Journeys With Jani

By Jani, your travel-lovin’, snack-scarfin’, road warrior, southern fried belle!

Let me just say this upfront: I am a Buc-ee’s fan. Like, full-blown, fangirl, skip-the-gas-station-down-the-road-and-hold-it-till-Buc-ee’s kind of fan. And I make no apologies for it.

Now, I know what you’re thinking—“Really? A gas station?” Oh, this ain’t your average pit stop with sticky bathroom floors and a questionable hot dog on rollers that’s been there since the Nixon administration. Buc-ee’s is Texas-sized magic. It’s a cultural phenomenon. It’s a clean-bathroom, brisket-on-the-board, Beaver-Nuggets-in-my-bag kind of place that feels like home… if home smelled like smoked meats and cinnamon-glazed pecans (oh those pecans).

But here’s the kicker: everything I adore about Buc-ee’s is the exact stuff other people seem to hate.

Let’s break this down, shall we?

What I Love About Buc-ee’s:

The Bathrooms: You could do a trust fall into those stalls and land on tile cleaner than your kitchen floor.

The Snacks: Beaver Nuggets. Jerky walls. Homemade fudge. They’ve got more snack options than a Cracker Barrel on Christmas Eve. The Merch: Where else can you get a “Don’t Mess with Texas” beach towel, a 64oz insulated tumbler, and a cast iron skillet all in one go? The Vibes: Country music, hot food, and people-watching galore. It’s like a redneck-themed amusement park without the height requirements.

The One Thing I Don’t Love: The Parking Lot

Listen, I’m not gonna sugarcoat it—Buc-ee’s parking lots are the Wild West. It’s like a demolition derby meets NASCAR meets a caffeine-fueled mom van with three screaming toddlers and a loose sippy cup rolling under the seat. And I hate it.

But—and this is a big Texas-sized but—with a little patience and some strategic parking lot ninja skills, you can survive it. And trust me: once you finally squeeze into that spot and make your way inside? Oh baby, it’s worth every near-fender-bender moment. Because on the other side of that asphalt war zone is pure joy in the form of warm brisket sandwiches and sparkling-clean stalls.

What the Haters Say:

“It’s too much.” — Oh, sorry Karen. Would you prefer the rundown gas station where the slushie machine hasn’t worked since 2007?

“It’s overwhelming.” — Life’s overwhelming, sweetheart. Get the brisket sandwich and push through.

“The merch is tacky.” — So am I, sometimes. We all contain multitudes.

“It’s just a glorified gas station.” — And I’m just a girl, standing in front of the snack wall, asking it to love me.

I’m seriously considering planning an entire Buc-ee’s-themed road trip. I could map out all the locations like it’s a patriotic pilgrimage—Georgia to Texas to Florida to Kentucky. Maybe I’ll even rank them based on their bathrooms, brisket-to-bun ratio, and how aggressive the guy in the Ford F-250 was pulling into pump #28 …wait, that’s mu husband. Oops. Could be a whole blog series. Maybe even a sticker for my laptop that says “I brake for beavers.”

Let’s be real: Buc-ee’s isn’t for everyone. But then again, neither am I. And if loving a gas station that doubles as a snack wonderland, souvenir superstore, and restroom utopia is wrong? Then baby, I don’t wanna be right.

So the next time you see that giant cartoon beaver smiling down from the highway sign, do yourself a favor—exit now. Get the nuggs. Get the jerky. Get the tee. Embrace the snacks. Brave the parking lot.

XOXO, Jani

Living that Beaver Believer life, one pit stop at a time.