Tag: travel

Unleashing my inner cowboy

He wears some mighty fancy boots.
And a two-hundred-dollar Stetson.
By the way he dresses up,
You might think he’s a Texan.
But, he’s all hat and no cattle.
— Song lyrics recorded in 1992 by Wylie and the Wild West Show

– – – – – – – –

There’s a new subculture in the world of “adventure travel.”

Fox News reported last week how the popular TV show ‘Yellowstone’ and its spin-offs, ‘1923,’ and 1883,” are prompting tourists to invade Montana, Wyoming, and even Fort Worth to experience “open spaces of the great outdoors.”

The latest spike in this avenue of travel, according to the story, was credited to the upcoming debut of “1923’s” second season on February 23

They’re calling this phenomenon “cowboy core.” The story cites Fort Worth Mayor Mattie Parker crediting the trend for increases in Cow Town visitors, adding, “… it’s good for the economy.”

A travel advisor quoted in the article said that “dude ranches” are the draw for viewers seeking the “American frontier” experience. “It looks so magical and majestic. The best way to unleash your inner cowboy is on a dude ranch.”

Inner cowboy was the last thing on my mind when I discovered dude ranches some 30-plus years ago in Bandera County, Texas. For me at the time, a dude ranch was simply a place to live while in the throes of house hunting, having relocated there to manage newspaper operations in Boerne, Bandera, Fort Stockton, and Gonzales.

Three weeks spent at “The Lightning Dude Ranch” turned out to be fun mixed with neccesity. However, finding my inner “drug store cowboy” would be a more fitting description. I would say “all hat and no cattle,” but I never got around to owning a cowboy hat.

Bandera’s reported 2020 census was 829, varying little from what it was when I lived there. Community legend allows that the census is taken in somewhat of a Groundhog Day fashion. I heard it told more than once at the O.S.T. Restaurant in downtown Bandera, that once a year at census time, someone stands on the courthouse steps and counts only souls that can be seen.

The self-proclaimed “Cowboy Capital of Texas,” Bandera actually offers more than just dude ranches. In addition to genuine working cattle ranches, there are places like the aforementioned O.S.T. restaurant with a great chicken-fried steak and a John Wayne room, the legendary Arkey Blue’s Silver Dollar honky tonk where Hank Williams carved his name on the bar top, and several fantastic barbecue joints. My personal favorite being B-Daddy’s.

Lightning Dude Ranch’s colorful  owner and host then was Sybil Broyles. She dressed in cowboy western flair and hosted nightly after-dinner campfire get-togethers. That’s where I learned she was also the ex-wife of William (Bill) Broyles, co-founder and original editor of Texas Monthly magazine in 1973.

Broyles graciously entertained my journalistic curiosity about her well-known ex. In addition to Texas Monthly, Bill Broyles served as Newsweek’s editor from 1982 to 1984. Leaving journalism for screenwriting, he created the television series China Beach and Twin Peaks. During his career, he wrote for films like Apollo 13, Cast Away, Planet of the Apes, Unfaithful, and The Polar Express. His work on Apollo 13 earned him an Academy Award nomination for Best Adapted Screenplay.

Living at Lightning’s was my second horseback riding experience, for which I earned no awards. Neither did I earn any for my first horseback ride as a youngster when, to everyone’s surprise, the steed decided to jump a gate. By the time someone got me off, I vowed never to get on another one. Not even the mechanical variety at the supermarket.

Before the trail ride at Lightning’s with my kids almost 40 years later, I shared my childhood experience with ranch hands. They graciously assigned me to an older mare guaranteeing no problems with the gentlest horse they had.

“She never moves any faster than a slow walk,” said one. “You drop the reins, and she’ll bring you slowly back to the barn.”

We were doing fine until the trail went down one side of a dry creek bed and up the other. The old mare eased down but lunged up the other side in a surprise gallop and headed home.

“We never expected that surprise,” the ranch hand apologized.

“I couldn’t have been more surprised myself,” I replied.

Cowboy core aside, three weeks at Lightning’s left me with many memories.

One, my kids didn’t want to leave Lightning’s. “Forget about a house,” my daughter pleaded. “We want to live here.”

Two, that was my last horse-riding attempt.

Third, my inner cowboy today includes a passion for cowboy boots, a trait acquired in the Hill Country, where business attire included boots, starched Wranglers, and dress shirts.

I’ll add that my record of never owning a cowboy hat remains intact. And the closest you’ll ever see me approaching a cow will be with a fork at a good steak house.  

—Leon Aldridge

– – – – – – –

Aldridge columns are featured in these publications: The Mount Pleasant Tribune, the Rosenberg Fort Bend Herald, the Taylor Press, the Alpine Avalanche,  the Fort Stockton Pioneer, the Elgin Courier, The Monitor in Naples, and Motor Sports Magazine.

