Strolling Burnet Road

An Homage to John Nova Lomax

The news was not unexpected, but it resonated in surprising ways.

John Nova Lomax passed away a few days ago. Remembered fondly by many, I did not know him personally, but was familiar with his writings and, of course, his lineage. The Lomax family figures prominently in the study of American folklore and they have proud Texas roots. Lomax wrote insightfully about Texas, especially Houston, and never failed to poke fun at Austin’s own sense of self-importance. His perspective was refreshing and welcome.

Nestled among the recent tributes to Lomax were mentions of a series of articles he wrote under the heading of The Sole of Houston. These writings, over a decade old, highlighted urban walks he took, trekking the entire length of major Houston thoroughfares (think Westheimer, Shephard, Airline Drive), mixing architectural highlights, local history, and bar culture into insightful snapshots of the Bayou City. While many of these articles are no longer readily accessible online, some enterprising archivist-type had plowed through the Internet Archive / Wayback Machine to create a cached collection of at least some of these missives. Reading through them I was struck by how closely Lomax’s interests paralleled my own. The power of good storytelling is how it can shake a person in unintended ways and Lomax’s “sole” series did just that.

Ten years ago, when we moved into a house on 45^th Street in Austin, our friend Aina suggested we explore nearby Burnet Road and document the street’s businesses, many of which were “mom & pop” places that had endured through the decades. While we loved the idea, and frequented some of those business, time ticked on and now, a decade later, much on the street has changed as Austin booms along, taking no prisoners as progress is pursued.

With Lomax’s kindred spirit serving as inspiration, I decided it was time to get out and meet the changing face of Burnet, on the street. So, on a recent Saturday morning, I embarked to walk the whole of Burnet Road, north to south, a total of about six miles.

Leaving the house around 8am, I caught the 803 Express Bus from Sunshine Gardens near our home, across the street from the Texas School for the Blind.

The bus travels up Burnet Road and I could gaze at the pavement I’d be huffing back on in a few hours. After a short detour through the Pickle Research facility, full of aging laboratory buildings and a popular university surplus store, our bus makes its final stop at The Domain. Here is an emerging live-work-entertainment district, far from Austin’s downtown. I hoped off the bus and made my way a few blocks north to the start of Burnet Road, near an early location of the now ubiquitous Taco Deli restaurant chain.

Just a decade ago, much of this area was open fields and undeveloped land. Now, where once the milkweed flourished, there stand glass hi-rise homes for Amazon, Indeed, and Tech Micro. Top Golf looms across the street. Nearby, a whole range of mediocre food options, all sprouted within the last few years.

I quickly encounter the expected pedestrian unfriendly design of Austin. The sidewalk just stops and I’m navigating a drainage ditch for a few hundred feet until I reach a stoplight. I cautiously cross the lanes of traffic on green, aware that most drivers pay pedestrians no mind when rushing to their Saturday morning “pilate con lattes.”

I approached Braker Lane at Burnet, a warehouse-light industry district now dominated by the new Q2 sports stadium. Long ago a country road, aged-out mailboxes still stand as unintended historical markers of a different era.

This area is rapid transforming and, to these eyes, no change is more heartbreaking than the demise of C-Hunt’s, Austin’s last true ice house, located just a few hundred feet off Burnet Road. Long summer afternoons slipping into evening, seated under the grape vine trellis, cooled by buckets of Real Ale Pale Ale, awaiting the hawking of the tamale vendor. A few bucks would get you a some delicious, and needed, homemade tamales. Mr. Hunt passed a few years back and the place is now fenced off, slated for apparent demolition.

On this Saturday, as a peered around chasing memories, I spotted a young guy who had set up his own encampment under the shade of the grapes. We said hello and I wandered off, veering between run down buildings to get back onto my intended route. I found myself staring up at a sign for THE SPY SHOP, now long gone, but a place frequented when I was a small-time private investigator and surveillance tools were required. The run down store fronts here seem ephemeral, as if they are biding time until developers swoop in to claim the land for more up-market offerings.

It’s not even 930 am and the heat is rising. I approach the 183 / Burnet intersection, with wide lanes and lots of traffic. The large homeless encampment here is gone, wiped away by Austin’s approach to the housing crisis. Outlaw homelessness. If you can’t see it, it must not exist. There are a couple of panhandlers, but they pay me no mind and I skirt down to the Crossroads Shopping Center. I consider a cold drink at the nearby bowling alley, which I’ve heard is also going to go the way of condo/apartments, but it doesn’t open until 10am.

