A Wawa fan visited the South’s beloved Buc-ee’s and discovered convenience can be excessive

I was on I-95 somewhere outside of Baltimore when the absurdity truly sank in: Most people stop at convenience stores on a road trip but I was taking a five-hour road trip to Mount Crawford, Va., just to go to a convenience store.

Was it logical? Absolutely not, but I soon discovered myself in good company, for there was very little that followed the rules of logic at Buc-ee’s. The chain bills itself as the world’s largest convenience store, not in terms of the number of stores — there are only 55 across 12 states — but in terms of their sheer size. The largest one in Luling, Texas, is 75,593 square feet — almost the same size as Reading Terminal Market.

While most stores are in the South, Buc-ee’s is slowly inching its way toward Wawa territory. The store in Virginia opened last summer, making it the closest one to the Northeast, and in April, one opened in Ohio.

The Texas-based chain with the beaver mascot and rabid fan base is a strange and fascinating place with a 360-degree homemade fudge counter and an art gallery in the bathroom.

Here, you can buy a red bikini with a beaver pattern, a bottle of premium doe urine, or a spoon rest shaped like Dolly Parton’s hair.

There are 36 stalls in the women’s room alone, 120 fuel pumps, and 80 soda fountain dispensers featuring a dozen varieties of the sweet stuff.

And if you want something with the U.S. flag on it they have it, whatever it is.

Buc-ee’s is a fever dream of Americana — the good and the bad; the consumerism and the convenience; the essential and the excess. It’s an overwhelming experience and an exercise in self-control, one at which I spectacularly failed. I left with $93 worth of stuff, not counting food. I don’t even know why I bought half of it. In the moment I really thought we needed a $12 portable pet paw cleaner.

As a Philly culture journalist, I’ve covered Wawa fandom in the area for years. I’m fascinated and perplexed by the loyalty the convenience store has sown among its customers and the place it’s carved into the culture here.

I’ve watched hundreds of people wait in line in the predawn hours for grand openings; folks proudly sport Wawa shirts, hats, and even shoes; and Wawa has been the fodder for many memes, books, and tattoos.

I didn’t understand it at first. “It’s just a convenience store,” I said like many before me, but after a while, I got it too. I started referring to “my Wawa” and found myself going several times a week. It’s a third space, a place we feel comfortable being ourselves at — even in pajama pants — and one where we know what to expect.

Inquirer photographer Tom Gralish has seen the same devotion in his many years covering Wawa. Of course we’d both heard about Buc-ee’s and its equally passionate fan base — Gralish’s daughter is “a true Buckheaded Beaver believer” and an in-law of mine recently called Buc-ee’s “magical” (and I’ve never heard him call anything magical except an Eagles play) — but neither of us had ever been to a Buc-ee’s.

As the summer travel season starts, we made a pilgrimage to the Mount Crawford location to let you know if it’s worth a stop on your travels, or even worthy of being a destination to travel to.

As is the case for me on any long road trip, mine began with a breakfast sandwich from Wawa.

I hit the road at 9:30 a.m. and after a quick pit stop, arrived at Buc-ee’s around 2:15 p.m. As I pulled in under overcast skies, I was shocked by the sheer enormity of the 74,000-square foot beige building and the rows of gas pumps that seemed to stretch on for miles.

“Holy beaver! What is this place? The Costco of convenience stores?” I said aloud.

As I got out of my car, I was immediately hit with the sweet smell of what I thought might be cinnamon buns. I wondered if they pumped it in, like places in Hershey pump in the scent of chocolate, but I later determined it probably came from the candied nuts made in-store.

I approached the automatic door and entered a long, thin vestibule where Buc-ee’s umbrellas, folding love seats, tailgate wagons, a full-size gas grill, and a giant inflatable beaver wearing a “Happy 250th USA” banner were displayed for sale. One thing was clear, Buc-ee’s was ready to party.

Inside, it was immediate sensory overload. People were swirling everywhere like balls in a game of Hungry Hungry Hippos, and the space was awash with product displays — from shirts celebrating the country’s 250th anniversary that said “I love America and Buc-ee’s Too” to an entire wall of beef jerky.

While the store is one expansive room, I could identify three distinct spaces. To my left was normal convenience store stuff — aisles of chips and snacks, a row of coolers, and a self-service coffee station. To my right I could see an endless array of merchandise, including several bedazzled steer skulls for sale.

In the center were two 360-degree counters staffed by employees. One had a sign hanging over it that said “Sweets,” indicating this was where they make homemade fudge and candied nuts, and the other said “Texas Round Up,” where they prepare the meats and sandwiches. On the back center wall was the largest collection of soda fountain dispensers I’ve ever seen and next to that (perhaps appropriately) were the restrooms, whose sign claimed they were “World Famous!”

I decided to start there. I’d never been to a world-famous restroom before, so I wanted to flush it out. The hallway was lined with original paintings for sale which mostly featured farm animals. They weren’t bad but I can’t imagine hosting a party, being asked where you got a painting, and having to respond: “The Buc-ee’s bathroom.”

I was thoroughly impressed with the restrooms. Each stall had a light over it indicating whether it was occupied and it was one of the cleanest public bathrooms I’ve ever seen. At one point, a staffer saw a small puddle near the sinks and sent her coworker to fetch a mop as she stood guard by the tiny spill to make sure it didn’t kill anybody.

Next, I set out to explore the merchandise, which is split into two sections. One side was stocked with toys, apparel, outdoor goods, leisure equipment, branded items, and a mélange of other merch, while the other side’s target audience seemed to be HomeGoods moms.