© Leon Aldridge and A Story Worth Telling 2025.

Car problems, common sense and computers

“If your doctor’s last name is Google, it’s time to get a second opinion.”
— Toni Bernhard, author of “How to live with Chronic Pain and Illness: A Mindful Guide.”

– – – – – – –

It was past dark thirty. We were still 15 miles from home, driving and passing the time doing what we all ultimately do sometime in life. Talking about the weather, aches and pains, and doctor’s appointments. Reassuring each other that age has nothing to do with any of it.

“What’s this,” I asked when amber warning lights interrupted the peaceful glow of dim green dash lights.

“I don’t know,” my friend said. It was her car, but I was driving.

Processing the situation, I tried offering assurance. “An amber check engine light, it’s not red. That’s good. Just means get your car checked at your first opportunity. We’re OK.”

I was trying to reassure her, but it sounded good to me too. It’s funny how issues that seem minor in the light of day trigger a higher level of concern at night. Depending on how late at night and how many miles to home the GPS is reporting.

She was searching the owner’s manual for clues. Anything about a warning light with a tiny car symbol looking like a drunk driver swerving all over the road.

Stopping for a minute in the light of a convenience store afforded us time to convince each other that the odds were good for making it home without further incidents. After all, it was only 10 miles from where we stopped.

As I drove, I thought about diagnosing car problems back in the day of keeping my first car running. Getting me to classes, to my after-school job, and cruising the Mount Pleasant main drag between the Dairy Queen on the north side and Bobby Joe’s on the south side.

The sign on top of what we called Bobby Joe’s read Dairy Mart or something similar. Nobody remembers that name. One of our classmate’s family owned it, so we referred to it as Bobby Joe’s. And keeping your car running to get there Friday and Saturday night was a priority.

But auto maintenance was easy then. Just keep gas, oil, and tire pressure levels in range and listen for weird noises. Noises, not computers, provided the best clues regarding the nature of any problems under the hood, and any level of confidence in keeping your ride on the road.

Being young and fearless also added to one’s confidence level back in the day. A 60-mile road trip to the drag races in a worn-out but presentable 55 Chevy with a warmed-over Corvette motor that I had owned all of about two weeks? No worries. Never mind that I knew nothing about the car for which I had paid the princely sum of $250 … other than it sounded good and was wicked fast.

I had learned that the gas gauge and the dash lights didn’t work. No problem, though. I filled the tank with 29-cents a gallon high test, and we headed south for Interstate 20 Raceway.

The daylight trip down was uneventful. On the way home about 10:30, neighbor and my friend Ronald Rust asked, “How fast you think we’re going?”

“I don’t know,” I replied. “Can’t see the speedometer. Ronald leaned down, nose close to the dash. The only light glowing was the red high-beam indicator. “What’s the top number on the speedometer,” he asked?

“Hunderd’ and ten … I think.”

“Must be doin’ 115 then. I can’t see the needle.”

“Naw,” I scoffed. The car sounded good. But darkness began creating noises in my mind, so I backed off the accelerator. Still don’t think we were going that fast.

But a little common sense and paying attention to what you heard made car care relatively easy in those days. Now, mechanical contrivances controlled by a myriad of computers and electronics can defy common sense.

For instance, YouTube videos the next day offered head-scratching remedies for the warning lights we encountered with my friend’s car. The drunk driver warning light reportedly indicated a problem in how the computer distributes power to the wheels. The warning could be, according to the video, caused by improper pressure in the tires, potholes in the road, or a faulty gas cap.

Faulty gas cap! Seriously? Yep, that’s somehow in the same computer circuit as air pressure and potholes. But wait, we had in fact refueled about 30 miles previous to the warning lights coming on.

By the time I watched the video the next day, the warning lights had gone away as quickly as they had appeared. Still gone as I conclude this missive. A trip to the dealership is planned however. My friend never misses a date on the maintenance schedule. She’s going for a professional second opinion with computer codes.

“Wouldn’t it be nice,” she mused, “if we could be like cars.”

I wasn’t connecting the dots.

“You, know. For aches, pains, and illnesses, just show up at the doctor’s office. Let them plug you in, check your computer codes, make a technical repair or replace a faulty part, and you’re good for another 10,000 miles.”

I think she may be on to something.

—Leon Aldridge

– – – – – – –

Aldridge columns are featured in these publications: The Mount Pleasant Tribune, the Rosenberg Fort Bend Herald, the Taylor Press, the Alpine Avalanche,  the Fort Stockton Pioneer, the Elgin Courier, The Monitor in Naples, and Motor Sports Magazine.

