A full tank of gas. Credit cards and cash. A full day before us–the last of our Summer Sundays. The monkey troop and I piled into the kiddie carrier and headed out with no plan, no deadline, and no idea what we’d do next. It was a day dedicated to, what Kurt Vonnegut would call, farting around.

With my foursome absorbed in various distractions in the backseat, I pointed the bow of our land yacht up the seldom-sailed lanes of Highway 290. Living as close to Texas 71 as we do, it’s the more logical route. But, that route would be way too been-there-before for today. Instead, we took in scenes seldom seen and arrived in the Capitol city from a different angle of approach. In the final analysis, though, I hold with what’s been proven over time: 290 is a pain in the ass, 71 is a better route from casa to Capitol.

Tumtum time

Our first stop is 99% necessity: feed the kids. The general mood was fine for most of the drive. But, the rumbling of tummies grew mile-by-mile as did the growing insurrection among my passengers. Every McDonald’s, every Subway, every convenience store along the way got pitched as possible dining stops. I stood my ground:  LOCAL ONLY. And, only places we’ve never gone before. After munching down California Enchiladas, a Ferget About It (Italian) Sandwich, a Portabellow Mushroom sandwich, Cesar Salad, and Migas at kerbey lane cafe (sic) the kids agreed 100% about my choice of destination–trust in dad was making a comeback.

As the kids were mounting up after filling up, I noticed a mom and daughter in front of our truck. They were tucking a box up under a sign. They were effecting such nonchalance that Detective Dad couldn’t resist investigating. They were,  I learned, engaged in something called Letterboxing. Think of it as a low-tech form of Geo-Caching with the advantage of not requiring a GPS.  Beginning at a single location, they’re given a compass heading and clues to find a box containing a unique stamp. Over the past six months, they collected a Moleskin filled of them, found in various locations around Austin alone. It’s a quiet little pursuit that’s catnip to the DaddyMom’s imagination We’re planning on giving it a go in Houston soon.

Orgy of choice: custom cookies

I’ll admit to having visited the cookie lounge (sic) before. But, it was new to the kids–and I told them as much. It’s an interesting idea, but doesn’t seem, well, fully baked. Pick your dough, select mix-ins, and 12 minutes later get a cookie of your own creation. It’s Marble Slab meets cookie baking. It also has rough edges. But, it must be working. I was there about six months ago and it seems to be prospering.

The cookies are delicious, by the way–plenty of butter. But, that 12 minute wait seems a disconnect to this marketing/entertainment brain. The store needs a second act that engages expectant eaters. The muted (without subtitles) Spongebob DVD playing on a too-small flatscreen didn’t meet the need–especially when the counter help fibbed to Zuzu about it being a DVD in the first place. (My kids know a DVD when they see one and were merely suggesting it needed to be started. “It’s not a DVD,” they said.) When the disc finished playing, sweet Zuzu cheerfully exclaimed, “you lied. It IS a DVD. Why did you lie?” The girl, busted cold by a seven-year old, didn’t have an answer. Score one for Zu.

The olfactory alarms went off moments before the timers did. I pointed out to the kids that it’s often better to bake with your nose than a timer.  tJust like each of my babies, no two of their cookies were the same: Stella had a chocolate cookie with Andes mints and white chocolate chunks. Zuzu mixed M&Ms and Reese’s PB in a sugar cookie base. Kate chose blueberries and chocolate chips. John had M&Ms and white chocolate in a chocolate cookie. Dad, meanwhile, had an oatmeal cookie (shock!) with Cranberries and white chocolate. And, icy cold milk all around. The Yumyum portion of our tour was complete. Time to work it off!

Putt Putt: the Tee-Ball of golf
(just our speed)

Earlier this week, returning from Wizard Academy’s Young Writers Workshop, Kate and I cut through an unfamiliar route in Austin and happened upon this gem: Peter Pan Mini Golf. This was the seed that blossomed into our full day on the road.

Kitsch is a good thing in the land of the DaddyMom. And, this place is a bubbling cauldron of kitsch celebrating its golden anniversary. Cement figures covered and recovered and recovered with countless coats of paint that couldn’t conceal their age enhanced the tacky magic of the experience. Austin is a city where a clearly dated experience like this is savored and embraced as a precious thread in the  community’s artistic fabric; it was packed.

