The Great Psychedelic Armadillo Picnic (6 page)
The Great Outdoors
BY NOW YOU'VE DONE THE NIGHT LIFE, HAD SOME chow, maybe spotted a few famous Austinites. You're probably ready to take in Austin's great outdoors. Well, hop onto my pet beer belly and let me show you what's out there.
First stop is a 351-acre Austin favorite, Zilker Park, located at 2100 Barton Springs Road. Zilker (as it is called by the locals), was named in honor of Andrew Jackson Zilker, who bet on the classic American dream and hit a jackpot. When he was only eighteen, he moved from Indiana to Austin with a mere fifty cents to his name. His first night in town, he got a job washing dishes. Soon after, he got a job constructing the Congress Avenue Bridge and made friends with the owner of an ice plant who later hired him. Ol' Andrew didn't let any grass grow under his feet. During this time he was a volunteer fireman, director of the First National Bank, Water and Light commissioner, and head of the Travis County School Board. It wasn't long before he became the engineer of the ice plant, and in 1901 he began buying land between the Colorado River and Barton Creek. He acquired 350 acres surrounding Barton Springs and used the land to pasture the livestock that pulled his ice wagons.
Zilker deeded thirty-five acres around Barton Springs to the city of Austin in 1918, with the provision that the land be used for education. During the First World War, a military school was established on the grounds. In 1932 he agreed to give the military an additional 330 acres if the city would buy the acreage from the school for $200,000. The purchase was approved in a bond election, and despite the economic depression of the 1930s, the land was developed into Zilker Park. Present-day Zilker Park is the jumping-off point for so many of Austin's outdoor activities that it is hard to decide where to start. I would suggest starting at Barton Springs Pool.
Located at 2101 Barton Springs Road within Zilker Park, Barton Springs Pool has been used by people living here since Christ was a cowboy; measuring three acres in size and fed from three underground springs, it is also the largest natural swimming pool in the United States within an urban area (a bit of trivia: Robert Redford learned to swim at Barton Springs Pool when he was five years old while visiting his mother's relative in Austin).
Barton Springs Pool (also simply called “Barton Springs” by the locals) got its name from an early Texas settler named William Barton. “Uncle Billy,” as he was known, built his cabin on a tract of land that included three springs. This area became known as “the Bartons.” He named the three springs after his daughters, Parthenia, Eliza, and Zenobia. The largest spring (Parthenia) is now the main spring that feeds Barton Springs Pool. Eliza Springs issues from a cavelike sinkhole on the north bank near the lower end of the pool; Zenobia Springs flows above the shallow end. Some parts of the pool are colder than others (perhaps where the ghosts of drowned swimmers lurkâI worked as a lifeguard here). The warmest part of the pool is in the shallow end where a legion of little children practice synchronized urination.
No description of Barton Springs Pool would be complete without mentioning the endangered Barton Springs salamander. In 1998 the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service named the Barton Springs salamander an endangered species, causing the lungless, red-gilled creature to become the center of a political controversy that divided the city. The controversy is far too complicated to nutshell in a few paragraphs without leaving something out, but the gist of it is that the endangered salamander, found only in Barton Springs, requires certain environmental protections that some say affect the quality of water in the Barton Springs Pool. Because the pool cannot be cleaned as often as it used to be cleaned, thick clouds of blue-green algae known as oscillatoria have overrun the waters like Gentiles on a ham sandwich. My friend Turk Pipkin, the co-editor of a 1993 book (I highly recommend) titled
Barton
Springs Eternal: The Soul of a City,
expressed to the
Austin
Chronicle
his dismay at the condition of the pool. “I don't think the water in the pool is as clean as it used to be,” said Pipkin. “Also, men follow me with erections and pull on my ponytail. I used to feel it was a soul-cleansing experience. I don't have that feeling anymore.”
Visitors can judge for themselves, but keep in mind that the Barton Springs Pool is one of Austin's famous landmarks and easily the most popular swimming hole in the city.
After splashing down at Barton Springs, you can take a long walk around the greenbelt. There is always a soccer game going on across the street at Zilker Park, and if that's not to your fancy, you can spend hours walking through the Zilker Botanical Gardens, which includes the Taniguchi Oriental Garden and the Austin Area Garden Center. The thirty-one-acre Botanical Gardens are located at 2220 Barton Springs Road, and are free to the public. In season, the butterflies are plentiful and the air hangs thick with many natural fragrances, one of which emanates from my free-range cigars.
