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| Different kites soaring at Zilker Park during the Kite Festival. |
A Week with Statler and the Band:
Not many people are willing to drop obligations and comforts and drive toward some unfamiliar town in Texas for a week.
But then again, not many people are Statler Gause.
Not many people are willing to drop obligations and comforts and drive toward some unfamiliar town in Texas for a week.
But then again, not many people are Statler Gause.
We chatted on the phone about the endless joys of Austin and after about a half hour, he concluded the conversation with
"Let me check with the bandmates, but I bet we could leave tomorrow and be there in time for the kite festival."
We would lay down vocals and a bass track for some songs.
Because of such news, I would plan to stay in Austin, TX another week.
Fast-forward two days and Statler found me under the tangling skyscape of kites.
Zilker Park Kite Festival:
There were butterfly kites, airplane kites, homemade half-working kites, you name it.
I saw one with the Millennium Falcon then a hundred with H-E-B (the local grocer) on them.
Parents were patiently giving their toddlers kite-flying tutorials. First dates were tangled in fallen-kite strings, laughing, unraveling. Misbehaved dogs were chasing low fliers, making snacks of them.
Upwards of 20,000 people crowded Zilker park, all exuberant, absorbed in the activity.
Rio Rita's Coffee shop and Bar- The place local Evan Ralston calls his " caffeinated, creative, kooky, all-in-one space" where "awesome things just trip over you". Their lavender lemonade's killer, their infused liquors are banging and their hangover salad in a glass (Bloody Mary) makes a perfect "breakfast for Champions". They also have a crap ton of mismatched velvety sofas and and David Bowie paintings and "Arts and Drafts" nights.
Trailer Treasure Food Truck- Addictive shark kebabs with crickets and house-made pita. Enough said. They're ungodly good. Also, the folks who work their might as well be improv-comedy acts that feel the need to talk like pirates. It's an experience. You should experience it.
Daruma Ramen- I'll never look at my college years the same. If only I knew you could make ramen not taste like sadness and MSG- these guys melted my tastebuds with their veggie ramen topped with a soft boiled egg. They're a tiny little joint on dirty 6th, but their worth the walk through drunkies to reach there for dinner time.
Stormy Pace's Peak:
The next night, we stayed at Pace's Peak.
And by we, I mean
only
we
stayed there.
The park was completely abandoned, eerily vacant, when we pulled in at sunset.
We didn't think a storm would intrude on our good times or potentially cause flash floods or create any real consequence.
"Let me check with the bandmates, but I bet we could leave tomorrow and be there in time for the kite festival."
We would lay down vocals and a bass track for some songs.
Because of such news, I would plan to stay in Austin, TX another week.
Fast-forward two days and Statler found me under the tangling skyscape of kites.
Zilker Park Kite Festival:
There were butterfly kites, airplane kites, homemade half-working kites, you name it.
I saw one with the Millennium Falcon then a hundred with H-E-B (the local grocer) on them.
Parents were patiently giving their toddlers kite-flying tutorials. First dates were tangled in fallen-kite strings, laughing, unraveling. Misbehaved dogs were chasing low fliers, making snacks of them.
Upwards of 20,000 people crowded Zilker park, all exuberant, absorbed in the activity.
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| Festival attendee jumping around at Zilker Park. |
Back in the day, Blue found a huge canary kite and insisted we hang it inside.
Never did we fly it, but always, it flew from the same corner of the living room, staring down as we watched Amazing Race over breakfast.
Now, all the kites were staring down at me from Austin skies.
Statler and I explored the festival before making way to McKinley Falls campground.
Keenan and Tony beat us to the campsite and settled in. Blue would've gotten a kick out of these kids.
We sat on coolers and suitcases and wet earth singing Bright Eyes and our songs around the fire. Then when we needed wood, Statler and I traveled to fetch some.
Vick, sitting in his front yard next to a handwritten "Firewood Here" sign, waved us into his yard.
He gave us two extra mesquite bundles because he was nice and thought we were too.
He told us kindly to come on back if we needed some more wood tomorrow.
We needed more than just wood tomorrow.
McKinley booked up before we could snatch a spot so we came back to Vick with a six-pack and asked to camp on his lot for the night.
He said sure, "but sign these liability forms, I don't want any trouble."
