Legend has it that there are several real gates to Hell within the continental United States. Take, for instance, the old cemetery on Emmanuel Hill in Stull, Kan., which is supposed to be the place where the devil himself roams around twice a year, once on Halloween, and once during the Spring Equinox. Better yet, take the old drainage system in Clifton, N.J., where it is said that the deeper you go into these tunnels, the closer you get to the fiery domain of the devil himself. Now, what if I told you a new portal to hell has opened up? Well, it has, and it's located at 8000 State Route 235 and I-70, in Huber Heights, Ohio.
The Southwest gas station/supermarket phenomenon known as Buc-ee’s has finally made it to our great state of Ohio and on its opening day--April 6, 2026--my mother and I decided to go.
But before we get into the chaos of opening day, we must ask ourselves: what is the place and how did it get here?
Founded in 1982 by Arch Aplin III in Lake Jackson, Texas, Buc-ee's is a gas station and mini food-mart that offers a luxury experience for little money.
Aplin was inspired to create a gas station after working in his grandparents' gas station during college summer vacation. He came up with the branding and logo from his childhood dog and nickname, with his dog being named Buck, and his nickname being "Beaver."
After the initial success of the first Buc-ee's location, Aplin partnered up with entrepreneur Don Wasek in 1985 to expand the Buc-ee's brand. Because of this expansion, there are now over 65 Buc-ee's locations in the United States. These outlets, according to ModernRetail.com, generate somewhere between $2.5 billion to $5 billion annually.
One of the biggest draws to this 74,000-square-foot travel center is its vast array of private label merchandise like shirts with the Buc-ee's logo on them, designer hats with the same logo, and in-house snacks.
On the topic of their food, Buc-ee's offers a wide variety of Texan and Southwest American-themed food like BBQ brisket sandwiches ("Beaver Nuggets"), a wide variety of burritos, and sausages on a stick, all of which are made in-house.
To add to the clean atmosphere of the place, Buc-ee's has a 24-hour custodial team that is constantly cleaning the store. Whether it be the restrooms, the storefront itself, or outside the place, this crew has it covered.
So what was it like attending the opening day of the Huber Heights location? Well, I'll tell you.
It was hell.
Driving to the place was hectic, with rows of cars both entering and exiting, rendering the road traffic slower than usual for the area.
It took some 15 minutes to find a parking spot in the lot. Once we found one in the sea of filled lots, we made way to one of the two entrances, along with droves of other people.
At the entrance that we walked into, there was a 4-foot-tall bronze statue of Buc-ee Beaver. People were crowded around it, taking photos of it. Paying offerings to it.
Inside, it was packed. Even just saying that didn't do the place any justice. People were walking shoulder to shoulder, tripping over themselves, and stamping on each other's feet.
Just past the cash registers was the gift shop area. Walking around there was a surreal experience between the old-timers trying to get around each other, the people with crying babies, and youths who thought they were too cool for school.
Right across the gift area was an outdoor sports section. Funnily enough, there were few people in this section of the store. It was a welcome respite to look around the fishing poles, clothes, and lures with virtually no interruption.
After that, we made way to the center of the shop where all of the food is made. It was arranged in a circular formation where you could instantly grab your food once it was set out. There were what felt like thousands of clamoring hands reaching and pulling at each other for one thing and one thing only: a BBQ brisket sandwich.
We stood in line for some 45 minutes, only to lose out to pushier customers who picked up the food before we could get to it. Every time the kitchen crew started a new batch of brisket to be cut and served, the head butcher would scream with all his might, "Fresh brisket on the board," and all of the cooks under him would scream the same thing back. This seemed to happen every two minutes or so. It was rhythmic. It was droning. It had a sense of impending doom.
There was a man who was in our section of the circle. "You goootta get the fresh sammiches. Those are the best. Those are the meatiest," he kept saying over and over again to anyone who would listen. After what seemed like an eternity amongst the clamoring hands and the nervous patrons waiting, seething to get their BBQ brisket sandwiches, we finally got one. Only one.
After that experience, we had enough of the place and headed out. Walking back to the car, sandwich in hand, I couldn't help but thing of Stull, Kan., and those tunnels in Clifton, N.J. The legends carry a certain kind of dread that requires imagination. You have to want to believe them. Buc-ee's requires no such leap of faith. The evidence is immediate. It's sensory.
It's the man groaning on and on about the fresh 'sammiches' like a prophet delivering scripture to nobody and everybody all at once.
It's the bronze beaver idol outside the door receiving its offerings of camera flashes and outstretched smart phones.
It’s the head butcher and his crew screaming "FRESH BRISKET ON THE BOARD" into the fluorescent void every two minutes like a priest conducting a mass that will never end.
Standing there, sandwich in hand, I couldn't help but think of the stories of the places where the devil roams.
Watching in real time, I realized these stories had it all wrong.
The devil doesn't need to show up anymore in his demonic glory.
He doesn't need abandoned churches, patches in the deep wood, or any other legend that's been passed down from generation to generation.
We built him something better.
A place with 120 gas pumps, a full kitchen, a gift shop, and a smiling cartoon mascot to welcome us in, and we didn't stumble into it by accident.
We waited in line for it.
And the worst part? Nobody was dragged there by demonic grabbing hands. Nobody was tricked into selling their souls. Nobody was screaming to leave.
They came willingly.
Smiling.
Hungry.
Patient.
Waiting their turn at the altar.