On the first side were things like throwing hatchets, knock-off My Little Pony horses, boxer briefs with ducks on them that said “Butt Quack,” and Bigfoot feet slippers. Buc-ee’s branded items included adult and kids’ beaver onesies (with tail), beaver jewelry, beaver bandages, beaver wrapping paper, and even beaver toilet spray.

All I could hear in my head was Mel Brooks in Spaceballs yelling, “Merchandising!”

I snickered at the wooden signs that said “Beaver Fever,” “Beaver Believer,” and “Beaver Crossing.” I couldn’t tell if Buc-ee’s was oblivious to the double entendre or playing right into it.

Over in the HomeGoods-esque section was an endless array of decor, candles, and apparel. There were shirts that read, “Sassy since birth, salty by choice,” wine glasses that said “Don’t be a lady, be a legend,” and tea towels that read “Raised on sweet tea and Jesus.” Here, you can pick up a copy of Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen or a hanging scroll of the “Cowboy Ten Commandments” (No. 7: “No killin’”).

Finally, it was time to get some food. While a lot is made on-site, there are no touch screens or ways to custom-order items. There are also no self-checkouts, no free ATMS (the service fee was $4!), and no semitrucks allowed.

At the Texas Round Up, a man stood in the center of the 360-degree counter slicing brisket. Every so often he’d yell “FRESH BRISKET ON THE BOARD!” and the associates around him would respond with the same phrase, but with far less enthusiasm.

Sandwiches from brisket to pulled pork were wrapped and placed under warmers to be picked up cafeteria-style. Other offerings included sausage on a stick, burritos, and chicken tenders. A cold case was stocked with premade salads, fruit cups, and something billing itself as an “Italian hoagie sandwich” that would get kicked right out of Philadelphia. The sticker listing its ingredients had so many words it looked like the opening crawl for a Star Wars movie.

I grabbed a brisket sandwich, the homemade potato chips, and a bag of the “Beaver Nuggets,” a caramelized puffed-corn snack I’d heard so much about.

Here’s the thing — there’s nowhere to eat this stuff because Buc-ee’s doesn’t have any seating (the company hasn’t explained why but people have theories).

I saw some folks eating their food off the side shelves of the grill for sale in the vestibule. Like Delconians who use Wawa trash cans as tables, people always find a way.

I dug into the food in my car. The brisket sandwich was hearty and tasted OK, but I could only eat about a third of it. Mainly because I didn’t want that sitting in my stomach on my trip back the next day but also because I was making a damn mess.

I’m disappointed to say I didn’t love the Beaver Nuggets. They’re so sweet I could only eat a few and I’m pretty sure one of them challenged my teeth to a duel.

I stayed overnight in nearby Harrison, Va., and went back to Buc-ee’s early the next morning to suss out their breakfast game.

The sausage, egg, and cheese croissant was massive but again, it was a mess (and lukewarm, at best). The scrambled eggs were crumbled, as was the sausage, and keeping it together was a challenge. I did, however, enjoy eating Tater Tots (aka “Beaver Tots”) for breakfast.

In the parking lot, I met Kristina Miller and Joseph Abrams from Lancaster County, who’d stopped on their road trip to Savannah and were enjoying their Buc-ee’s breakfast sandwiches. It was Miller’s first Buc-ee’s experience, but Abrams was an old pro.

“It’s nice, there’s a wow factor,” Miller said. “But there’s nothing superspecial, it’s just unique — and cheap.”

Despite the prices, Abrams said he’s never left a Buc-ee’s without spending more than a hundred bucks.

“If you like Buc-ee’s, you love it. I brag about Buc-ee’s all the time, but my brother-in-law went last year and he’s like ‘It’s nothing special, it’s all right,’” Abrams said. “For some people it’s a pilgrimage and other people are like ‘It’s just another gas station.’”

On my way home, I took a 20-minute detour off I-81 to check out Luray Caverns. It was an excellent side quest and because I arrived early, there were times on the self-guided tour I had the underground world all to myself.

I felt more wonder spending an hour in that cave than I’d felt in the four hours I’d spent over the last two days at Buc-ee’s. It was a reminder that nothing we make, no matter the size, could ever be as wondrous as what Mother Nature provides.

Both Gralish and I agreed that Buc-ee’s is a unique experience, one we’d visit again, but it’s not worth a 10-hour road trip on its own. The food is mid, the crowds are massive, and it’s mostly about the merchandise.

It’s also not somewhere I’d stop into often, like Wawa. It’s just too much. The excess of offerings was far from convenient, it was a distraction and a stark reminder of our consumer culture.

Buc-ee’s believers in our area continue to hope one will open closer soon. An April Fool’s joke circulated online this year about a store going up in Conshohocken and just last week a letter claiming the company was looking to build in Plainfield Township spread like wildfire.

In a statement provided to The Inquirer, the company said the letter was “not valid” and they don’t have plans for our region yet. A spokesperson declined to answer my other questions, like why Buc-ee’s put up billboards on the Pennsylvania and New Jersey Turnpikes in 2024 with the mileage to the nearest store, which at that point was more than 500 miles away.

A company spokesperson told NJ.com at the time that they typically “start putting billboards in locations where we think our future customers will be,” noting they advertised in Florida 10 years before opening a store there.

Leave it to a beaver to keep us guessing. At least Wawa’s Wally Goose never leaves us hanging.