On the other side of the Barton Springs Pool fence line is what I like to call “Dog Heaven.” Here, dogs are able to run and swim freely, splash around with their ostensibly human companions, and enjoy the cold water on a hot day. If you go there enough, you'll recognize the regulars, like a carefree boxer named Waylon and a rather strange three-headed dog named Cerberus.
Near Dog Heaven is a kayak-and-canoe-rental shack. Get one of either and paddle out toward Town Lake; this is the best way to see this part of Austin. Of
course
I haven't done it yet.
Town Lake was created by the damming of the Colorado River on the west by Tom Miller Dam and on the east by Longhorn Dam. Its banks are festooned with trails that meander for miles throughout the city of Austin. People can run and bike for free on these trials, which is why I never go there (I have a fear of Lycra and windshorts). Canoe rentals are available at businesses along some parts of the trail, and the lake is especially popular with crew teams.
The Congress Avenue Bridge is in downtown Austin, just ten blocks south of the State Capitol building. The bridge spans Town Lake at the cross streets of Cesar Chavez to the north and Barton Springs Road on the south. I have exactly one fond memory of the bridge, also called the Congress Avenue Bat Bridge.
Keep in mind that fond memories are not my strong suit; anyone who knows me knows better than to reminisce about any experience, fuzzy or otherwise, we have shared in the past. Unfortunately, people insist upon reminiscing, so to better fit into society and get people the fuck off my back, I pay my friend and former Texas Jewboy road manager Dylan Ferrero to be my font of fond memories.
Dylan is ready to deploy anywhere in the world at a moment's notice, should someone want to reminisce fondly about anything we may have done or shared in the past. Dylan is good at his job, too. He can recall with clinical detail the time, place, and weather conditions of any fond memory I am supposed to have had, even though he may not have been there himself.
I have a very low fondness tolerance, owing to a rare genetic defect known as Low Fondness Tolerance, or LFT. I lack the gene for sentimentality and endearment toward precocious children. I wear a med-alert bracelet that says so. I believe my LFT originated in a long-dead relative who was fond of absolutely nothing, past memories, children, and still-life art in particular. But as I said, I do have one fond memory of the Congress Avenue bats that has defied my genetic disorder.
Many years ago my friend Jack Slaughter frequented the hike-and-bike trail at Town Lake. I happened to be staying in a hotel with an unobstructed view of the bridge so I called Cowboy Jack, one of the original Jewboys, to come up to the room to watch the bats after his daily jog. Jack had more degrees than a thermometer, and in his gentle, scholarly way he had studied the bats for years and often, at his own secret hiding place, watched them emerge from the bridge. Rather than waste the perfect room with a view on my bat-indifferent ass, I decided to share my window view with Jack (which turned out to be one of the best spots to view the bastards, and the bats, too).
Jack arrived at my room shortly after his jog; as he did during the days on the road with the Jewboys, he carried a chicken box from HEB (Herbert E. Butt, Texas's biggest supermarket chain) with his clothes and other bare essentials packed into it. Jack was a simple man, and everything he ever needed fit into those chicken boxes. Perfectly.
The bats trickled out from under the bridge exactly on cue. “Mexican free-tail bats” was all Jack said as we watched them emerge, indifferent to the
Homo erectus
crowd gathered at designated bat-watching spots around the bridge. We watched as bats began to pour out from the Congress Avenue bridge, first a small number, then, minutes later, a tsunami of flying mammals that darkened the sky.
“Did you know,” said Cowboy Jack, “that Confederate soldiers mined the bat guano for saltpeter, which was used in making gunpowder? In fact, a gunpowder factory was established near San Antonio.”
“No shit?” I said.
Thinking back on it, Jack was what Austin is all about. An expert on forest preservation and endangered animals, he was a gentle spirit who always reminded me a bit of Johnny Appleseed. In 2000, while jogging on the walkway of the Lamar Street Bridge, he was killed by an SUV driven by a teenager. He died almost to the moment that the bats began spiraling out from under the nearby Congress Avenue Bridge.
Of all Jack's accomplishments, and there were many, the obituary in the
Austin American-Statesman
began with “Road manager for the Texas Jewboys.” That's not a bad thing, I remember thinking at the time, to have done in your life.
