New Orleans → Baton Rouge → Houston → Bastrop → Austin
New Orleans: You Never Know Who Plays Pickleball
We arrived in New Orleans late, hungry and already behind schedule. We were expected at The Exchange Pickleball Club for open play at seven. It was closer to eight when we pulled up, having abandoned our plans to check into the hotel and eat dinner first.
Junior was waiting for us.
He had the kind of smile and energy that makes you glad you came. He showed us around The Exchange, with courts surrounding a central bar and gathering area. Trivia night was underway, the courts were full, and Junior introduced us to everyone he could find, including the kitchen crew, bartender, trivia host and the bar dog (cute!).
Then we played.
Junior was a terrific partner. He called out shots, encouraged every point and never missed an opportunity for a paddle tap. At one point I heard him whisper, “Paddle tap is important.”
He was right. A paddle tap can mean nice shot, forget the last one, or let's go. Sometimes all three.
Although location matters. If you paddle tap after every shot in Texas or New Mexico, you will be judged.
Alex dared to question the legality of my serve after struggling to return it. For the record, it's a drop serve. Perfectly legal.
On our way out, we met two brothers, Derek and Fun. Yes, Fun. He grew up with another name, a name that hadn't brought him much joy, particularly in middle school. So 26 years ago, he legally changed it to his favorite word: Fun. Now he gets to see people smile every time he introduces himself.
We could have talked to them much longer.
Derek promised to make our little brand famous with his connections in the film industry.
We're still waiting, Derek. ;-)
An Unexpected Escort Through Bourbon Street
Seasonal hotel pricing allowed us to get a little fancy in New Orleans. As it turns out, a luxury hotel in New Orleans in August can cost less than an ordinary hotel in West Texas.
The valet was less enthusiastic when our enormous, brightly wrapped PB5star Sprinter arrived. They couldn't find anywhere to park it. Eventually, they left it directly across from the hotel's main entrance.
A giant billboard, perfectly positioned for every guest coming and going.
Inside, we discovered that the New Orleans Saints stay at the hotel throughout the season. We even learned which floor.
We're not telling.
While waiting for the elevator, Alex struck up a conversation with a man wearing official Saints gear. He worked in player development and had played in the NFL himself.
We asked for a dinner recommendation.
He offered several possibilities until we clarified that we were hoping for something healthy.
He laughed.
It was after 10:30 at night. We were in New Orleans. He pointed out that we needed to adjust our expectations.
Alex mentioned a place she'd found called The Will & The Way. His face lit up. He loved it, and since it was on his way home, he offered to walk us there.
First, he gave us a pronunciation lesson. No, we should not call the city “Nahlins.” New Orleans or NOLA would be just fine.
Then he asked whether we'd prefer the quiet streets or Bourbon Street.
This was my first visit to New Orleans. I had a former NFL player and Saints executive offering to escort us through Bourbon Street at night. Obviously, we chose Bourbon Street.
It was chaos. Crowds, music, drinks, beads, people in varying states of dress and sobriety. At one point a man approached Alex with beads ready to put around her neck. Our new friend and I both shouted, “NO!”
Alex was understandably confused. We explained that those particular beads might come with expectations.
Our guide got us safely through the crowds and delivered us to The Will & The Way. He'd asked us not to identify him, but I wish I could properly thank him. What could have been an intimidating first night in a strange city became one of the nicest surprises of the trip, entirely because someone took the time to look after two visitors he'd just met.
I'm a 49ers fan. Always have been. But after meeting a few members of the Saints organization, I have found myself quietly rooting for the Saints. Shhh.
Outside the restaurant, a sign read: “Kinda Divey, Kinda Not.”
Inside, we were greeted by Jessey, a tall, tatted up, urban-cool blonde who assured us the kitchen was still open.
We were starving. We ordered a burger and lamb birria tacos to share.
And then came what I still consider the best dinner of our entire road trip.
The tacos arrived in freshly fried, crispy corn shells, filled with tender lamb birria. Every flavor seemed considered. The burger was equally good, perfectly cooked and dressed. This was not the emergency late-night dinner we'd been expecting.
