I love to travel. I've always loved it. I grew up in Grand Prairie, Texas, and
as soon as I realized that there were other places, I wanted to visit them - all
of them. When I was in third grade, I could never focus on what teachers were
saying. All I could think was, "Why should I listen to you? You live in Grand
Prairie - and choose to. Every day, you choose not to get in your car and leave.
What could you possibly know?"

My parents didn't exactly encourage my quest for exploration. They're total
homebodies, rarely venturing beyond a five-mile radius from the house. But every
now and then we'd pile into the car and drive a couple of hours to Grandma's -
at least that was somewhere else. Movement, thank God.

I loved packing. Who cared about clothes? I was all about activities: Mad Libs,
invisible ink books, car bingo, playing cards, Fun Pads, Mad Libs, coloring books. The
backseat was my office and I was going to be productive. But after about ten
minutes, I'd have started seven different projects and was just ready to be
there already - anywhere but in the car, in the sweaty vinyl backseat with my
stupid-head big brother.

And that's when I learned to pee. Of course, I'd been peeing for years; it's one
of the first things I'd mastered. But I learned to be opportunistic about it. I
drank all the water I could, because every time we stopped for me to pee, I got
to visit a gas station.

Gas stations, those beautiful oases of the road. One hundred and four degrees
outside, sixty-four degrees inside. Gas stations are the mini rewards on the way
to the ultimate destination. You can stop, rehydrate, do some shopping, collect
souvenirs, shoplift, and generally sample the local culture. Who doesn’t need a Harley t-shirt and tree-shaped pine freshner?

The Modern Gas Station Oasis

I loved gas stations then, but now - whew! These are not your father's gas
stations. Today's gas stations offer great amenities - built-in Arby's, Subway,
Taco Bell, A&W, or Pizza Hut (sometimes all five). They have books, books on
tape, whoopee cushions, comedy cassettes, slot machines, and generally over 500
varieties of liquid refreshment, not including Slurpees. Roadside Nirvana.

It's best when I've been driving around for hours, really pushing it. My legs
are cramped, I'm over caff'ed, pepped, and ephedra'd, and I just need a place to
call my own for a few minutes. That's what a GS is, really - everyone's mini
temporary home.

I love to browse in the GS. There is very specific gas-sta-merch. It's a place
for collectors: spoons, state magnets, postcards, and souvenirs of towns you've
never heard of and had no idea you were actually in. G'stations in the South
boast loads of Jesus regalia. Who doesn't need a Jesus coloring book?

Outside of Amarillo

One of my more memorable visits to a gas station occurred in Texas, at a
particularly well-stocked GS in a little town just outside of Amarillo. The
store section was huge, and I got the feeling it was the biggest store in town.
A few examples of merchandise: calculators, Boo Boo Kitty clocks, a fondue set.
An $85 fondue set, to be exact.  I love the idea that someone is going to spend $85 on a gift—from a gas station.  It’s usually an “or” situation.  I will buy an $85 gift or buy something at a gas station.  But this GS had something else in mind.  Someone's going to buy it, have a fondue party, and the following conversation will occur:
Guest: Wow, great fondue, Verna. Where did you get this set?
Verna: Gas station. It's gas station fondue.

Why was it there? Who put that on the GS inventory? Do they sell out and
restock? Are a lot of people frequenting the gas station to pick up last-minute
wedding presents, and pricey ones at that? I like to think they are.

The Absolute Best 'GS'

I am constantly trying to find the absolute best GS. The one that currently tops
my list is on Interstate 10 between Los Angeles and Texas, and it features a
tourist trap exhibit called "The Thing?" It's not too far from Lake Havasu, not
too far from Carlsbad Caverns.  And, kind of in the middle of the desert.  Well, to be honest, I'm not sure where it is exactly, but you'll know you're nearby, because for 300 miles in either direction there are billboards: "The Thing? 300 miles," or "Have you seen the Thing? 150 miles," or "See the Thing? 15 miles." Who couldn't stop and see The Thing? What are you, a monster?

This is the sweetest stop. For one, it's in the middle of nowhere. (The only
other stop close by is Ostrich Farm - also a good time, by the way.) And it's got a huge
store. You can buy a buffalo head, Indian jewelry, or an American flag. And it's
got a Dairy Queen, hello Dilly Bar. Of course, the real attraction is “The Thing?”

When you enter, approach the clerk. Say something like, "I'd like to see The Thing?" You'll get the standard joke response of "She's on break. ... Jes' kidding, it's $1, heh heh." You pay and enter.  There’s a long stretch of corridors, dank, smelly.  It’s decorated, sort of.  Pinatas and such.  Children’s art projects.  Then a museum of stuff that would never be in a museum.  But was in my grandfather’s garage.  There’s an old typewriter.  Some shoes.  Pieces of wood.  An old-timey cash register.  None of it of particular interest till the car.  There’s an old car.  The placard reads “This car may have been used by Hitler.”  May have been?  “The Thing” people have some big pair.  I mean, anything may have been anything.  But, they’re in the middle of the desert, they’re piping you full of Icees and DQ Dudes.  They win.  Eventually, you reach the end of the hallways, and you see “The Thing.”  And it’s—I would be doing you a disservice to tell you.  But, I will say if you’re in the desert somewhere between Texas and an ostrich farm, you’re thirsty and you have a dollar, “The Thing” is well worth a visit.

I plan to continue my search for the world's greatest gas station, and I hope
you engage in your own. It's true what they say: Sometimes you've got to stop
and smell the gas station. And the people in it.  And do some shoplifting.  It’s not exactly what they say, but they should.