When Mike Newton Jr. first walked into a Tennessee Buc‑ee’s in 2023, it felt like a “sprawling roadside wonderland,” not a gas station.
He was wowed by the massive rows of gas pumps — more than 100 lined the huge parking lot — but the inside was what floored him. Walls of snacks, a fudge bar with more than a dozen flavors, the “Texas round up” station where employees chopped up meat for sandwiches.
Buc‑ee, the store’s buck-toothed, smiling beaver mascot, was everywhere: on clothing, toys, bumper stickers and shot glasses. The bathrooms were pristine. The air smelled like brisket and candied pecans.
So when Newton Jr. heard the Texas-born chain was coming to Mt. Crawford, Virginia — its northernmost location just a three-hour drive from his South Baltimore home — he had to be there for the June 30th grand opening.
Buc‑ee’s has amassed a cult following since it was founded in 1982 by Arch “Beaver” Aplin and Don Wasek in Lake Jackson, Texas. It’s as much cultural phenomenon as gigantic convenience store, a destination rather than a pitstop, a place where company leaders have built enviable brand loyalty by leaning into their Texan roots and eccentric mascot.
People travel hundreds of miles for the one-of-a-kind experience. Think about the Wawa or Sheetz fandoms and multiply them by 100.
Buc‑ee’s now has locations in several states, including Kentucky, Georgia and Florida, with plans to expand farther east and north in the coming years — just not to Maryland yet, at least officially.
So Newton Jr. took off work on June 30, booked a hotel in nearby Harrisonburg, Virginia, and was among the first customers in line at 4 a.m., two hours before doors opened. He wore a gray Buc‑ee’s hoodie and an Orioles cap to represent his hometown.
“As soon as I saw the bright, yellow Buc‑ee’s sign raised high in the dark Virginia sky and the familiar cartoon beaver we all love smiling at approaching vehicles, the same rush of adrenaline and joy rushed through me like it did two years before,” Newton Jr. said.
He snagged a brisket taco with green sauce and loaded up on stickers, shirts, magnets, hats, a wearable blanket and a lanyard. He’s been back three more times since.
He’s not alone. Thousands of Marylanders, both superfans and new converts, have visited the Virginia site over the past two months.
I’m among them. I lived in Austin, Texas for four years, and I became pretty close to that beaver while there. My best friend calls me the “ideal consumer,” because I’ll buy just about anything silly and fun, and that pretty much sums up Buc‑ee’s.
I had a tradition of stopping at Buc‑ee’s for chips or gummy bears, a sweet tea and unhinged merchandise when on work travel in Texas. I have a St. Patrick’s Day shirt declaring, “The Paddy don’t start ‘til I walk in” and an Easter-themed shirt featuring Buc‑ee donning bunny ears and asking, “But did you dye?” A sign on my front door reads, “The eyes of Buc‑ee’s are upon you.”
So I, too, had to go to the new Virginia Buc‑ee’s. It was just like I remembered. When I told my co-workers the next week, we decided I had to write about it.
A quick search on Facebook and I found other fanatics, like Laura Lynch, who stops at the “7-11 on steroids” when visiting her kids in South Carolina. The Beaver nuggets — sugary corn puffs — are her favorite.
“I’ve never done crack cocaine, but if I ever had to imagine what it would be like, it’s these Beaver nuggets,” Lynch said. She hasn’t been to the Virginia location yet.
Food aside, she’s impressed by how smoothly the place seems to run amid constant chaos, and they pay their workers well. Cashiers make at least $20 an hour, and general managers can earn upward of $250,000 a year.
My Facebook search was also how I connected with Newton Jr., who said he might be Buc-ee’s No. 1 fan in Baltimore. He got there so early, he met no one from Maryland. But later that morning, in walked Kathy and John Long, a Pasadena couple celebrating their 46th wedding anniversary with a day trip there.
They showed up at 9 a.m. and took a photo with Buc‑ee — both the bronze statue outside and the mascot roaming the store.
The Longs had visited Buc‑ee’s in Texas (and, later, some in other states on the road trip home) and immediately fell in love with the brisket sandwiches, cinnamon-and-sugar-coated nuts and barbecue sauce. To any Baltimoreans considering the trip, Kathy Long advises: “Take lots of money, and probably take a cooler so you can buy some goodies there.”
When I visited earlier this month with Kaitlin Newman, a Banner photographer, we followed that advice. We went on a Wednesday morning, so it was a little bit quieter than the weekend rush, but that just made it easier for us to fill up our cart. Between the two of us — and including our snack haul for the office — we probably dropped around $300.
We had no problems finding Maryland license plates in the parking lot. Tiaye Wooten of Crofton stopped with his dad on their way back from North Carolina. They both got brisket sandwiches, which Wooten said lived up to the hype.
“It’s an experience in itself,” he said. “It has a lot to offer.”
Nearby, Melissa Cabrera and Sebastian Claure, both of Rockville, were pumping gas into a car with a custom Maryland license plate spelling out BUCCEE. We couldn’t believe our luck.
Cabrera had never been to Buc‑ee’s before that day, but she became obsessed last year after seeing her friend’s beaver onesie. When she applied for a custom tag for her car, the plate spelled with one ‘c’ was taken, so she opted for two.
Cabrera planned her first visit for her only day off work that week, and the drive was definitely worth it, she said. She and her boyfriend “did our damage.”
She got her own onesie, along with a blanket, a window sticker and a few trinkets. A Buc‑ee stuffed animal stared out her back window.
“He just has a holly jolly smile,” she said. “How can you not love him?”
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