I make a game time change to my plans and wander a few blocks west to the Playland / Antique Mall complex. There is book seller stall there that can yield some finds if you dig around. I have to wait 20 minutes for the place to open and then beeline to the stall, quickly spotting a copy of Naturalists Of The Frontier, a 1929 book that recounts the work of early botanists, geologists, entomologists, and zoologist in Texas. These folks scouted some of the same turf I’m now treading and, while I’m no Berlandier, the spirit of exploration resonates. The book is purchased (my second copy) and I’m back on my way.

As I exit the antique mall, plodding across the shimmering asphalt, I envision a cold beer at Lebowski’s Grill, but change my mind as I don’t want to have to navigate another anti-pedestrian intersection. I veer south, noting changes to the local food choices. Gone is Pars, the Persian deli, but nearby is a new Cajun joint. The sidewalk here is uncomfortably close to the street and folks zipping past at 50+ mph leads me to try safer pathways. I hustle to the northbound side to find a safer walking zone and soon am approaching the sign for Buddy’s Place which proclaims BEER-WINE-POOL-DARTS. The doors are open, but it’s just the cleaning crew preparing for the afternoon crowd. Last time I was here a duo of avid Trump supporters annoyed my visit, but today I would have enjoyed eavesdropping on their inevitable defenses of Ken Paxton who was to have his impeachment hearing later in the afternoon.

The next few blocks are a mish-mash of car repair, smoke shops, and pawn shops, with one proudly announcing “We Sell Firearms - Some Restrictions Apply”. Truly Texan. The Bill Miller BBQ had finally shuttered, but Conan’s Pizza, an Austin original, lives on!

Crossing Anderson Lane, I pause to read a flyer about a missing man and wonder if he might have wandered this same route, replete with its hodgepodge of panhandlers and folks living on the margin. I make note of the mysterious upscale steakhouse Bartlett’s, a place I’ve never frequented. Strange how a couple of days later, we are invited there by Kim’s oldest son for a belated celebration. The comfortable interior, replete with a dress code (“gentlemen wear shirts with sleeves”), stands in contrast to the grimy intersection just outside its doors.

South of Anderson, another vacant lot, then the welcoming signage of Top Notch Hamburgers, signaling that good things can endure. My optimism is soon dashed, sobered by the construction debris arising from the former grounds of the Dallas Night Club where an upcoming apartment complex announces the start of a several block trek of “revival” annoyances.

There is a sad fragility to this redevelopment, with its promises of luxury living and self-improvement. We’ve been down these roads before, with promises dashed. This time will be no different, the goal of rebirth easily broken. Our society prospers on instability. Continual destruction and rebuilding is part of the cycle that sacrifices the health of the whole for the gain of a few.

This construction zone has swollen to block the East side of street south of Justin Lane from pedestrian traffic. I backtrack through the Roger Beasley car dealership, shell-shocked by sticker prices, and detour to nearby Burnet Lane. I spy Love Wheel Records, a gem of a music store, and the venerable LaLa’s Cocktail Bar, where it’s always Christmas as evidenced even at this early hour by the Reindeer prancing on the roof. My attitude is improved by these local businesses making a go of it.

South of Koenig Road, I’m in familiar territory as I pass my regular grocery spot. The changes here are less dramatic (and even positive as an East Side Pies has opened and the stereo repair shop hangs on). I encounter this stretch regularly, but just as I’m resting comfortably I notice that the glass/mirror shop has shuttered and wonder if that space will be a tear down soon. A bit further south is Bike Farm, now sharing some space with the Little Longhorn Saloon, and it is clearly doing good business. Not all is lost, but the funk gets harder to find and the crowded parking lot at Voodoo Donuts renews my annoyance with some of these “improvements.”

Soon I’m close to home. Burnet Road is coming to an end, with just a couple of residential blocks south of 45^th Street. I have overlooked many worthy addresses during my trek, each spot full of history. I abandon the quest to reach the end of the road and instead grab some cold drinks and head to my house. My short journey has been worth the effort. The messy beauty of this six mile corridor reflects the American dream. There is both perceived prosperity, with new buildings, stadiums, and the promise of luxury, as well as plenty of dirt, grime, and decay. Hope and despair intertwined, like these flowers making a home in the construction zone.

I’m now sitting on South Padre Island, several hundred miles south of Austin. I’m going to wrap this up, sip my beer, and muse on missing a person I’ve never met. Thank you John Nova Lomax for the gift of your words and for the inspiration to wander, paved streets and sandy shores alike.