I told Jessey how happy I was. She told us that someone from Jose Cuervo had once tried those tacos and ended up creating a tequila-and-taco brand activation around them.
I understood completely.
We walked back to the hotel full and happy, where our giant PB5star van was still parked in front of the entrance, conveniently advertising our shoes to the entire New Orleans Saints organization.
The French Quarter Pickleball Experiment
The next morning we had a mission: find pickleball players in the French Quarter.
First, coffee.
Alex had identified a matcha shop that supposedly also served coffee. We walked a mile in the already oppressive heat, under an overpass and along some thoroughly unromantic streets, only to discover that the place served matcha drinks but no actual coffee.
Alex was delighted. I was not.
We eventually took an Uber to another coffee shop, where I spotted stickers at the register reading “F*ck Matcha.”
Finally, people who understood me.
The cappuccino was just okay, although that could have been my mood. Or the heat. I'd happily give them another try based on the sticker alone.
We headed into the French Quarter, looking for shade, beignets and strangers willing to talk about pickleball. At the oversized NEW ORLEANS letters, we recruited people to run with us for our ongoing road-trip video. Two of them actually played pickleball.
Promising start.
At Café du Monde, we managed to snag a table without waiting in the long takeout line. We ordered beignets and water, watched the powdered sugar arrive in impressive quantities and listened to the live music.
The beignets were good. The heat was relentless.
We had briefly considered comparing beignets from two different places, but the second line was long, partly in direct sun, and we'd already had our three powdered-sugar-covered pastries.
There are limits to what I'm willing to do for Instagram.
We continued through the French Quarter and started asking strangers whether they played pickleball.
Most were hot, sweaty and not particularly interested in talking to two women carrying a camera and a pickleball paddle.
Then Alex and I started playing a game of our own. We'd look at someone, guess whether they played pickleball, and then go ask.
We were terrible at guessing.
I spotted two young men who didn't look remotely like pickleball players. Alex was hesitant to approach them. I walked over and asked whether they'd be willing to be in our video.
I even suggested they could pretend to play pickleball.
They looked at me and, after a rather leisurely exchange, explained that they actually did play.
Of course they did.
Alex was laughing as we walked away, partly because she'd been nervous about approaching them and partly because I'd been right to ask.
That video became our best-performing Instagram post from the road trip.
You cannot tell who plays pickleball by looking at them. Age, clothes, profession, whatever assumptions you might make about someone walking down the street. None of it is particularly reliable.
We'd come to New Orleans to find pickleball players. We found them in places we never would have predicted.
And we were late leaving town. Again.
Baton Rouge: Pickleball Can Wait
We left New Orleans still in search of a really good coffee and matcha stop. Our last attempt had ended at a coffee shop with a sign on the door announcing an unexpected closure. From inside, we could hear what sounded like a very personal argument unfolding over the phone.
We decided not to wait around.
By Baton Rouge, the heat had become almost comical. We found a little shopping area with a coffee shop, parked in a dirt lot and walked toward what we hoped would be a decent caffeine fix.
Then we spotted a sign pointing toward pickleball. What?
Electric Pickle.
Obviously, we had to investigate.
There were several outdoor courts. Every one was empty.
It was the middle of the day in August in Louisiana. For once, the absence of pickleball players made perfect sense.
We got our drinks, had a disappointing snack and got back on the road.
A little farther along, we spotted a billboard asking whether we'd like to pet a baby alligator.
Yes. Yes, I would.
I'd never been to this part of the country, and I had no idea when I'd be back. If someone was offering the opportunity to hold a baby alligator, I was taking it.
As we exited the highway, I began to worry that we'd stumbled into some sort of Tiger King situation. I didn't want to support a roadside attraction exploiting wild animals.
Fortunately, it turned out to be a rehabilitation operation helping raise young orphaned alligators before releasing them back into the wild.
We got a little education about alligators and the chance to hold one. His mouth was gently secured, but otherwise he seemed perfectly relaxed. At one point he rested his jaw on my shoulder and put one little foot up there too.
I found him rather sweet.
Twenty minutes later, we were back in the van, now even later for our arrival in Houston.
Some detours are worth it.
