The Great Buc-ee’s Expedition
The next morning, after a lot of careful thought and serious breakfast-table discussion, we decided to take a ride toward the Blue Ridge Parkway.
That was the official plan.
Of course, around the Weeble household, “the official plan” is usually just a rough draft before something more interesting happens.
We started down Skyline Drive and stopped at a couple of overlooks along the way. The views were beautiful, the morning was peaceful, and everything was going along just fine.
Then Mrs. Weeble asked the question of the day.
“Remember that Buc-ee’s sign we saw yesterday? How far away is that from here?”
I didn’t know.
So, naturally, I asked ChatGPT.
Now, before we go any further, let me just say this: ChatGPT can be very helpful. It can also occasionally send you on a scenic tour of confusion, humility, and poor life choices.
According to ChatGPT, Buc-ee’s was about 40 miles from where we were. All we had to do was get off Skyline Drive, take I-64 westbound, then get on I-81 south and head toward exit 240.
I looked at Mrs. Weeble.
Mrs. Weeble looked at me.
Then she said the words every husband knows are both exciting and dangerous.
“Road trip.”
So off we went, following the directions we had been given.
There was just one small problem.
I forgot the most important rule when using technology for directions: trust, but verify.
We were heading down I-81 when I started noticing something that did not seem right. We were well beyond mile marker 240. In fact, we were somewhere around mile marker 200.
For anyone unfamiliar with mile markers, they get lower as you travel south.
That meant we were not getting closer to Buc-ee’s.
We were proudly and confidently driving away from it.
This is the sort of moment when you do not say much. You just quietly accept that the universe has handed you another little slice of humble pie.
We turned around and headed back in the correct direction.
Once we were finally pointed the right way, I realized we were getting a little low on diesel. I had signed up for the Open Roads fuel program, which gives diesel discounts at certain truck stops. Since we were now officially in road-trip recovery mode, this seemed like the perfect time to use it.
I found a T/A Travel Center that was part of the program and pulled into the truck fueling area.
That sentence alone should have warned me.
Truck fueling area.
This is where the big rigs go. This is where people who know what they are doing go. I, on the other hand, had a brand-new fuel card, a vague memory of signing up two months ago, and the confidence of a man walking directly into a learning experience.
I pulled up to the pump, took out my card, and inserted it like I had been doing this my whole life.
The pump accepted the card and told me to remove it.
So far, so good.
Then it asked me for my control number.
My what?
I had no memory of a control number. There was nothing on the card that said control number. There was certainly nothing in my brain that said control number.
Then the pump told me to go see the cashier.
I did not want to see the cashier.
I wanted diesel.
But inside I went. I explained the problem, and the cashier told me I needed my control number.
That was not the answer I was hoping for.
I went back to the Weeblemobile and tried to find a customer service phone number. I found the website. I found an email address. But I could not find a phone number anywhere.
So I decided to give ChatGPT another chance at redemption.
After all, it had helped create this adventure. Maybe it could help get us out of it.
This time, ChatGPT came through.
It found a customer service number, so I called and entered the famous phone tree. I pressed number 3 and found out I was third in line for a customer service representative.
So I pulled away from the pump, parked in the lot, and waited.
Then I waited some more.
Finally, someone picked up.
I explained, in so many words, that I was a first-time user and also apparently a dumbass.
The woman on the phone explained that I had set the control number when I opened the account. Then she asked, “If you had to guess a four-digit control number, what would it be?”
Now I felt even dumber.
Anytime I need a four-digit number, I usually use my old police ID number.
So I gave her my guess.
She said I was right.
At that moment, I am pretty sure she was thinking the exact same thing I was thinking.
“What a dumbass.”
After all of that, I finally got the diesel. The good news was that the Open Roads program worked, and I saved 90 cents a gallon.
The bad news was that I had just completed another official initiation into the RV world.
With a full tank of fuel and my pride slightly dented, we got back on course for Buc-ee’s.
Eventually, we reached the exit and saw the huge Buc-ee’s sign.
As we pulled into the lot, both of our eyes got big.
There were fuel pumps as far as you could see. I started looking at the numbers on the pumps, and the highest number I saw was 220. I am not saying there were definitely 220 pumps, but I would not bet against it.
Then we saw the building.
I have seen smaller Walmarts.
Actually, I have seen smaller Costco stores.
We got out and headed toward the entrance with our mouths hanging open like two people who had just discovered a convenience store had swallowed a shopping mall.
Once inside, I could barely see the other side of the store.
I felt like a kid walking into the toy department at Christmas.
I had no idea where to go first.
There was food, snacks, shirts, hats, signs, mugs, coolers, jerky, barbecue, candy, and enough Buc-ee’s merchandise to make you wonder if you had accidentally entered a small independent nation.
The place was packed, and everyone seemed to have the same look on their face.
The Buc-ee’s Look.
It is a combination of wonder, confusion, hunger, and the sudden belief that you absolutely need a T-shirt, a brisket sandwich, and a bag of Beaver Nuggets.
I lost Mrs. Weeble a couple of times. Not in a panic way. More like she had been gently absorbed into the Buc-ee’s current and was drifting through the store with the rest of the amazed travelers.
Eventually, she decided she had to use the bathroom.
I waited outside, and when she came back, she looked impressed.
She said she had never seen a bathroom that big. The toilets each had their own little rooms, and she guessed there were at least 50 of them. She also said there were a large number of baby-changing stations, and the whole place was amazingly clean.
That, right there, may be one of the great secrets of Buc-ee’s.
Yes, they have food.
Yes, they have snacks.
Yes, they have enough merchandise to decorate a house, an RV, and possibly a small town.
But clean bathrooms on the road?
That is how legends are born.
We wandered around for about 45 minutes, just trying to take it all in. There was so much stuff to look at that I am pretty sure we still missed half the store.
Eventually, we had to head back out to the Weeblemobile to check on the dogs.
Before we left, I asked Mrs. Weeble if she would want to go back inside another time.
I got a very clear answer.
“Hell yes.”
So we loaded up our Buc-ee’s treasures and headed back toward the campsite.
The original plan had been a simple ride toward the Blue Ridge Parkway.
Instead, we got wrong-way directions, a diesel fuel education, a customer service confession, 90 cents off per gallon, and our first full Buc-ee’s experience.
Around here, that counts as a successful day.
To be continued…