At 15, it felt like torture having to walk or bike everywhere. I had nothing but time and energy to burn, yet still couldn’t wait to get nowhere faster. Today, I’m a few steps closer to getting that whole “journey > destination” logic, especially as the missus and I have taken to strolling the Austin streets in the warming summer evenings, reclaiming details that had become blurred by drive-by familiarity. It feels like 15 all over again, except without all the angst and acne.

The other major departure from days of yore is that oft-confiscated fake IDs have been replaced by an all-too-accurate testament to maturity. We put our non-driving status to good use at The Gingerman for a hefeweizen taste test that yielded Paulaner > Live Oak > Franziskaner. Given further fortitude, I’m guessing that Chimay would have allowed Belgium to prevail, but we needed sustenance. And two tipsy testers can hardly do better than a righteous burger and shake at Sandy’s.

Just two blocks south of the river, this Austin institution offers up old-timey burgers for less than three clams with fries and a drink. More importantly, we ingested some of the best frozen custard this side of Ted Drewes (St. Louis). A certain Hillbilly has me hooked on Sandy’s strawberry shake, but you can count on rich fatty goodness from any of their desert offerings. Pure heaven, served up in a tattered neon glow.

A food coma would surely have consumed us on the drive home, but no, we were walkers that night. And we did the walking one better, with a strenous round of putt-putt at Peter Pan Mini-Golf. Ten bucks gave us access to a magical world of oversized animals, improbable angles, and worn astroturf. Any time you have the opportunity to knock a golf ball up the ass of a giant rabbit, you should do it. It’s what Lewis Carroll would want, you know.