Houston: Old Friends and New Pickleball Connections
Houston meant a visit with my friend Anita. We've known each other since middle school, and she's one of my forever friends. The kind you can go years without seeing and pick up right where you left off.
She welcomed us with a feast of fajitas, guacamole, chips, rice, beans and tortillas. After days of meals squeezed between appointments, sitting around a table with an old friend and a home-cooked dinner was exactly what we needed.
Alex, naturally, was already researching frozen yogurt for dessert. Anita delivered on that, too.
The next morning we headed to Harvest Kitchen, a recommendation from our friend Dianne, who would be hosting us later in Austin.
The restaurant was nice, but the food was beautiful. The menu read like something out of a food magazine, and every plate showed the love that went into making it.
I ordered chicken and Liège waffles, the real Belgian kind with pearl sugar caramelized into the dough. Not my typical order, but hey, I was in Texas! Alex ordered the breakfast brisket tacos and was equally delighted.
Then we met the owner, Lori Pope.
It turned out Lori played pickleball. We had no idea.
She was as lovely as the food she'd created, and we had a wonderful conversation about the game. We gifted her a pair of PB5star shoes, happy to get another player into proper court footwear. (She was wearing running shoes - a risky choice!)
She also admitted that she was playing with a paddle from Buc-ee's.
Lori, we hope you're enjoying the shoes. And that you've upgraded the paddle by now.
With full stomachs and another unexpected pickleball connection, we headed for Bastrop.
Bastrop: A Bookstore, Some Beginners and a Bit of Thrifting
I had been looking forward to Bastrop since before we left Florida.
Our Austin host, Dianne, had suggested The Painted Porch, a bookstore owned by Ryan and Sam Holiday. I'm a fan of The Daily Stoic, and I loved the idea behind their shop. If you haven't read Ryan's The Obstacle Is the Way, I highly recommend it.
Unlike a typical bookstore with thousands of titles, The Painted Porch carries a tightly edited selection of books chosen by people who have actually read and loved them.
I'd contacted the shop before our trip to ask whether we could film a visit. That conversation turned into an invitation to introduce some of the team to pickleball.
So we arrived with our paddles.
They'd only played a handful of times, so we worked through a few rules and some basic strategy. Within a few games, their shots were improving, the rallies were getting longer, and we like to think we left them better players than we found them.
Laughter and learning are a pretty good way to bond with strangers. We also discovered a shared appreciation for good restaurants and coffee. Always nice to meet fellow food and coffee snobs and trade recommendations.
They sent us to Tracy's Drive-In Grocery for a post-match matcha and iced coffee. Excellent detour.
We also spent time exploring The Painted Porch and downtown Bastrop, including a thrift store, Good Old Habit, where we picked up a few treasures before getting back on the road.
Our next stop was considerably less literary.
The Boring Company Was, Well...
We read about pickleball courts at The Boring Company and decided to investigate.
We heard there were free to play pickleball courts at the Boring Bodega, so it seemed worth a stop.
Unfortunately, someone was sick and the Bodega had closed early. The courts and the bar were empty. Someone kindly let us film a little, but there would be no pickleball and no spontaneous new friends.
We did meet an engineer walking back to his car, disappointed that he couldn't get his usual after-work beer.
He played pickleball, although apparently not much during the Texas summer.
Back in the van, we concluded, “Boring was boring.”
On to Austin.
We stopped for sushi at Uchi, where the food and service were excellent. Along the way, we met a young couple who happily posed for a selfie and another stranger who volunteered to be our human tripod while we filmed our running shot.
He was also a runner and gave Alex tips about local running groups.
Austin was off to a friendly and delicious start.
We were late arriving at Dianne's house, despite my best efforts to keep us on schedule. She welcomed us anyway, with a homemade sign reading “Welcome to Austin PB5.”
It was after ten. We chatted, found our rooms and went to bed.
We had a full day of Austin pickleball ahead.
Austin: What Could a Pickleball Club Become?
Our first stop was RushATX, where Nick Sutcliffe and Hannah Johns are developing a club that made me reconsider what a pickleball facility could look like.
The property covers roughly 14 acres, with plans for covered courts, a restaurant and bar, workspaces, wellness amenities and outdoor areas.
