Texas Backroads Weekly

Photo credit: Texas Historical Commission (THC). Why Texas Historical Markers Matter They’re easy to drive past. They’re easy to underestimate. But if you’ve ever taken the long way through Texas, you already know: the story is usually sitting right there on the shoulder. Texas is huge. You can cross whole regions in a day and still miss what makes them feel like Texas. Historical markers are one of the simplest ways the state quietly says, “Hey — something happened here.” And that matters, because backroads aren’t just scenery. They’re memory. They’re places where communities formed, struggled, built, changed names, moved, disappeared, and sometimes came back again. "A historical marker is a tiny roadside invitation: slow down, look closer, and listen. " 1) They put history where it belongs A textbook can tell you what happened. A museum can show you what survived. But a marker puts you on the grou...

No, your eyes aren't playing tricks on you. It's supposed to look like that. The Backstory If you're driving east of Amarillo on I-40, you’ll eventually see a massive water tower that looks like it's about to flatten the Texas soil. Known as the Leaning Tower of Groom (or Britten's Tower), this structure leans at a staggering 80-degree angle. Contrary to what many passing tourists think, this wasn't an accident or the result of a Panhandle windstorm. It was a brilliant marketing stunt pulled off by a man named Ralph Britten . In the 1980s, he bought the tower from a nearby town, hauled it to Groom, and intentionally buried two of its legs shorter than the others to create a "visual emergency" that would lure people into his truck stop and restaurant. 📍 At a Glance Location: I-40, Exit 114 (Groom, TX) The Legend: Travelers still call the Highway Patrol to report a falling tower. Status: It's now a lone landm...

Where the desert heat meets the fire of a thousand bowls of red. The Backstory In 1967, two legends—H. Allen Smith and Wick Fowler—decided to settle a debate about who made the best chili in the world. They chose Terlingua , a desolate, nearly abandoned mining ghost town near the Mexican border, as the neutral ground. What began as a tongue-in-cheek publicity stunt transformed into a global phenomenon. Today, there are actually two competing cook-offs (CASI and the "Tolbert" group), but the spirit remains the same: no beans, no compromise, and lots of Texas attitude. Terlingua itself is a place of haunting beauty. Once a thriving quicksilver mining hub, it spent decades as a crumbling ruin before being rediscovered by artists, river rafters, and outlaws. The Chili Cook-Off is the one time a year this quiet desert sanctuary turns into a sprawling city of RVs, tents, and bubbling cauldrons. 📍 At a Glance Location: Terlingua Ghost Town, Highway 170 ...

Where "thumping" for ripeness is a professional sport. The Backstory In the mid-1950s, a local high school principal named Hermon Bowne wanted to find a way to honor the local farmers and the incredible watermelons grown in the sandy soil around Luling. He came up with the "Watermelon Thump"—a name that refers to the traditional way of checking if a melon is ripe by flicking it with your finger. What started as a small local gathering has grown into one of the most famous small-town festivals in the South. Luling itself is a town of contrasts. It’s famous for the "decorated" oil derricks that line the main street, painted to look like cartoon characters and watermelons. But for one weekend every June, the oil takes a backseat to the sugar. The festival draws over 30,000 people to a town that normally houses only 5,000, turning the streets into a massive carnival of Americana. 📍 At a Glance Location: Downtown Luling, TX 78648 ...