Flickr photo by mlhradio

Stonehenge II, the worse-for-the-wear roadside attraction Texas Traveler visited early last year, is getting a new home and a new coat of paint, thanks to a local arts organization.

The replica, two-thirds the size of the prehistoric original, was built in a corn field skirting the Guadalupe River just outside the small town of Hunt by neighbors Al Shepperd and Doug Hill. Hill, a contractor, had finished building a patio on his property when he was left with a single, large slab of limestone he offered to Shepperd. Shepperd, oddly, decided to stand the slab upright in the middle of his land. It reminded him of Stonehenge, so he soon set about, with Hill's help, to create other pieces made out of plaster to complete the monument.

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The Cup is over, the king has moved, and I replaced the C in "circle" with the Z from "zucchini." This was the week in TV Land:

• Nominations for the 62nd Primetime Emmy Awards were announced last week, and befitting an industry built on low standards and an organization dedicated to filling a room with stars to generate higher ad buys, the nominations themselves were a typical mix of the awful and the absurd. The outstanding comedy series category overlooked Community (which cruelly missed out but once again gave noms to 30 Rock and The Office, despite the former's generally weak season and the latter's complete inability to generate laughs. Glee was also recognized in the category (the show led all series comers with 19 noms, though HBO's The Pacific received a staggering and maybe not merited 24), but its unevenness and decreasing watchability make that a hard pill to swallow. Similarly, Justified and Friday Night Lights were shut out of the drama series category, though Lost got an attaboy nom for wrapping up its series with a wildly divisive finale that's only gotten worse in retrospect. And is it even worth giving an award for best reality competition show? Isn't that just saying, "This was the least grating reality series we could find"?

That said, there were some pleasant inclusions. The Tonight Show With Conan O'Brien was nominated for outstanding variety, music, or comedy series, while Jay Leno's version of the show was shut out. It was also nice to see Kyle Chandler and Connie Britton, who've been doing award-worthy work on Friday Night Lights since 2006, finally get nominated for their performances. And though Parks and Recreation unfortunately didn't get many noms, at least Amy Poehler is up for best actress in a comedy series. Small victories, folks.

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Photo by photine

​How did you celebrate the 174th anniversary of Texas' independence from Mexico? You probably didn't do anything like what a group of stalwart runners spent their weekend doing -- running the 203 miles from Gonzales to the San Jacinto Battleground in Deer Park.

Dozens of teams of eight to 12 members spent all weekend running the 40 legs of the relay, legs of varying lengths (from two miles to almost nine) that finish right through the heart of Houston and culminate at the obelisk monument in honor of the Battle of San Jacinto, where Sam Houston (namesake shoutout!) defeated Santa Anna on April 21, 1836. Even if your team has 12 members, that's a lot of running -- almost 17 miles a person if divided evenly. Most teams take the full two days to do the run, with runners sleeping just a few hours between legs. Some runners, ultramarathoners, attempt to run the full 200 miles solo. These guys have nothing on the MS 150-ers.

So, you're forgiven if that's not how you wanted to spend your weekend. But if the independence route interests you, it would make an interesting road trip, especially for a long weekend.

Below, some stops of interest along the way:

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Photos by Brittanie Shey

​Sometimes it's a bad idea to watch the Olympic Games in a bar. When someone shouts over the broadcast of the biathlon "Hey, I could do that," you might not want to challenge them, especially since this is Texas and that bar patron probably already has one half of the shooting/skiing sport mastered.

But when you're watching curling on the tube after having a few, and someone suggests you all go down to Clear Lake to try your hand at lawn bowling on ice, you think "What could go wrong?"

That's how Texas Traveler ended up at the Space City Ice Station at 10:30 p.m. on a Saturday.

The weekend before, we watched as the US Women defeated Great Britain in a round-robin game and listened as the sportscasters opined about the future of the sport. Curling, it seems, has a reputation somewhat similar to that of whist -- it's an old lady's game, at least in the countries where it's played regularly.