What impressed me was the flexibility built into the design. Nearly every space could serve more than one purpose. The covered courts could become a corporate meeting space with screens and seating, or transform into a beautiful outdoor wedding venue. It was smart planning, with a business model that wouldn't depend entirely on one sport.
But what I liked just as much was that they weren't trying to develop every square foot.
There was room for trails, trees, gathering spaces and simply being outside.
The vision was less about packing as many courts as possible onto a property and more about creating a place where people might want to spend an entire day.
I started imagining something similar in Southern California.
Could I move to Austin? Could we build something like this near San Diego? Did Nick need someone to scout locations?
I may have volunteered.
We were supposed to be researching pickleball clubs, not reconsidering our lives, but these things happen.
Austin Pickle Ranch: Seven Days a Week Is a Problem
Our next major stop was Austin Pickle Ranch.
Before we even walked inside, two men noticed our van and came over to talk. They'd apparently just been discussing the need for proper pickleball shoes.
One of them admitted that pickleball had become a problem.
He was playing seven days a week.
I knew exactly what he meant.
As we were talking, another man walked out of the club already wearing PB5stars.
Another genuine sighting in the wild!
We hadn't arranged it. We hadn't given him shoes for the camera. He was simply wearing them, and he told us they were the best he'd found.
Inside, we met Tim Klitch, wearing a slightly crooked American-flag cowboy hat.
Tim showed us around the club, which was busy with an impressive mix of players for a weekday afternoon. Kids, adults, beginners, experienced players. The indoor courts were particularly lively.
He'd paid attention to details that might not be obvious to visitors, including the acoustics of the indoor space. Anyone who has spent time in a room full of pickleball courts knows how loud those plastic balls can get.
Tim also had what he described as the world's largest cowbell.
Naturally.
We talked about the club, the business and the growing Austin pickleball scene. When we asked what else we should see, Tim suggested Apex, another local club.
I liked that. He was perfectly comfortable recommending a competitor.
So we went.
Women's Pickleball Court Shoes, PB5 Axis | Soft White Multi
$129.00
The PB5 Axis is built for players who choose their gear as carefully as they choose their court time. At the heart of every PB5star shoe is our contoured footbed, a deep heel seat, engineered arch cushioning and met-dome -… view
Apex: Wait, You're PB5star?
At Apex, Brandon Nsekpong gave us a tour and introduced us to one of the owners upstairs.
When she heard the name PB5star, she practically jumped out of her chair.
“Wait, PB5star?”
Then she stood up to show us she was already wearing one of our Side Split Skirts.
She'd just ordered four more.
We couldn't have staged the moment better if we'd tried, and fortunately we had the camera running.
She was enthusiastic, funny and genuinely excited to meet us. We talked shoes, apparel and pickleball, and she tried on a pair of ours.
It was another reminder of why we'd driven across the country in the first place. You can study customer orders and reviews all day, but there's nothing quite like walking into a room and meeting someone who already knows your product.
A Parking Ticket and a Small Miracle
By dinner, we were hot, tired hungry and a little late. Again.
We managed to get to Aba almost on time and found what appeared to be a workable parking spot for the giant Sprinter, although the rear was slightly up on the curb to keep the front out of the street.
We ordered the whipped feta and hummus everyone had recommended, along with a cold French white wine.
Excellent advice all around.
Then we discovered the parking ticket.
As we were driving away, we spotted the parking enforcement officers.
I looked at Alex.
“Go do your thing.”
A few minutes later, she returned with the ticket crumpled up. She had explained the parking situation, shown them the van and somehow persuaded the officer to cancel it.
I was impressed.
I can approach almost anyone and start a conversation. Alex can apparently talk her way out of a parking ticket.
We make a pretty good team.
Her victory was followed by another attempt to find frozen yogurt. The place we'd been recommended had ice cream but no frozen yogurt, which was apparently an entirely different proposition.
We went home without dessert.
The next morning, Alex had plans to run along the river while I was going to walk with Dianne. Then we'd be back in the van, headed toward Waco and Dallas.
We had already met people who played pickleball every day, people trying it for the first time, and club owners imagining entirely different futures for the sport.
And we'd barely made it through Texas.
