Underdogs”) is not exactly a Texas classic, but it should be. Azuela, who had been a field doctor for Pancho Villa’s forces, wrote the first novel of the Mexican Revolution while living in exile in El Paso’s Segundo Barrio. It was published as a serial in the city’s Spanish-language weekly, El Paso del Norte, in 1915, during a period in which many key figures of the revolution were coming and going in El Paso, plotting, planning, arguing, and writing. Azuela’s action-packed book (shots are fired on the very first page) gives a vivid sense of the men and women at the heart of this epic war. Read the first few paragraphs while standing on the sidewalk in front of the Pablo Baray Apartments, at 609 S. Oregon Street (where El Paso del Norte ’s printing press was located and near the site of Azuela’s residence) and listen to the Spanish and English being spoken all around you and you’ll also get a vivid sense of El Paso’s rich international history. J. Silverstein
60. Snag a Picnic Table at Railroad Blues, in Alpine
You can play pool, drink one of 128 beers, and watch touring rock bands play on the big stage inside. The real action is outside, though, especially on Friday evenings around five. Take a seat at a picnic table and listen in on a crusty bunch of local lawyers, writers, politicians, businessmen, and Sul Ross professors who gather to talk, bitch, argue, pontificate, fulminate, and drink. A few of them—like journalist Jack McNamara (who calls the gathering the “Ain’t It Awful?” seminar)—are famous, at least as these things are measured in West Texas. Political gossip is welcomed, then debated. Conspiracies are offered and mocked. Heroes are praised and torn down. You can take part or you can just sit and watch as the sun crosses the high-desert skies and the train races past just thirty feet away. 504 W. Holland Ave., 432-837-3103. MH
61. Attend the Futurity, in Fort Worth
No offense to bull riding and barrel racing, but for me, nothing captures the spirit of the cowboy way more than cutting. And no event is more important or authentic than the National Cutting Horse Association’s World Championship Futurity, at Will Rogers Coliseum (this year it runs from November 20 through December 12). Fans can enjoy riders from all backgrounds as they saddle up and work to keep one cow separated from the herd for a short period of time, a skill that is an absolute necessity on a working ranch. The elegance of the sport is apparent in how the rider and horse function as a team to keep the animal at bay; the drama comes when one realizes how fast a calf is—and how determined it is to return to the fold. 3401 W. Lancaster Ave., 817-392-7469. BDS
62. See Stephen F. Austin, in Austin
A well-preserved state secret—hiding in plain sight—is the Texas State Cemetery, a place every Texan should discover firsthand. It’s located just east of downtown Austin, between Seventh and Eleventh streets, a beautiful and tranquil sprawl of hills, dales, and pastures, pleasantly shaded and amazingly alive. A walk through the cemetery’s 21 acres is a trip through time, our state revealed in all its greatness, courage, tragedy, and pomposity. You’ll see the grave of Stephen F. Austin, with its bronze Coppini statue, as well as the final resting places of more-contemporary Texas leaders like Ann Richards, John Connally, Barbara Jordan, and Allan Shivers. But this isn’t just a place for politicians: Also buried here is Willie “El Diablo” Wells, who played in the Negro Leagues and is perhaps the greatest shortstop who ever lived. 909 Navasota, 512-463-0605. GC
63. Appear on the Cover of texas monthly
Only a handful of texas monthly writers have ever appeared on our cover. Richard West was once accompanied by a beautiful model. I was accompanied by a bowl of chili, which, when readers turned to the story, was flipped upside down on my head. It was November 1978, and the Legislature had just declared chili the official state dish. Outraged at the snub of barbecue, I decided to write a story debunking chili—chili cookoffs, chili restaurants, chili recipes, chili chic, chili lore. I said no to the cover idea, but the art director bribed me with the offer of a new suit. Before the shoot, I called the cleaners. “Can you salvage a suit with chili all over it?” I asked. “Bring it in right away,” they said. “It won’t have chili on it until tomorrow,” I replied. The cover line was “I’m Paul Burka, and I hate chili,” and if I didn’t really hate it before I was on the cover, I sure did after the magazine came out. I didn’t go out in public for a month. If you’d like to be on the cover of texas monthly doing something on your bucket list, go to texasmonthly.com/covercontest and follow the directions to upload your photograph. PB