In Search of Lunch

Lunch at Palmetto State Park is our ultimate goal, but before we get there, we must purchase that lunch. So, on the outskirts of Gonzales, driving on the divided highway, I tell Michael, Baker Boys BBQ is on the other side of the street.

He immediately turns left on the nearest crossover. Too soon.  I spoke too soon. I really have to work on my timing.  We make a few U-turns and are on our way again.

Finally, arriving at the empty parking lot, Michael looks at me and says, “They aren’t open.” ☹

“But the sign says they are!” I tell him. 😊

I wait in the car while Michael purchases our lunch, and then we are off, Headed to Palmetto State Park for a prepared picnic lunch.  The easiest way to have a picnic.

Lunch at Palmetto State Park

Michael turns off the highway, telling me he is taking the back way into the park. That is fine with me; I love the back way—prefer the back way no matter where we go. When we get to an intersection, we have a choice to turn right or left—the park road goes both directions. Michael turns right.

Another U-turn is in our future. We chose the wrong way, but the drive is like entering the bayous of Louisiana, and neither of us is unhappy with the choice.

After picking up our day pass at Palmetto State Park HQ, we make our way to the picnic area, and even though the parking lot is full of vehicles—most of them with a state park logo on their side—every single table is empty. Michael chooses a picnic spot and begins setting out lunch.  We are close to the San Marcos River, so I wander over to a small trail, thinking I can take a quick peek.  I look at the steeply sloping path and decide it isn’t a good idea.

I walk back to the picnic table to see a whole barbequed chicken, a giant pile of brisket glistening with the perfect blackened crust, pinto beans, coleslaw, pickles, and bread. I think we need a few more people to join us for lunch.  After choosing Baker Boys BBQ for our repast, I noticed that in 2017, Texas Monthly included them as one of the 50 best BBQ joints in Texas. 

I’m looking forward to the first bite. The brisket is perfect! The rub on the brisket gives it a great salty, spicy crunch and the sliced meat is glistening tasty tenderness. The beans have pure pinto flavor, and the coleslaw is slightly sweet and lightly dressed.

The San Marcos River

When finally, we can eat no more, we pack up our leftovers and place them in the insulated picnic tote. I exchange my sandals for tennis shoes, and we take a wide cement path down to the river. We are alone with Mother Nature, sitting on the side of a low bridge. It is beyond gorgeous!

We notice a family of three on the far away riverbank in back of us. A couple comes by on their bicycles, and the wife stops to take pictures of the river. After crossing the bridge, they begin to bicycle up the steep incline of the trail. The bicycling doesn’t last for long; they get off their bikes and begin to push—I probably would have started by pushing from the very bottom of the hill.

As we turn and start our climb away from the river-bed, I ask Michael, “How did that family get to the riverbank?” There is absolutely no safe access from the bridge.

“They used the trail close to our picnic table,” he replies.

I raise my eyebrows—knowing what is in my future and wishing for my walking stick.

Another Way Down

As we stand here looking down at the trail, I hold my breath and begin my descent.  It isn’t too bad till we get to a giant log that is almost hip-high. I sit down and spin around doing an about-face—which is down the side of a cliff. I’m hoping we will both stop and sit awhile. Wrong.

Michael pushes his way through the weeds and begins his descent. I stay put.

“Be careful,” I yell.

There are so many trees and so much brush between me and the river below that I lose sight of him. The small family that played on the river banks begin their climb up. The father urges his son onward, telling him he can make it if he just hangs onto the blue rope placed there to assist in the climb.

They get to the log where I sit, and the young boy looks dubious. The puppy that is with them thinks, “No way.” I can tell by his expression that is what he is thinking. Their four-footed friend is lifted across.

Before all of the young family make it over the log, I see Michael pulling his way up the cliff via the blue rope. I accuse him of thinking—believing—he is still twenty-seven years old. He’ll never grow up. I think I am glad about that.

Because the temperature is soaring, we promise the Ottine Swamp that we will explore its trail another day, when it is cooler. Maybe November?

Back in the car, we point our nose toward our next adventure.