On the right, as you head South on Lamar across the bridge, you can see the flowers that someone still places there. The bats arrive at the bridge in mid-March and return to Mexico in early November. While in residence, they can be observed during their emergence display at dusk. Time of year, weather conditions, and colony size all affect bat emergence times. Late July through mid-August is the best time to see the impressive flights, as newborn pups first begin to forage with their mothers. The bats generally emerge before dark, but may fly late if conditions aren't favorable. For updates and approximate emergence times, call the Bat Hot Line at 512-416-5700 (category 3636).
HIPPIE HOLLOW: LEGAL SKINNY-DIPPING
Hippie Hollow is a clothing-optional park that has gained fame as being the premier skinny-dipping spot in Texas. In the 1980s, Travis County officially took over management of this area on Lake Travis and gave it the respectful moniker “McGregor/Hippie Hollow County Park.”
The county added Hippie Hollow to the county park system and made improvements such as public restrooms with water fountain, a paved access trail, stairways, trash removal, recycling bins, a paved parking lot with controlled entry, signs indicating that clothing is optional, and periodic patrols by park rangers.
A small fee will get you into the nudist “colony.” Once inside, Hippie Hollow is a safe place to enjoy Lake Travis sans the confines of Gap wind shorts and Hilfiger polo shirts. The ledges are rocky, but there are many flat surfaces to accommodate lawn chairs, beach towels, and/or hands. There are several secluded coves available, but keep in mind that Hippie Hollow is a legitimate nude beach, so no public hosing!
Snack services are provided by a commercial vendor, but because the trailer is close to the main entrance at the top of the stairs, visitors must dress just enough to be legal in order to partake of this service. Just enough to be legal isn't too hard to interpret. Basically it means cover up certain areas of the body that might offend the genital police.
The park is open year-round. The hours are 9:00 a.m. to 9:00 p.m. The park closes in the summer as early as 6:00 p.m. in the cooler months. There is an eight-dollar-a-day parking fee or three-dollar fee for walk-in visitors. No overnight camping is allowed. No glass containers, pets, or open fires are permitted in the park. No pool. No pets. Ain't got no cigarettes.
To reach Hippie Hollow, from Austin, take FM 2222 approximately five miles west of Capital of Texas Highway (loop 360) to FM 620. Turn left on 620 and drive to the next signal, at Comanche Trail. Take a right onto Comanche Trail and continue for 2.5 miles. Hippie Hollow is on the left. So, what are you waiting for? It's time to strip and even out those tan lines!
Austin Landmarks
THE UNIVERSITY OF TEXAS
THE UNIVERSITY OF TEXAS AT AUSTIN (ALSO known by the locals as “UT” or simply “Texas”) has influenced the flavor of Austin so completely that it would be impossible to imagine our city without it. As for giving you a comprehensive view of the university, its past, its present, its future . . . well, that would be more detail than the Kinkster signed on for. The short version of UT is the best I can do without killing myself by jumping through a ceiling fan.
UT, the flagship campus of the University of Texas system, is the largest public university in Texas. Established in 1883, the university is consistently ranked as one of the top public schools in the nation. It has a student population of around fifty thousand and a faculty of 2,700. Among the faculty are winners of the Nobel Prize, the Pulitzer Prize, the National Medal of Science, and the National Medal of Technology, as well as numerous members of prestigious scholarly organizations. UT offers many notable academic programs, among them Physics, Latin American Studies, Computer Science, Engineering, Business, Law, and Astronomy (which administrates the McDonald Observatory in the Davis Mountains of West Texas). The university's doctoral programs in Botany, Linguistics, and Spanish ranked in the nation's top five. My own father was a professor here, and several of my personalities are alumni.
The university has been the driving force behind the growth of the film industry in Austin. The University of Texas Film Institute counts among its alumni Matthew McConaughey, WB president of entertainment Jordan Levin, and co-president of Sony Pictures Classics Michael Barker. The Advisory Board includes director Richard Linklater
(Slacker, Dazed and Confused)
and Jack Valenti, president and CEO of the Motion Picture Association of America.
Distinguished alumni in other fields are many. Walter Cronkite graduated from here, as did Lady Bird Johnson, Bill Moyers, William F. Buckley Sr., and Liz Carpenter.
The university's colors are burnt orange and white, and its official song is “The Eyes of Texas.” The mascot is a Texas longhorn named Bevo. The original Bevo made his debut in 1916; the Silver Spurs, a men's honorary organization, handle the animal. Longhorn steers are loaned to UT with the understanding that they will be retired after a reasonable period of time.