But both the US and Great Britain teams were looking to change that. Eve Muirhead, the 19-year-old skip (or captain) of the Great Britain team, has funky dyed hair and a tattoo of the Olympic rings. On the US team, the oldest curler was Tracy Sachtjen, born in 1969, who kept a blog about her experiences in Vancouver, bringing the game to a whole new medium. More »

Photos by Brittanie Shey

​North of Houston, outside the small town of Montgomery, there is a house where lobos in limbo live, the St. Francis Wolf Sanctuary. The sanctuary, a non-profit organization staffed entirely by volunteers, aims to provide a permanent home to captive-born wolves and wolf-dog hybrids that are too wild to be kept as pets, yet too domesticated to survive in the wild. Many of the animals come from backgrounds of abuse, but under the care of founder and octogenarian Jean LeFevre they're able to live out the rest of their lives in relative comfort and care.

Organizing a trip to the sanctuary took a little perseverance. Their website is full of inaccurate information -- from hours of operation to suggested donation prices -- and the first time I called I left a message that was returned a few days later. The second time I called, the person on the phone tried everything in her power to persuade me not to come -- it was going to rain, it was going to be crowded, it was going to be a long drive. When I persisted in trying to make a reservation (which are required), she caved -- only to tell me "Oh, it's not very busy today. All those tours are scheduled for tomorrow."

Once we arrived at the sanctuary, though, the bad taste had left my mouth. LeFevre lives in a huge, modern house at the end of a country road, and the wolves live in enclosures on her large property. As we pulled into the gate I spotted several signs warning in big letters: WOLVES.

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Photos by Brittanie Shey

When Texas Traveler last went to the Bolivar Peninsula, she got a flat tire in the sand, and the small towns of High Island and Crystal Beach were still struggling to rebuild a year after Ike. The flat tire incident was scary -- a nail no doubt from one of the many destroyed homes embedded itself in the rubber. Texas Traveler sat on the beach and stared out at the muddy waters of the Gulf and imagined how many other nails, boards, broken windows and who knows what else hid beneath the surface. Needless to say, we didn't go swimming.

But Texas Traveler is a supporter of the Bring Back Bolivar movement, and she's also a supporter of any reason to party, so this weekend we drove down to the peninsula for Crystal Beach Mardi Gras.

I've never been to the "real" Mardi Gras, nor have I been to Carnival. I'm not the biggest fan of surging crowds of drunks. Heck, I've never even been to Galveston's Mardi Gras (though that may change next year). But I am a fan of small town parades. When I was a kid growing up in Oklahoma, every April we'd celebrate Land Run Day (yes, it's a state holiday) with an 89ers Day Parade and festival on the main street of the tiny town of Lexington.

There's nothing like a small-town parade.

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Photos by Brittanie Shey

Steamy hot springs...the perfect solution for a lack of shower.

​Ed. Note: This is the sixth part in a series about driving to Big Bend National Park and back.

This might be Too Much Information, but after three days of camping in the desert and one long 14-mile hike, Texas Traveler was ready for a shower come Saturday. We woke up in the morning, glutes sore from the previous days' hikes, and packed up our tent as well as our frozen fingers would allow. We got lucky on our trip to Big Bend -- the weather had been in the high 50s and sunny -- but that didn't mean the nights and mornings weren't freezing, which lead to unpleasant combination of being both sweaty and cold at the same time.

Our friends had arrived to the park a day before we did and reported that before we left, we absolutely MUST go to the southern border and check out the old hot spring. With a 12-hour drive staring us in the face, a rinse-off in bubbling hot water sounded like the perfect solution for our soreness and stankyness.

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Photos by Brittanie Shey

The Boot

Ed. Note: This is the fifth part of a series on traveling to Big Bend National Park. Click back to read posts 1, 2, 3 and 4.

Saturday morning we wake up with a thin layer of frost on our tents. Texas Traveler's Christmas gift to herself was a mummy-style 10º sleeping bag from R.E.I. -- this first real sleeping bag she's owned since the NKOTB rectangle she used to lug to sleepovers. It's a good thing too -- the nights camping in Grapevine Hills, without the protective shield of the Chisos Mountains surrounding us, are very chilly. The condensation from our breath inside the tent plus the cold air outside results in a sheet of ice that comes off in one piece when we crawl out in the morning.