Then we were camping at the firewood guy's front yard, right up the hill behind the fortress of maple, mesquite, oak and pine.
We marked our plots then snuck back into the new-moonlit McKinley falls.
It was a pretty warm night and we intended to swim and steal campground showers.
Down we climbed, tossing our shoes and overclothes into the limestone boulders and went in. There was no use wading into the water from the gravel beach. We had to dive, it was damn cold.
Dark was the water, heavy was the waterfall,
glowing were the rocks, treading were our submerged legs.
We swam and floated and showered and left.
The next morning, our stomaches ached for Austin cuisine.
(Without rambling on our day-to-day particulars, try these.)
Austin Food Recommendations:
Bouldin Creek Cafe- Here, we learned from a hot sauce bottle that yellow birds have crazy heat-tolerance for peppers. We didn't, and we sweat like wild animals. It was delicious. Try their Renedict and their huge breakfast tacos.
Mellizos Food Truck- Fried avocado tacos, portabello tacos, veggie tortas and unique salsa sauces made from Mexican-cuisine magic reside here. It's even got that Jarritos that Tony's obsessed with.
Never did we fly it, but always, it flew from the same corner of the living room, staring down as we watched Amazing Race over breakfast.
Now, all the kites were staring down at me from Austin skies.
Statler and I explored the festival before making way to McKinley Falls campground.
Keenan and Tony beat us to the campsite and settled in. Blue would've gotten a kick out of these kids.
We sat on coolers and suitcases and wet earth singing Bright Eyes and our songs around the fire. Then when we needed wood, Statler and I traveled to fetch some.
Vick, sitting in his front yard next to a handwritten "Firewood Here" sign, waved us into his yard.
He gave us two extra mesquite bundles because he was nice and thought we were too.
He told us kindly to come on back if we needed some more wood tomorrow.
We needed more than just wood tomorrow.
McKinley booked up before we could snatch a spot so we came back to Vick with a six-pack and asked to camp on his lot for the night.
He said sure, "but sign these liability forms, I don't want any trouble."
Then we were camping at the firewood guy's front yard, right up the hill behind the fortress of maple, mesquite, oak and pine.
We marked our plots then snuck back into the new-moonlit McKinley falls.
It was a pretty warm night and we intended to swim and steal campground showers.
Down we climbed, tossing our shoes and overclothes into the limestone boulders and went in. There was no use wading into the water from the gravel beach. We had to dive, it was damn cold.
Dark was the water, heavy was the waterfall,
glowing were the rocks, treading were our submerged legs.
We swam and floated and showered and left.
The next morning, our stomaches ached for Austin cuisine.
(Without rambling on our day-to-day particulars, try these.)
Austin Food Recommendations:
Bouldin Creek Cafe- Here, we learned from a hot sauce bottle that yellow birds have crazy heat-tolerance for peppers. We didn't, and we sweat like wild animals. It was delicious. Try their Renedict and their huge breakfast tacos.
Mellizos Food Truck- Fried avocado tacos, portabello tacos, veggie tortas and unique salsa sauces made from Mexican-cuisine magic reside here. It's even got that Jarritos that Tony's obsessed with.
Rio Rita's Coffee shop and Bar- The place local Evan Ralston calls his " caffeinated, creative, kooky, all-in-one space" where "awesome things just trip over you". Their lavender lemonade's killer, their infused liquors are banging and their hangover salad in a glass (Bloody Mary) makes a perfect "breakfast for Champions". They also have a crap ton of mismatched velvety sofas and and David Bowie paintings and "Arts and Drafts" nights.
Trailer Treasure Food Truck- Addictive shark kebabs with crickets and house-made pita. Enough said. They're ungodly good. Also, the folks who work their might as well be improv-comedy acts that feel the need to talk like pirates. It's an experience. You should experience it.
Daruma Ramen- I'll never look at my college years the same. If only I knew you could make ramen not taste like sadness and MSG- these guys melted my tastebuds with their veggie ramen topped with a soft boiled egg. They're a tiny little joint on dirty 6th, but their worth the walk through drunkies to reach there for dinner time.
Stormy Pace's Peak:
The next night, we stayed at Pace's Peak.
And by we, I mean
only
we
stayed there.
The cliffs next to our campsite at Pace's Bend.
The park was completely abandoned, eerily vacant, when we pulled in at sunset.