The sports teams are called the Longhorns, or just the 'Horns. Fans of the 'Horns are known for the “hook 'em, horns” hand sign, created by head cheerleader Harley Clark in 1955. It is made by making a fist, then holding up the index and pinky finger of your hand. Holding the hand above your head and screaming “HOOK 'EM, HORNS!” is optional. The Longhorns compete in the Big 12 Conference of the NCAA's Division I-A, and their stadium is called “Darrell K. Royal Texas Memorial Stadium” (Royal was a highly respected coach at UT).
One of the university's most visible attributes is the twenty-seven-story Main Building, or Tower, located in the middle of campus. When a Longhorn team wins an NCAA Championship, the tower is lit completely orange with the numeral 1 displayed on each side. If you live in Austin long enough, you eventually find yourself unconsciously checking the skyline for the Tower to see what color it is, even if you don't care. The Tower's observation deck was closed for the second time in 1974 after a suicide jumper used it as a launching pad to pancake himself on the courtyard below. If you have read this far, you already know about the first time the tower was closed: after Eagle Scout Charles Whitman's last stand on August 1, 1966. Well, I have good news for you, pilgrims! On September 15, 1999, the UT Tower Observation Deck was reopened. The deck offers a grand view of the UT campus and the Austin area in all directions.
Observation deck tours are available by reservation only through the Texas Union Information Center. For information on availability and the schedule of tour reservations, call toll-free 877-475-6633. Tours may be canceled owing to weather conditions and when the nation's terrorism alert status is at Orange or higher. The UT Tower is located with the Main Building, east of Guadalupe and south of 24th Street.
In conclusion, UT has done pretty well for a place that got its start as a small campus on forty acres with one building, eight teachers, two departments, and 221 students. We should all do so well.
CHILDREN IN TREES
I'd like to tell you a little story about a big tree. No, wait. Let me tell you about the children.
No. Hold the weddin'. Let's take them both together. Children in trees. What I know about children in trees I learned from Slim, an old black man who wore a Rainbow Bread cap, drank endless cans of warm Jax beer, and listened faithfully to the hapless Houston Astros on the radio when he'd finished washing dishes on the ranch in the evening in the summertime in a faraway kingdom known as the fifties. Slim had three cats and they were continually getting into the nurse's garbage cans. This was a summer camp, you understand, with a lot of children and a lot of trees, and at the end of the summer the children would all leave but the trees would stay. They had too many leaves to leave. Anyway, the nurse once asked Slim why his cats were always going into her garbage cans, and Slim replied, “They wants to see the world.”
In the final stages of alcoholism in the dead of the winter in the white man's world of the Texas Hill Country, Slim began imagining that he was seeing children in trees. Maybe there
were
children in trees. Who are we to judge? As Austin politico Ben Barnes once commented as he found himself embroiled in a giant real-estate development scandal, “Let he without stock cast the first stone.”
I was seven years old at the time, but I knew Hank Williams was dead, as my little brother and I rode up beautiful, glittering Congress Avenue in the backseat of a green 1953 Plymouth Cranbrook convertible driven by my dad with my mom next to him, both so much younger than I am now. I'm fifty-eight, but I read at the sixty-year-old level.
As I remember it, my dad drove us all over Austin that night. The car, the city, and the world were new and there were many wonderful sights to see. We drove past the pristine beauty of Barton Springs and saw the moonlight glinting off the waters. We drove up to the top of Mount Bonnell and watched the twinkling lights of the sleepy city below. And finally we stopped the car and got out and my brother and I ran around under the canopy of what was the biggest tree we'd ever seen in our lives, the Treaty Oak.
“According to legend, this tree was so named,” Dad told us, “because in the early 1800s Stephen F. Austin, the father of Texas, signed a treaty with the Indians beneath the branches of this giant.” He told us about how this lone survivor of a grove of fourteen trees, collectively known as the Council Oaks, was regarded as a temple of worship by the Comanches and Tonkowas long before the Anglos invaded. Mom remembered hearing a legend about the secret potion the Indian women made from the leaves of this tree, mixing them with wild honey. They believed that if maidens drank the concoction during a full moon, their braves would come safely home from battle.