© Leon Aldridge and A Story Worth Telling 2024. Excerpts and links may be used, provided full and clear credit is given to Leon Aldridge and ‘A Story Worth Telling’ with appropriate and specific directions to the original content.

Just allow me one wrong turn

“The best music a parent will ever hear is the sound of his or her children laughing.”
— Unknown

– – – – – –

“My daughter got her driver’s license, and I never see her anymore.”

This casual comment coming at the coffee club gathering last week hit close to home. So I took advantage of it. Being one of the group’s senior members allows me to offer first-hand experience. And share valuable advice. All, services I offer completely free of charge.

“Yep,” I said. “But don’t’ worry. It gets worse. Wait until she takes her first road trip. Then starts giving you directions on how to get somewhere.”

“They really do that,” he asked?

“I remember the time some years ago when Robin was giving me directions to the country church where her upcoming wedding was to take place,” I said.

“Robin was directionally challenged when she first started driving,” I explained. “I was riding with her after she got her learner’s permit one day. I let her drive five miles before she noticed she was going the wrong way. Kept asking her if she knew where she was going. She said she did, so I let her drive on.

After a while, she asked, “Where is the turn that goes to Boerne?”

“Oh, ’bout five miles behind us,” I offered nonchalantly. She did not laugh. I reasoned with her that some lessons are better learned when we’re allowed to resolve our mistakes without help. “Even when your little brother is laughing in the back seat.”

With that, I shared an old analogy about how raising children is like flying a kite. How we work diligently, running tirelessly to get the kite airborne. Then, once it’s flying a little, letting the wind take it up. Using the string to pull back when obstacles threaten and letting it out again as winds lift it clear. Then, one day, when it’s flying high and ready to plot its own course, you have to let the string go. Your job is done. “Just like kids,” I concluded.

“Teaching a child to drive is one of those alternately ‘pulling and letting out more string experiences.’ For them, it’s an adventure. For parents, it’s another gray hair. Or three.”

I also shared the first time Robin struck out on a cross-country trip with her brand-new driver’s license, traveling more than 300 miles from the Hill Country to northeast Texas. In a new car. With her younger brother, Lee. And her dog.

With my children gathered around the dining room table the morning of the journey, I announced, “Here’s your mission, your map, and your instructions. Lee, pay attention so you can help your sister.”

GPS for cars was yet to be discovered. So, for this trip, I unfolded my most trusted navigational device. A Texaco road map.

They watched me draw a dark, heavy line along the intended route. “Now here’s where you might have problems,” I said, carefully detailing the loop around Taylor, turns to navigate at Hearne, and other opportunities for getting lost that would be lying in wait.

“Any questions,” I asked? Drawing a deep breath; remembering Robin’s directional instincts.

Lee raised his hand. “Can ‘Buggie’ go with us?”

“Were you paying attention to the highway changes,” I asked, while adding instructions for traveling with a dog.

“Yes,” they said in unison.

“I’ll follow you for a while. Until your first major turn.”

Down the driveway, they went. They laughed. I followed. I prayed.

At the first highway change in New Braunfels, a convenience store parking lot provided for one last round of “bye” hugs and wishes for safe travels.

I felt good about the trip, until I watched Robin leave the parking lot without hesitation. To the left. When she should have turned right.

“No,” I said out loud.

Evidently, Lee must have said the same thing. Or it might have been the dog. Brake lights came on, Robin turned into a parking lot, circled through it, and re-entered the highway. Going in the right direction this time.

The kids waved and smiled as they passed in front of me. I’ll never forget the look of terror on Buggie’s face in the back window. My confidence of mere moments ago was waning. I was still praying. I was feeling sorry for the dog.

What was to have been a 300-mile trip probably took 500 miles or more. They never told me. I never asked.

Prayers were answered, however, when they called to let me know they had arrived safely. They were laughing, and that’s all that mattered.

“I reminded my daughter of that trip a few years later as she was giving me travel directions,” I told the coffee-drinking confab last week. “They probably made that trip better than I would handle my trip to her wedding.”

“Oh, I know I’ll find the church all right,” I told Robin. “Just allow me one wrong turn. I won’t have the dog to help me.”

She laughed.

—Leon Aldridge

– – – – – – –

Aldridge columns are featured in these publications: The Mount Pleasant Tribune, the Rosenberg Fort Bend Herald, the Taylor Press, the Alpine Avalanche,  the Fort Stockton Pioneer, the Elgin Courier, The Monitor in Naples, and Motor Sports Magazine.

© Leon Aldridge and A Story Worth Telling 2024. Excerpts and links may be used, provided full and clear credit is given to Leon Aldridge and ‘A Story Worth Telling’ with appropriate and specific directions to the original content.