God's Country

I returned to Texas for the first time since May 1988. I lived in Irving during the second year of my eight-year-long college odyssey, and three assignments took me back. In between photographing the Texas Mud Mafia at play near Kilgore, the Rahr and Sons Brewing Company, and The Texican Chop Shop in San Angelo, I took a little nostalgic tour of my old stomping grounds.

Despite the fact that the Dallas area has experienced tremendous development since the late 1980s, Irving really hasn't changed that much. The school I attended had changed hands, and a few of the businesses in the strip malls on Belt Line Road were rebuilt and new, but the old apartment building I lived in was pretty much the same. I was mostly shocked to see the area I called home for nine months was so small.
















Seeing Texas with a more mature eye was fascinating. I did a brewery profile of a local micro-brewery, Rahr and Sons Brewing, and one of the owners, Tony Formby, took me on a tour of some of the Fort Worth venues that serve his beers. Downtown Fort Worth is a really great little area, with gorgeous rennovated old buildings and a small-town blend of Texan hospitality and character. The Flying Saucer was probably my favorite stop, a great bar with enough history and architecture to be attractive and a cast of colorful regulars.

We also caught a heavy metal band playing at a horror show and band outing at the brewery that night. The music was heavier and louder than my tastes, but the beer and crowd were interesting enough to more than compensate.

Thanks to Jeff Holt, a West Texan who blogs about beer at Wort's Going on Here, for recommending Rahr & Sons.
















I spent Sunday riding with the Texas Mud Mafia, a fun-loving crew who fed me great barbequed chicken, braved a torrential downpour to ride, and taught me that mud riding can be a family affair. Who knew? They also have a great sense of humor. My favorite quote came from Johnene McLarry, who was sporting pink rubber boots and riding with her boyfriend. "I ride on the back and work his paddle," she said with a laugh. Her BF came over when he heard us laughing and rolled his eyes. "What did she say now?" he said.

On Monday, I had the privilege of visiting with the guys at The Texican Chop Shop. The shop is owned by Los Lonely Boys, and blends building hot rods with community activism in the building where one of the boys from the band worked long before being discovered. My only regret with that visit was I didn't have time to check out the town and really get to know the guys at the shop.

On Saturday night, my rental car drained the battery (or maybe I left the lights on--nice move), so I had to get a jump. In true Texas style, help was not hard to find. The parking lot attendant provided jumper cables, a guy on the sidewalk stopped to help push the car out so we could access the battery. Then two six-foot-plus Texans in crisp polo shirts and a big white Chevy truck came over and offered to jump the car. It was quite a scene--I was parked on a lot across from a packed patio bar, and every guy who walked by offered his two cents on how to make the operation work. When the car was up and running, the two tall Texans asked me why I was in town (apparently I don't look or sound Texan--surprise, surprise). One of them turned to me as he left and and said, "Welcome to God's Country."

Yep, that's Texas. Big, helpful, and full of beer. Not a bad combination, in my book.