In 1989 a man with a two-inch penis tried to kill the Treaty Oak by pouring a drum of powerful herbicide at its base. He was caught and given nine years in prison. But the damage had been done. The ground was treated, neutralized, and some of the soil was replaced. Half of its majestic crown was removed, but it still went into shock and lost most of its leaves. Texas billionaire and former presidential candidate H. Ross Perot handed the city a blank check and said, “Do whatever it takes to save the Treaty Oak.” With Perot's funding, experts were brought in and a massive, heroic effort was begun.
In 1997 the Treaty Oak produced its first crop of acorns since the poisoning. These were collected and germinated and, two years later, these Baby Treaty Oaks found homes all over Texas and neighboring states. People still make pilgrimages to the once-mighty oak to pay homage to this living symbol of Austin history.
To reach the Treaty Oak, drive west on Sixth Street past Lamar Boulevard, and take a left at the next traffic light, which is Baylor. The tree is on your left, between two shopping areas at 503 Baylor Street between West Fifth and Sixth Streets.
Today only about a third of the tree remains, but it's well worth seeing. It's still a beautiful tree. Maybe more beautiful. And, like the rest of us, the Treaty Oak is still hanging on.
Austin is also home to four other famous trees.
MEMORIAL PECAN
Located west of the north entrance to the capital.
The original Memorial Pecan was planted on the Capitol grounds on May 30, 1945, in soil gathered from all 254 counties in Texas, to honor Texans who gave their lives in World War II. The wood from the original pecan tree was used to create a commemorative bench on the first level of the Capitol extension complex. Another tree was planted on September 24, 1993, to replace the original.
HOGG PECAN
While the actual Governor James Hogg pecan trees planted at the grave of the governor no longer live, the pecan does have an interesting place in Texas, thanks to Governor Hogg.
Native to Texas, pecan trees were once so plentiful in the state that they were cut down just to harvest a single crop of pecans. More than one hundred varieties of pecans have been developed. I was once a judge at a Pecan Nut contest in Kerrville at the local mall (or, as we Kerrverts say, the “small”) where I was instructed to examine, taste, and feel samples of pecans while their owners stood nervously by, clutching little nut leashes in their sweaty palms (or maybe I'm thinking of the Shih Tzu sheep-herding competition I marshaled). Apparently such pecan shows are not uncommon in these parts, where competition is fierce to produce nuts that offer superior taste, size, and texture.
Anyway, back to Governor Hogg. He requested that a pecan and a walnut be planted at his grave instead of a headstone. Hogg is reported to have said to his daughter and his lawyer as he lay dying: “Let my children plant at the head of my grave a pecan tree and at my feet an old-fashioned walnut tree; and when the trees bear, let the pecans and walnuts be given out among the plain people so they may plant them and make Texas a land of trees.”
Within a day of making the request, the governor died (in 1909) and was buried in Oakwood Cemetery. His last request was honored. Two pecan trees were planted at the head of his grave and a walnut tree at its foot. In 1919 the Texas legislature declared the pecan the state tree, partly in honor of Governor Hogg's final request.
SEIDERS OAKS
Located at Seiders Springs, now a city park along Shoal Creek, between 34th and 38th Streets, the original live oak grove was where Gideon White was killed by Indians in 1842, when Texas was still an independent nation. White's daughter Louisa Maria continued to live in the family cabin near the grove; later she married Edward Seiders and the couple settled by the area's springs, which became known as Seiders Springs. Edward Seiders saw a business enterprise in the springs that flowed from the rock face opposite the oak grove. He built a small resort and fashioned pools out of the springs for visitors to enjoy. By the 1870s, Seiders Springs became a tourist attraction. The Seiders built bathhouses and a dance pavilion to entertain guests. The guests were transported to Seiders Springs from the center of town.
Today, descendants of the original oaks are fixtures along the Shoal Creek greenbelt, where they stand in Seiders Springs Park.
LODGINGS
The Austin Motel's red neon sign rises up like the phallus of a mighty phoenix out of the ashes of South Congress Avenue. Many a tourist has gazed in wonder at the sign (“The Austin Motel: Corporate-Free Since 1938!”) before turning to the nearest person to ask, “Is that a dick? That's a dick! Gawd-
damn!
”
Welcome to my favorite stage-stop in town.
