Texas Backroads Weekly

The hollow-bodied sentinels of the Lone Star State. The Backstory In the golden age of the American road trip, fiberglass was king. Between 14 and 25 feet tall, these "Muffler Men" were born in the 1960s to grab the attention of speeding motorists. Most were cast from a single Paul Bunyan mold in Venice, California, but they were transformed into cowboys, Indians, and mechanics to suit the local landscape. Today, these "Colossi of Commerce" are rare, and hunting them down has become a Texas rite of passage. The Texas Hit List Ready to go on a giant-sized scavenger hunt? Here are the most iconic Muffler Men (and their variations) still standing guard across Texas: 🤠 The Cowboy & Indian Giants The Indian Chief (Waxahachie): Perhaps the most famous in North Texas, serving as a high school mascot. The 2nd Amendment Cowboy (Amarillo): A towering figure holding a rifle in the Panhandle. The Chief (Jourdanton): A classic Native...

Steel giants and pipe-metal monsters guarding the Houston highway. The Backstory If you're cruising down Highway 288 through Houston, keep your eyes on the road—but don't be surprised if you find yourself double-taking at the skyline. Nestled on the grounds of the Texas Pipe and Supply Company is a collection of 26 titanic steel sculptures known as the Eclectic Menagerie Park. These massive landmarks are the work of artist Ron Lee, who transforms unused pipes and industrial equipment into a heavy-metal zoo. The collection is a masterclass in industrial folk art. From a friendly-looking King Kong dangling from a crane to a rusted armadillo that looks sturdy enough to survive a blast, these aren't your average lawn ornaments. You’ll find a daddy long legs spider towering over the grass, a soldier made of swirling coils, and even a massive fishing pole that has successfully "hooked" a full-sized Mazda Protege. Why It Matters The Eclectic Menagerie P...

A quiet suburban street with a dark secret buried just beneath the grass. The Backstory In the early 1980s, families began moving into the Newport subdivision in Crosby, looking for a peaceful life. That peace was shattered when Sam and Judith Haney decided to put a pool in their backyard. As the backhoe dug into the red Texas clay, it unearthed two plain cedar coffins. It turned out the development had been built on top of the Black Hope Cemetery , a 19th-century burial ground for former slaves and their descendants. The developers had moved the headstones years prior, but they had left the bodies behind. Over 60 graves remained scattered beneath the foundations of the houses and the manicured lawns. What followed was a decade of terror that became known as the "Black Hope Curse," eventually documented in a book and the television movie Grave Secrets . The Experience Residents on Poppets Way and surrounding streets reported activity that defied logic. Toilet...

Eight miles of pitch-black road and a light that shouldn't be there. The Backstory Deep in the dense, ancient woods of the Big Thicket lies an eight-mile stretch of dirt road that was once a bustling railroad line for the Santa Fe Railway. In 1934, the tracks were pulled up, leaving behind a perfectly straight, arrow-like path through the trees. But something stayed behind. For nearly a century, locals and travelers have reported seeing the Saratoga Light —a mysterious, glowing orb that floats down the center of the road, swaying as if carried by an unseen hand. The most famous legend tells of a railroad brakeman who was decapitated in a tragic accident during the track's construction. It’s said that his headless spirit now wanders the empty road every night, swinging a ghostly lantern in an eternal search for his missing head. Others claim the light belongs to a groom searching for his lost bride, or a hunter who vanished into the impenetrable thicket and never f...

The only thing left of a town that took its name from a tragedy. The Backstory Deep in the Hill Country, about nine miles north of Llano, lies a cemetery with perhaps the most unsettling name in Texas history. Baby Head Cemetery is all that remains of a 19th-century community that grew, flourished, and eventually vanished, leaving only its dead behind. But it’s the origin of the name that keeps travelers looking over their shoulders. According to local lore, in the mid-1850s, a young girl was kidnapped by a local tribe during a raid. In a gruesome attempt to warn off encroaching settlers, her remains were left on the mountain that now bears the same name. When the town was founded years later, the pioneers—in a bizarre act of remembrance—named their community, their post office, and their school "Baby Head." By 1918, the post office closed; by the 1960s, the town was a ghost, leaving the cemetery as the lone sentinel of this grim past. The Experience Visitor...