After two crazy nights in New Orleans, we were feeling refreshed. We finally got some sleep, and what’s better, we were on our way to a place I’ve always wanted to visit. Texas. The Lone Star state. Home of rednecks, cows, and too-much-land. You hear so much about Texas — that everything is bigger and better, that it’s “real” America, that Obama is in cahoots with Al Queda. I wanted to know if that was true.
The drive was a meaty one, we finally got into some real cattle country. Huge farms with no people. Open road. And then we got to the border, where I saw the Texas welcome sign. I was expecting it to be massive — after all, if everything’s bigger, then the sign should practically be giving me a high-five as I drive by — it should be giving blumpkins to every trucker passing through. And you know what?? It wasn’t.
It was tiny. Like a little, puny “Welcome to Texas”. An afterthought. Connecticut’s welcome sign is bigger. And that’s just sad. Strike one, Tex. We also passed a chain of roadside Fireworks stands that were all advertising the same deal:
Buy 1, Get 11 Free
No, that’s not a typo. This was the advertised deal on every stand. I scratched my head. Isn’t that just a dozen? For one price?
I am still confused, but we were already in Austin, and ready to see the home of live music and epicly amazing word-of-mouth. Every person I asked about Austin raved — not one bad thing to say about it. So we roll into town at about 10pm, and head out to 6th St, which is supposed to be the “entertainment and music” strip.
First impression: Fantastic. The city was clean and modern. The Capitol building (Austin is the capitol of Texas, I just learned something too) was front and center, brightly lit. It glowed like a little White House, only smaller and more racially intolerant. It was also noticably less humid here, which was a huge plus. My balls could use a break from sweating for no reason.
And 6th Street was the cat’s pajamas. A strip about a half-mile long with bars, resaturants, and music venues. There was litterally a live band playing in every bar — music blasting out the open door, changing with each venue as you walked down the street. And most impressive — alcoholics reading this, please take note — the drink specials. Everywhere. You walk down the strip and bouncers are yelling out “$2 shots, $3 beers, $4 bombs!” as you walk by, then the next door down, “$1 shots, $2 beers, $3 bombs”. Eventually, I think there was some old hag at the end of the strip just giving away moonshine and dick cheese for free.
It was insanely cheap.
Unfortunately, it was also a monday night. Being on the road like this makes you forget what day it is. Where am I, what day is it? It also makes you forget if you’re wearing underwear. Sometimes it’s just a layer of road farts layered into a fabric-like stink material.
So 6th street wasn’t quite buzzing as much as we had hoped. Monday night, I could see the potential though. Regardless, we popped into this restaurant that advertised “Award Winning Food”. We ordered their specialty, the “Chipotle Bacon Burger”. And equally important to what we ordered (perhaps more), is WHO we ordered from:
The stupidest f***ing guy ever. Look, I like marijuana and all that, but this guy was the most brain dead, incoherent moron I’ve ever ordered food from. Basically, picture Cheech Marniez, then make him do nitrous and “Whip Its” all afternoon. Now put a blank pad in his hand and make him take food orders.
That’s our guy. So we order some burgers, pop back into the bar to start pounding down some Lonestar Beers. This was the local brew, which I was told was “more expensive”. Two beers were $5. Amazing.
Flash forward to four beers later and still no food.
I go back to talk to Panama Red, and I walk up, and he’s like “What can I get you?”. Perfect. of course, fuck nuts had screwed everything up. He had no idea who I was or what I ordered. Long story short, they rushed the burgers while we waited for them, and in the mean time, I took Smokey and put his head in the deep fryer, shoved it down in there until it was golden brown, and then we feasted on his monkey brains. The burgers were delcious, but by the time we got them, it was midnight. Problem: this is my prime drinking time.
Go time, meet fat fuck.
Must. Push. On. And we did. We popped into the first bar we saw with live music, forced down a few Bud Diesels. Per a sign on the wall, I asked about their “World Famous Jello Shots”. They had none. (frowny face) This is not the world I wanted to live in, so I ordered some Yager shots.
