14 July 2nd - July 8th, 2026 phoenixnewtimes.com PHOENIX NEW TIMES | NEWS | FEATURE | FOOD & DRINK | ARTS & CULTURE | MUSIC | CONCERTS | CANNABIS | “I’ve been retired for seven months, and I plan my trips around them,” he explains. Next month, he’ll hit his 56th Buc-ee’s at the grand opening in Santa Rosa, Texas. Those who chose to wait in line and brave a night under the neon signs are mostly amiable and good-natured, sharing snacks and stories about previous openings or pit stops. Oscar Diaz drove his family from Long Beach in their van outfitted with a “Buc-ee’s or Bust!” slogan. He had been to a few Buc-ee’s before, and he sought to make a road trip out of this one, hitting the Grand Canyon on the way out. As his family got settled in line mere feet from the locked double doors, he started talking to his neighbors. Soon, he formed a cohort with another Buc-ee’s fan, Larry Bartels, a Phoenix native with a long history of working in the film industry. Suddenly, the two are bonding over photography, and Bartels is sharing snaps he took decades ago on the sets of “Bill and Ted” and “Near Dark.” A few hours in, the two are sharing a circle of folding chairs and complimenting each other’s work, while Diaz casts asper- sions at the recent failed mayoral bid for Los Angeles, lamenting the loss of conservative reality TV star Spencer Pratt. The beaver, it seemed, was bringing people together. Some potential beaver believers had come along for the ride with friends, never having set foot in the store, but who were obviously attempted converts. In general, there was a buzzing of excite- ment and shamelessness, something that you might pick up on if you were in line for a Black Friday doorbuster sale or a pre-sale for concert tickets. It’s ridiculous, yes, but, hey, we’re in this together and everyone has to have a hobby, right? Around 4 a.m., a pickup truck full of teenagers speeds through the newly poured concrete lot, peeling off rubber and making a scene. The Goodyear police are called, and fingers are pointed. The crowd looks on and offers armchair legal advice, mostly critical, as a security guard encourages any witnesses to come make a statement, but to “keep it respectful.” Eventually, the alleged teenage road warrior is trespassed and issued a cita- tion, kicked out of the promised land just as he is approaching the entry. Amongst the faithful, there is a sense that justice has been served. Beaver worshippers obviously need a symbol to bring some unification, which they find in abundance in the smiling, ever-present Buc-ee, shining down on them in various forms. One woman, a face-painter and balloon artist who goes by Madame Eileen’s Balloon Creations, marks a young fan with the visage of Buc-ee, the brush strokes on his forearm matching the cartoon beaver on her cheek. She gives him instructions on making the temporary tattoo last: hair- spray. Conveniently, Buc-ee’s sells such items. Further up the line, a true believer has marked himself permanently. Phoenix local Jarvis Johnson shows off a fresh Buc-ee’s tattoo, which he got a few hours prior. The ink is still shimmering with a fresh layer of Vaseline, Buc-ee’s smiling face glistening in the neon light. “Some people like to put their money where their mouth is, but I like to put it where my arm is,” Johnson explains, revealing several other brand-brandings, including Best Buy and Fry’s Electronics, all trophies of his time waiting in line for well-publicized openings. On his YouTube channel, “Mr. Black Friday,” he has made a name for himself with elaborate camping and multi-day set-ups for franchise open- ings in Phoenix. For many, the Buc-ee’s opening is a pilgrimage: Some have crossed the sands and time to be in attendance. Then, there is the homily, given by the Grand Pitmaster Randy Pauly, who, with mere minutes to go before the grand opening, gets the faithful crowd to chant, “Buc-ee’s! Buc-ee’s!” He tosses out a few free hats and performs the miracle: rolling the doors aside minutes early. If there was a sense of community that happened on this rare occasion, of strangers breaking bread and sharing the small hours of the morning together over stories of past brisket conquests, that hour has passed, and the communal magic is gone. The long-suffering in line are being invaded by line-cutters, and accusations and middle fingers fly as tensions mount to get the best spot. These people, by the nature of their being first, are not consid- ering being last. It is every person for them- selves as the doors are flung wide. Brisket of the bored It’s a little before 6 a.m. when the double doors open. The crowd storms into the vast fluorescent shopping space. Sheriff’s deputies, security guards and red-shirt- wearing staff greet the throngs that file past, with staff doing their best to greet their guests with a smile. One of the aims of Buc-ee’s ample food offerings, according to co-founder Culpin, is to be intentionally over- whelming. That is certainly the case on a normal day, but add an extra thousand or so shoppers to the morning rush, and things get intense. Despite the chaos, the blue blazer- wearing corporate managers stand staunchly in the crowd, surveying the scene and directing their forces as needed to plug the gaps. Beaver plushies need fortifying along their right flank, a rack of Buc-ee’s bikinis needed re-hanging on the back wall. All hands, bathroom custo- dians at the ready. Beaver Believers Thousands flocked to Buc-ee’s. What’s up with the gas station cult? BY ZACH ODEN I n 1861, Texas invaded Arizona. The Confederate marauders came on the hot winds of the first summer of the Civil War, intent on capturing the western territories in a smash-and- grab campaign, but were stopped by severe supply shortages and the advancing “California Column” of Col. James Henry Carleton’s 2,000-plus Union brigade. 165 years later, the Texans have returned. On June 22, just off of Bullard Avenue in Goodyear, hundreds of eager beaver fans braved a sleepless night to be the first to enter the newest and most western-reaching outpost of Buc-ee’s. The chain -- started in 1982 by Arch “Beaver” Alpin III and his business partner Don Wasek in Clute, Texas -- has grown into a massive enterprise, fueled, literally, by hundreds of gas pumps, exclu- sive on-site merchandise, elevated gas station cuisine and a reputation for resplendent restrooms at each location. For those seeking the limits of American excess, the grinning buck- toothed rodent sign, visible from Interstate 10, offers a beacon of endless opportunities to make commuting better again. While the temptation of sugary Beaver Nuggets and all-you-can-stomach jerky varietals is certainly drawing a massive response – early warnings from the city of Goodyear warned that there could be upwards of 40,000 vehicles attempting to visit – it raises the question to those on the fringe of the Buc-ee moment: Does it live up to the hype? In short, absolutely fucking not. Beaver believers Everyone needs a sense of community, and this 74,000-square-foot megaplex acts, in many respects, like a temple for the waning days of American consumerism. Buc-ee’s fans come from all over, with several crossing state lines to be in attendance for this particular opening, and the general vibe of their gathering en masse is very similar to another red-hatted meeting of the minds. “I’ve been to all 55 Buc-ee’s,” brags retired civil engineer Jim Taschner, wearing multiple layers of Buc-ee’s clothing as he stands and stretches from his spot in the line. Patrons could begin lining up at midnight, but some parked and walked over as early as 4 p.m. the previous evening. (Photo illustration by Eric-John Torres - Photo via flickr/sheffieldb) >> p 16 ▼ Food & Drink
