Austin: Monday: Wildflower Center, Lockhart, and more South of Austin

For Monday's activities, I'd planned to do things from my list that were outside the city.

These pictures track most of the day's activities, though this blog entry has more details.

First, I went to the Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center. It was disappointing, especially compared to the previous day's botanical gardens. It wasn't just that the center had an entrance fee and the gardens did not. It wasn't that the center took less time (under an hour) to explore. It was that the wildflower center just wasn't cool. Maybe it was the wrong time of year (though lots of flowers were in bloom) or maybe I'm not much of a fan of wildflowers. I liked the scattered sculptures more than the wildflowers themselves. I do, however, applaud the wildflower center's enlightenment: it provided a walking tour via podcast or cell phone. However, the tour didn't tell me where to walk next--I had to infer it from the descriptions and names of the tracks. Also, the last few tracks of the podcast were inexplicably in Spanish.

Incidentally, I enjoyed the center's special artist exhibit of Shou Ping, an artist who paints paper with watercolors, folds the paper into flowers, and layers them in a frame, creating pieces of art with depth.

After the center, my next destination was Lockhart, the barbecue capital of central Texas. As I left the center, it started pouring. My drive to Lockhart was longer than expected and, in fact, scary. Due to the rain, I drove 20 mph under the speed limit and fought intermittent hydroplaning the whole way.

Lockhart has three famous barbecue joints, all of which have existed for over half a century. These no-frills joints--most only recently added side dishes to their menus--and their cooking technique of smoking meat rubbed with a dry spice mix arose as Southern African-American culture met the culture of the German immigrants to this area. The meat menus are about half brisket and ribs in various cuts, a pork chop, and about half sausages of various types. I stuck my head in each of the three joints to get the feel of the places. They all have walls decorated with history. They all have huge barbecue pits. They generally serve meat on butcher paper. Everything else is secondary and still reflect cheap market prices. For instance, Smitty's sold $2 beers.

First up was Smitty's, where I had delicious brisket and good ribs. As I ate the brisket, I wondered whether I really loved barbecue or if this was really that good. It'd been a while since I had barbecue of any type and even longer since I had a dry-rub no-sauce style, so I wasn't sure if my calibration was plausible.

Next, I looked in on Black's but didn't stay long. I didn't plan to buy anything there, but the layout required me to walk down a narrow path past a buffet line of sides to get to the meat counter. It made looking without ordering awkward. I didn't see anything like the atmosphere/flavor of Smitty's meat-grill back room, but maybe I didn't approach deeply enough.

Finally, I went to Kreuz. It's a huge setup, with a dining hall at least five times bigger than Smitty's and many more barbecue pits. The brisket here, though good, wasn't in the same league as the one I had at Smitty's. This reminded me what normal barbecue tastes like, and it confirmed that my delight with the first brisket was legitimate. It was extraordinary. As always, the picture captions have more details.

As for Lockhart itself, it's small. The downtown extends a block or two in each direction from the central courthouse. From driving around, I spotted three churches in this small vicinity.

I had a list of ideas of possible activities to do in this vicinity south of Austin. From this list, I selected those that were reasonable given the weather.

This required another dangerous drive, this time to the town of San Marcos. Its layout is surprisingly similar to Lockhart's: there's a central courthouse (which even looks alike) with the town radiating a few blocks in each direction. San Marcos is, though, a little denser and large than Lockhart.

My goal in San Marcos was to see The Wittliff Collection, a gallery of southwest and Mexican photography and writing, located in Texas State University at San Marcos's Alkek Library. After driving in many circles (actually jagged, overlapping polygons) and getting directions a few different ways, I eventually got to the campus's visitor parking lot. I knew the gallery space was under renovation and had been moved elsewhere in the library building. I didn't realize that only a fraction of the small collection would be on display. I saw seven black-and-white artistic photographs and selection of props and photographs from the movie Lonesome Dove. Thoroughly unexciting. Nevertheless, I got to look out the library's seventh floor windows into the rain. And I saw the campus, an unusual mix of an ordinary functional campus / residential buildings surrounded by densely-packed single-family houses.

Next up was a not-as-dangerous drive to Gruene, not because the rain was any less fierce but because the route was on an interstate--a smoother road with fewer places for water to collect.

Gruene is a historic town perhaps four blocks long. Most buildings are what appeared to be century-old homes converted into shops, often selling antiques. I picked up a booklet map of Gruene subtitled "Resisting Change Since 1872."

As I drove north from Gruene to the airport, the rain began to clear. Then I hit a traffic jam. I thought I'd planned enough time to get to the airport, so I wasn't worried. I looked at the distance to go, calculated that I'd still be fine going at 15 miles per hour, taking double the time it should take. Ten minutes later I did some math and realized I was averaging 5 miles per hour. Then I began worrying. I contemplated contingency plans.

At some point the traffic cleared. I sped to the airport, returned the car, checked in, went through security, and made it the gate thirty minutes before my scheduled departure time, which turned out to be an hour before the actual departure time. I'm glad Austin's airport is small and not busy: it took me only five minutes from entering the car return lane until I was standing at the gate.

Incidentally, while I waited in the airport, I noticed it has no national chains, only local chains and local shops. I also noticed a stage for the airport's regular live music performances. Though I didn't get to hear any, I feel this is a good observation on which to close my Austin trip report.