And as soon as I did, the bar pretty much emptied out. Weird. So we drank down that deer blood, moved on to a bigger bar that looked more promising: Molly McGee’s or something. Ordered shots. Jammed out to some live music by a dude that looked kinda like Gary Busey.
The bars weren’t packed by any means, but our colons were. Brian made an immediate request to return to the comfort of our hotel room, lest he have to unleash a nasty “bar bathroom bomb”. It was 1am, and since the bar was emptying out anyway, I granted Bmac his doody immunity. We headed back to the hotel, took this really stupid picture:
I kinda look like Ravi Shankar, don’t I?
The next morning, we headed directly to this fantastic real-deal Mexican restaurant that was recommended to me by a friend who went tocollege there. IT was called Curras, and they served among other things: Breakfast tacos, fresh pork tacos, avocado margaritas, and queso. We ate all of it. I might go out on a limb, but I think that was the best queso I’ve ever had. The food was epic, and if that’s not authentic, then i don’t want to know what is. And keep those “fake” Mexicans away from me, thankyouverymuch.
But what was more epic? The decision me and Bmac had just made. We originally had planned on splitting up this 15 hour drive from Austin to Denver into two days. This would be the sane thing to do. But keeping with the theme of this trip (”fuck that noise”), we said “Fuck that noise” and strapped on our driving boots.
This was not going to be just any normal drive. This was a haul, so we prepared our minds with an Aderoll, a cooler full of water, some Sweedish fish, and enough fart jokes to make it at least to New Mexico.
Well, for those that don’t know, Texas is the biggest fucking state ever. You can’t get out of it. Sure, you can drive towards the horizon. But you know what’s waiting for you there? More Texas. Flat plains, as far as the eye can see.
We made a quick pit stop to grab some dinner in a little town called Amarillo, Texas. We hadn’t heard much about this little city in northern Texas — we just knew it was the last big stop for a while. So we pulled into a Church’s Chicken. I said to Brian, “Hey Brian. I have never eaten at Church’s Chicken before. This should be cool, with god and all.”
Since it was after 8pm, there dining room was closed (of course). So we had to order through the drive through and sit on the sidewalk outside eating it.
And in about two seconds, we learned what Amarillo’s famous for: homeless people. Night of the Living Homeless. That scent of fried chicken and biscuits was in the air for no less than 3 minutes. These homeless people had nostrils like Jaws. They could smell the food — the outsiders — and they came begging hard. I deterred the first homeless person with a half eaten piece of chicken (I declared this my good deed of the day). But moments after that, some crazy guy (who was bleeding out of his ears, mind you), came running up to us and said:
“Hey boy, why you sitting on the corner there??”
OK. Eat in the car time. Lock the doors.
Ahhhh, Amarillo. Quaint little ‘rillo. If you get once chance to check it out, make sure you don’t. Work an extra day so you don’t have to go there. Get fired; work overtime. Cover some one’s shift. Just don’t go to Amarillo.
After 10 hours, we finally got the fuck out of Texas. We were starting to get cracked out. 5 more hours to go. We got this.
We stopped in New Mexico to get some gas and I peed on a catepillar. This is, to date, the most exciting thing I’ve ever done in New Mexico. Another couple hours and we finally got into Colorado, our destination state. To keep from totally being cracked out, we started playing car games to stay awake. These aren’t as fun as they sound — 20 questions, categories, A-to-Z games — pretty much just mindless jabber for 4 hours straight. (ps - “Bruce Villanch” is not a great person to pick for 20 questions. No one cares about him)
After a few more truck stop breaks, and one clogged toilet somewhere near Colorado Springs, we arrived in Denver at 4:45 am. We would be staying with Bmac’s sister for the next few nights. A great chance to rest our weary legs and explore this mountain town.
I’ve heard Denver is “the Mile High City”, and I aim to explore that slogan to the fullest….