Texas Traveler has never camped in the desert before. And as she's pointed out already, Big Bend is way the hell in the middle of nowhere, and Grapevine Hills is one of the park's most secluded campsites. Our first night of camping is spectacular. After sunset, the Milky Way and more stars than sand on the beach are visible overhead. A few hours later the moon rises. It's almost full, and it's so big and bright I don't need to use my head lamp when I sneak out into the cactuses for a nature break.

But seeing the bear that afternoon has freaked me out. I put basically everything we brought into the campsite's bear box, and half expect our things to be ransacked in the morning.

There's no sleeping in when it's winter in the desert. We're awake and shivering before the sun comes up, which is a good thing because not only do we get to watch the sunrise over the Sierra del Carmen-Santiago Mountains but we also get an early start to the day. Our goal is to hike to the top of Emory Peak, the highest point in the park.

Texas Traveler's geologist friend laid everything out on the map the night before. "I think I have come up with a plan by which we can hike almost every trail in the park," he said. The planned route? Fourteen miles.

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Photos by Brittanie Shey

Fire at La Kiva

​Ed. Note: This is the fourth part in a series of posts on traveling to Big Bend and back. Click back to read posts 1, 2 and 3.

Let me start off by saying that if you are a Big Bend virgin and you have the opportunity to visit the park for the first time with a seasoned veteran, jump on that chance. If the veteran also happens to be a professional geologist, you are in for a real treat.

And so it was that after almost a week of exploring West Texas, we finally made it to our destination, Big Bend National Park. We checked into Big Bend Motor Inn in Terlingua, Texas, a ghost town that now houses a few buildings and served as one of the northern entryway to the park. It was New Year's Eve, and our plan was to meet four other friends, so out for drinks, and begin exploring the park on January 1.

There isn't much in Terlingua other than a few overpriced supply stores. There isn't much anywhere in this part of Texas, which probably accounts for why BBNP, one of the biggest national parks in the country, also has the lowest visitor rate of any national park in the lower 48 states.

Our friends, who are driving in from Houston that day, haven't arrived yet, so we start the evening off with a fantastic (if overpriced) dinner at the Starlight Theatre, which is exactly what it sounds like -- an old movie theater turned diner. I eat an axis venison burger with raspberry chipotle mayo that pools on one side of my plate because, this being an old movie theater, the floor (and our table) incline downward towards the old screen and stage. Outside, hordes of people are gathered on the storefront's porch, sipping beers. There isn't much to do on New Year's Eve in Terlingua, and this is it.

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Photos by Brittanie Shey

Casa Mesa

Ed. Note: This is the third part in a series about traveling to Big Bend. Part one and part two covered heading west and the sublimely bizarre towns like Marfa along the way.

Part of what started Texas Traveler's obsession with Big Bend was a chance encounter with my former next-door neighbor. Jan, a flight attendant, used to live in the house next door until she met another Montrose neighbor, fell in love, got married and moved into his house a few blocks away. We didn't see much of her after that except at neighborhood gatherings, but one evening we ran into the two of them eating dinner at Ziggy's Bar and Grill. They told us they'd bought some land and a house in west Texas and were spending a week every other month out there. Did we want to come for a visit?

I have wanted to explore West Texas since moving to the state six years ago. It just seems SO FAR AWAY. But knowing we had a place to stay and someone familiar with the area made my travel companion and I even more eager to head west. Still, it took us two years after the encounter to actually make good on our threat to visit them.

After leaving Marfa we went back through Alpine where I stopped at Front Street Books to get some reading material for the rest of the trip. In about an hour our cell phones will stop working and we won't have internet access, television or any other electronic diversions once we get to our friends'. Once we hit Big Bend we won't have any electricity at all.

From Alpine we head south to 118, straight towards Big Bend National Park. I am keeping a close eye on our MAPSCO map, trying to match up the elevation markers on the map to the mountains all around us. They get taller the farther south we go.

I see a place on the map called Elephant Mountain Wildlife Management Area and at first I'm confused by the name. Are there really elephants on a rpeservation in the Chihuahuan desert? I mean, I know there are all kinds of exotic ranches in the Hill Country, but elephants. When I see the mountain, though I understand the name.

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