We didn't think a storm would intrude on our good times or potentially cause flash floods or create any real consequence.
We just saw a couple of clouds and set up camp by the bluffs at sunset.
Then a couple of clouds turned to twenty and those clouds turned into a thick blankets of neon lightning.
That turned into a very, very closerange firework show which shook the cliffs we huddled on. We ran for shelter.
Inside the whisking tent, we set up our flashlight chandelier and listened to the deluge.
The echo of every raindrop amplified off the white, angry waves below.
We sang songs inside the dripping shelter before Statler hushed my ukulele verse.
"Shh, did you hear that?"
That? Oh, that low, sinister growl that sounded right next to our tent?
Yeah, I heard that.
It was close and we huddled closer.
Our tent wouldn't do much in the way of stopping a predator.
I mean, even the three pigs had a better chance than us,
at least they chose something thicker than nylon.
No huffing would be required to blow our house down.
Maybe a pounce.
We pretended it was our imaginations, albeit we knew better,
and we made it to morning unscathed but perpetually paranoid.
Then a couple of clouds turned to twenty and those clouds turned into a thick blankets of neon lightning.
That turned into a very, very closerange firework show which shook the cliffs we huddled on. We ran for shelter.
Inside the whisking tent, we set up our flashlight chandelier and listened to the deluge.
The echo of every raindrop amplified off the white, angry waves below.
We sang songs inside the dripping shelter before Statler hushed my ukulele verse.
"Shh, did you hear that?"
That? Oh, that low, sinister growl that sounded right next to our tent?
Yeah, I heard that.
It was close and we huddled closer.
Our tent wouldn't do much in the way of stopping a predator.
I mean, even the three pigs had a better chance than us,
at least they chose something thicker than nylon.
No huffing would be required to blow our house down.
Maybe a pounce.
We pretended it was our imaginations, albeit we knew better,
and we made it to morning unscathed but perpetually paranoid.
Blue Bonnets, the Texas state flower, growing outside of Pace's Bend.
No longer yearning for drippy tents or soggy sleeping bags,
the four of us sought real shelter.
House 1:
With no luck finding vacancy through local hostels or Couchsurfers, Keenan suggested we stay with Leandra, a bartending friend he'd met and sought quality time with anyhow.
With no luck finding vacancy through local hostels or Couchsurfers, Keenan suggested we stay with Leandra, a bartending friend he'd met and sought quality time with anyhow.
Leandra was the type of charming, intuitive lady that brought a sense of welcome with every syllable. We stayed at her home for the night but needed another place for the night after, since she worked.
No one wanted to host a car full of travelers.
We spent hours looking for a place while sipping caffeine at Once Over Coffee Bar.
There was no way we would camp since weather called for rain every day.
The hostels were booked and the Couchsurfers were unresponsive. It was South by Southwest (SXSW) and the city was crammed with extra bodies.
By time Once Over Cafe got to closing, Vinnie the down-to-earth barista got to wondering if we'd found anything.
Still, no.
He texted his roommate Lacey last-minute and asked if she'd mind guests- she said she wouldn't.
House 2:
We miraculously found a place! Vinnie was our knight in house-key-carrying armor.
We talked music and travels, read Allen Ginsburg, accidentally soaked our socks on the rainy patio-rug and crashed hard into their squishy couches. He was the type of laid back gent that knew all the open-mic nights, authentic communication meetings, slam poetry evenings and park benches to sit on.
In the morning, I woke before the boys (as per usual) and free-wrote verses with Vinnie over coffee. We were morning people, we weren't so different.
Everyone woke hungry and we took it upon ourselves to find Wheatsville Co-op ingredients. Banana pancakes!
Lacey whisked up some insane lemon-zest-and-leek eggs while I broiled some bacon and helped whip up a damn indulgent breakfast. They were incredible hosts, sure, but they were definitely new friends by the last bite.
We couldn't stay another night, but thanks to Darwin's, that was alright.
House 3:
We went to Darwin's Pub to visit Leandra and made friends with Travis and Scott, two fellow Darwinians. Scott was a track running, mustache growing, Spartan-kicking doorman and Travis was a Japanese speaking, guitar strumming, dad-joke mastering drink slinger. They were grand company. They lived roughly 20 minutes north and invited us to stay.