The Austin Motel is a brick-and-mortar reminder that the American dream can still happen to ordinary people through ordinary hard work. While it is true that there are no Austin Motel franchises or big-shot stockholders or multimillion-dollar profits, it is nevertheless a success story that bears testimony to sixty-six years of stubborn endurance that has survived several generations, economic downturns, vandalism, and the gradual deterioration of the once-friendly neighborhood. The motel's spirit was too big to break, however. She rallied in the early 1990s when the daughter of the second owner moved back to Austin to restore the old motor inn. Dottye Dean, along with a loyal staff, many of whom had a hand in the renovation of the motel, brought it back from the brink of death. The motel is a bit more modern today, but its spirit remains the same quaint, old-fashioned, corporate-free lodging it started out as. Fittingly, there is a statue of Don Quixote on the premises, in the rear parking lot. (The motel is located at 1220 South Congress Avenue, in the SoCo shopping district.)
ANOTHER OF THE KINKSTER'S favorite lodgings is the San Jose on South Congress, practically side-by-side with the Austin Motel. Even though the two motels are near each other, they aren't rivals. They coexist more like sisters: where the Austin Motel is the solid, down-to-earth, sensible one, the San Jose is pretty, sophisticated, and chic; she attracts the trendy clientele, the Hollywood crowd, those who want the extras without the sterility of the chains. The Austin Motel is more my speed, but don't worry; if one doesn't please you, the other will. (The San Jose is located at 1316 South Congress Avenue.)
AUSTIN'S MOONLIGHT TOWERS
In Bandera, Texas, is an establishment called the Frontier Times Museum, which features exhibits like the two-headed goat, the left shoe from an “unknown negress,” and, most famous of all, the Timmy D'Spain Shrine. Timmy was a young boy who went to Jesus after he was beheaded by a wire strung across the dirt road upon which he was riding his motorbike. The shrine includes Timmy's G.I. Joe dolls, a shirt (not the one he was wearing at the time of his decapitation, much to the disappointment of generations of summer-camp children visiting the museum on field trips), and various other mementos of his short life. I never knew little Timmy, but I have visited his shrine many times whenever I got a hankering to see the left shoe of an “unknown negress.”
The Austin Moonlight Towers have nothing to do with the Frontier Times Museum or Timmy D'Spain, but according to “Ripley's Believe It or Not,” an eleven-year-old kid named Jimmy almost died when he fell from the 165-foot tower at Guadalupe and Ninth Street, bouncing along the sides on the way down. Unlike the unfortunate Timmy, his head remained attached. He awoke from a nine-day coma with 187 stitches to mark his fall. Of course, he won't get a shrine at the Frontier Times, but it is a bit of interesting trivia about these famed towers and Jimmy does rhyme with Timmy.
I have lived in Austin on and off for much of my life. The Moonlight Towers were never a part of my guided tours for my out-of-town friends. Actually, I never gave any out-of-town friends any guided tours, but I am speaking hypothetically, both of the tours and of the friends. I didn't really discover the Moonlight Towers until I started researching this book. Suddenly I started seeing them everywhere.
The Towers have been in almost continuous operation for over one hundred years, and have been turned off only twice. The first time was for a week in 1905, and the second time was briefly in 1973, during the national energy crisis.
The Austin Moonlight Towers were purchased by the city from Detroit in 1894. A single tower cast a bright light from its six carbon-arc lamps that illuminated an area three thousand feet in diameter. In those days, such light towers were common in cities, and were used in place of streetlights. Mercury vapor lamps are now used in these 165-foot triangular cast-iron and wrought-iron structures.
Austin is the only city in the United States that still uses this once-popular tower lighting system. The towers are listed on the National Register of Historic Places. Seventeen of the original thirty-one towers are still in use.
In 1995, during the celebration of Austin's one hundredth birthday, the city completely restored each tower and replaced them at their original sites. Most of the towers can be found in residential areas near downtown. A few remain in the downtown area. The towers are landmarks you can take your friends to see after you drive them by where all the really interesting and cool places used to be.
Where to find Austin's Moonlight Towers:
Nueces and West 4th
Guadalupe and West 9th
Blanco and West 12th
Rio Grande and West 12th
San Antonio and West 15th
Nueces and West 22nd
Speedway and West 41st
Lydia and East 1st (Cesar Chavez)
Trinity and East 1st (Cesar Chavez)
Trinity and East 11th
Coleto and East 13th
Chicon and East 19th (MLK)
Leona and Pennsylvania
Eastside Drive and Leland
South 1st and West Monroe
Canterbury and West Lynn
Zilker Park