I drive 1,448 miles to Ohio four times a year.
Buc-ee’s is part of my ritual.
The billboards start a thousand miles out. The sign is visible a mile away, and I pull in with 200 other cars, all headed for the same 120 pumps.
Buc-ee’s is America in one highway exit:
Give free people room, and they build BIG.
Seventy-two spotless toilet stalls. Seventy-five thousand square feet. Fresh brisket. Cheap gas. Beaver Nuggets.