We spent our last night as a unit playing ping-pong and dice over killer 4am barbecue Scott grilled up. The company couldn't have made for a better concluding evening and at last,
the sporadic week in Austin was coming to a close.
Dead is the Cat had to go home to Florida.
They left that afternoon,
but I soon decided to stay an extra day- to experience some SXSW madness.
I really wanted to get to know Travis and Scott and Leandra and Vinnie better anyhow.
Then that "one extra day" turned into an entire dance-filled lovely week.
Live-music echoed from every bar, free stuff swarmed out of each vendor, drinks doused through my thirsty throat and everything was crammed with drunkie-filled goodness.
Af the festival, I learned about Alpha Rev, Down and Outlaws, the Accidentals, Wolfmother and endless other jives, if you feel the need to learn some new tunes.
The week was dancey. It was sweaty. It was loud. It was hard to leave.
And my car didn't want to leave either, apparently.
After I finally got the nerve to drive west, Chartreuse my Silver Fox Ford decided to stall out.
With no way of leaving, I stayed until Travis got out his power tools and gave Charty a bit of bribing- namely, replaced some spark plugs and wires.
With her engine running supposedly smoothly, I set out for Carlsbad Caverns and gave Austin a sionara for now.
 |
| Live music at Darwin's Pub on 6th Street. |
We spent hours looking for a place while sipping caffeine at Once Over Coffee Bar.
There was no way we would camp since weather called for rain every day.
The hostels were booked and the Couchsurfers were unresponsive. It was South by Southwest (SXSW) and the city was crammed with extra bodies.
By time Once Over Cafe got to closing, Vinnie the down-to-earth barista got to wondering if we'd found anything.
Still, no.
He texted his roommate Lacey last-minute and asked if she'd mind guests- she said she wouldn't.
House 2:
We miraculously found a place! Vinnie was our knight in house-key-carrying armor.
We talked music and travels, read Allen Ginsburg, accidentally soaked our socks on the rainy patio-rug and crashed hard into their squishy couches. He was the type of laid back gent that knew all the open-mic nights, authentic communication meetings, slam poetry evenings and park benches to sit on.
In the morning, I woke before the boys (as per usual) and free-wrote verses with Vinnie over coffee. We were morning people, we weren't so different.
Everyone woke hungry and we took it upon ourselves to find Wheatsville Co-op ingredients. Banana pancakes!
Lacey whisked up some insane lemon-zest-and-leek eggs while I broiled some bacon and helped whip up a damn indulgent breakfast. They were incredible hosts, sure, but they were definitely new friends by the last bite.
We couldn't stay another night, but thanks to Darwin's, that was alright.
House 3:
We went to Darwin's Pub to visit Leandra and made friends with Travis and Scott, two fellow Darwinians. Scott was a track running, mustache growing, Spartan-kicking doorman and Travis was a Japanese speaking, guitar strumming, dad-joke mastering drink slinger. They were grand company. They lived roughly 20 minutes north and invited us to stay.
We spent our last night as a unit playing ping-pong and dice over killer 4am barbecue Scott grilled up. The company couldn't have made for a better concluding evening and at last,
the sporadic week in Austin was coming to a close.
Dead is the Cat had to go home to Florida.
They left that afternoon,
but I soon decided to stay an extra day- to experience some SXSW madness.
I really wanted to get to know Travis and Scott and Leandra and Vinnie better anyhow.
Then that "one extra day" turned into an entire dance-filled lovely week.
Live-music echoed from every bar, free stuff swarmed out of each vendor, drinks doused through my thirsty throat and everything was crammed with drunkie-filled goodness.
Af the festival, I learned about Alpha Rev, Down and Outlaws, the Accidentals, Wolfmother and endless other jives, if you feel the need to learn some new tunes.
The week was dancey. It was sweaty. It was loud. It was hard to leave.
And my car didn't want to leave either, apparently.
 |
| Travis, hero-of-all-things-mechanical, saved the day by changing Chartreuse's spark plugs. |
After I finally got the nerve to drive west, Chartreuse my Silver Fox Ford decided to stall out.
With no way of leaving, I stayed until Travis got out his power tools and gave Charty a bit of bribing- namely, replaced some spark plugs and wires.
With her engine running supposedly smoothly, I set out for Carlsbad Caverns and gave Austin a sionara for now.
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