It was also a cash-only operation. Go figure. Guess who didn’t have a single dollar remaining in his billfold? You don’t have to guess which of my kids was able to whip out cash to pay for us to play–and did so gladly. Stella is not only the one of my kids who could one day take over my business, but probably do better with it than me. (She made no big deal of her ability to help, or my need for it. How cool is that? She did, however, mention something about interest on the loan.)

The final score? Oh, who keeps score. Right? Honestly. We stopped keeping score on the first hole. “Let’s just play for fun,” Zuzu said. All agreed. It’s a declaration not widely embraced by a couple playing in front of us. He was stoic in his strokes, she methodical. It was as if this were the final round of their private Ryder cup. Puhhhleeeze, I thought. It’s putt-putt. The term, pick your shots, was never so aptly applied.

Coffee, Juice, and crunchy

Slugging through 18 holes under the Texas rotisserie  sun, left us all sauteed in our own juices and ready for cool relief. In keeping with our Never Before Tour credo, I turned to the iPhone to discover a properly funky Austin coffee shop; Kate held out for a fruity concoction at a neighboring juice bar.

Flipnotics is off the scale of bohemian disconnect from societal convention. The experience of seeing so many authentically grungy folk, liberally inked-up wait staff, and general funkiness of their environs led John to opine that Austin is  “School of The Woods run wild.” Yup.

Swimming up South Congress

Technically, a stroll through the shops of South Congress wasn’t strictly in keeping with our Never Before Tour theme. However, as Emerson observed, “you can never twice step in the same river.” Any visit to these shops will be a wholly new experience each and every time. Plus there were a couple newbies in the mix. Sadly, as the kids pointed out, the new comers were decidedly poseur. I assert, you judge.

The standard bearer of South Congress funkatude is Uncommon Objects:  ADHD heaven. A conglomeration of odds and ends arrayed in such randomness as to make sense. Where else could you find 60’s retro furniture, cast-iron theater spotlights, costume jewelry, records, hand-made postcards, antiques, and objects defying categorization–all in one spot. Uncommon indeed.

If I lived here, this would be a frequent stomping ground for me. There’s a creative jump-start found among the combinations and contradictions discovered while mindlessly wandering its aisles. Uncommon Objects was all too much for John and Zuzu to handle. Their ability to connect and comprehend run ragged, they had to go outside and rest. And, that’s saying something!

The gold at the end of all my rainbows

I give thanks daily for all my babies. Each brings a blessing all their own. But, this one is a singular joy to us all. Her sense of self is so resolute, her curiosity insatiable, her moxie without measured limit, and yet she still hides in my shadow when going places, locked in satellite orbit seldom exceeding three feet of separation. Time will come soon enough when she will fire retros and course correct onto a solitary track. Until then, I’m juuuust fine to be her guiding star.

Live Tequila, free for all

Live music in Austin is nearly a birthright. We came across this one duo flailing their way through an original piece on the sidewalk. First time we saw them, Kate thought they were good; a guy strumming a guitar, the other thumping the back of his like a drum. (I’m not convinced he knew what to do with the other side.) We later encountered them again, but their song had run flat. Kate looked at me with eyes that said thumbs down.

Music fills the air of South Congress. Satisfying melodies often waft from from this venue.  This is the first time, however, I’ve come across a production of this kind–a full horn section blasting through Tequila (of all things) and other numbers. It filled the whole area with a carnival sound. Such fun.

The Monkey troop mounts up for the ride home

We could easily have stayed over and had even more fun in Austin the next day. But, the kids were all pretty insistent about coming home; John and Kate could only be denied broadband for so long and the confines of the Expedition were starting to close in on the DaddyMom too. So, after posing for a goodbye shot with the Capitol off in the background, we mounted up for a moonlit ride home.

But first, let’s get batty

Realizing how close to dusk it was, I did a 180 in the middle of Congress and parked the truck so we could see the bats fly out for their evening meal. Austin is home to the world’s largest bat preserve–smack dab in the middle of downtown; so very Austin. Folks throng to this spot nightly to witness throngs of bats letting loose their moorings beneath the Congress Street bridge, winging off in seemingly random paths. If you’ve never experienced it, you must. It’s a tad creepy, but fascinating all the same. Be warned: it smells. It smells bad. Stay upwind.

Sweet day. Sweet dreams.

We arrived home around 11. Before opening the garage door, I reminded them of our leave-no-trace travel policy. The truck was restored to its pre-travel order (notice I didn’t say cleaned) and in short order, all four flew up to bed and the house fell silent in record time with reruns of the day’s adventures playing in each of their heads. A sweet win for all–especially the DaddyMom.