Bevers                                            Aug 25, 1998
                                                  40 miles

You can't drive 20 miles up and 20 miles back from Ropes, TX and not eat pork ribs from Bevers Crossing. But that's what we did yesterday. My mistake. They're closed Sunday and Monday. So, with my friends, I drove there today. Got there early, about 11:30 and there was the owner's wife and son eating lunch. One customer was in line. Typical west Texan in work clothes. He and the owner were talking hogs and bikes: 200's, 500', 600's; where to drive them, where to buy them (ad in the Thrifty Nickel works every time he said).

My turn came and I mentioned to the owner I was bye yesterday and I guess he deserved a day off. He thanked me for returning today and I asked about his recent trip in July (he takes off the month of July each year). He went to Mississippi. What, not Wyoming! Nope, that will be next year. A working holiday on the banks of a river near Yellowstone Nat'l Park cooking and selling BBQ. I asked if it was true the people in Wyoming and Montana were clueless about ribs and BBQ. Yep, they don't know nothin' and he's fixin' to show them some real Texas cooking.

I take my plate of sweet potatoe salad, beans, bread and ribs to a table. The ribs are rubbed hard with seasoning, cooked til black, meat tender enough to fall off, and covered with thick brown sweet BBQ sauce. The wood chairs and tables all have a view of the wall hangings, many with pictures of Wyoming. A mini newspaper on the table tells of the origins of Ropes. I'm soon relaxed and enjoying every biteful of food.

The lunch crowd starts to build. Another local sits down with food and the owner is off talking to him about getting some fertilizer and weed killer for the grounds. A lady walks in to announce she's got some visitors from Abilene behind her and for the owner to take care of them and give her husband the check. A second large party comes in, locals (whatever that means in a town of 489 people in the middle of no where). The owner gets on the phone to confirm a breakfast he's caterering this Thursday. The place is so small you can hear the guy peeing in the necessity room.