’s still so much to see, and far too many adventures in store. And besides, Wyatt Ray needs to get out there on the road and see the great big world that’s out there waiting for him.

We’ve been busy making plans for our flight south. Looks like we’ll workamping in November and December, either in Kansas or Nevada. Then, we’ll head to see my familia in Southern California for Christmas (it wouldn’t be the same unless we had another sweltering Christmas day in the shadow of downtown L.A.). After that, we’ll more than likely turn east and head to New Braunfels, Texas again, to hook up with our NuRVers friends at Landa. But first, we’ll stop at the Slabs again for some free boondocking and interesting ambiance.

But winter won’t be all fun and games. Our budget situation is such that we’ll need to get our butts in gear and start making some real money now.  Getting to Texas is going to cost us, big time. So this means even more plowing away at our online endeavors, as well as workamping or (gasp!) temp jobs in bigger cities that can bring in some real money (well, as “real” as it gets when you live like hoboes) until we return to Colorado in late March.

The fulltime RVing lifestyle beckons.

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.