Sunday Driver: Oltorf Street
“YOU WON’T GET AWAY with this, Oltorf!”
Try saying that with the earnestness of a Scooby-Doo character and tell me it doesn’t feel right.
Oltorf Street was named after someone’s probably harmless relative, but I have a hard time believing they weren’t, at least secretly, some kind of villain. What other role could a person with the name Oltorf possibly have in society? It conjures to mind some cutthroat executive at the helm of an ominous corporation, probably named Olcorp. Or, it could even be Tolkienesque—stashed away somewhere in unpublished notes for The Simarillion could certainly be a necromancer named Oltorf. Maybe they just didn’t make the cut. Maybe before Sauron, there was Oltorf.
Anyways, we’re not here to hypothesize on what flavor of evil the name Oltorf embodies most. We’re here for our very first Sunday Driver segment, where we mine the streets of Austin for any interesting, quirky gems we can find.
Stretching approximately 4.6 miles between Montopolis Drive to the east and Lamar Boulevard at its westernmost boundary, driving down Oltorf is not unlike a ride on a rickety rollercoaster at the county fair, controlled by a toothless meth head who likes to ratchet up the speed at random. It’s life-threatening, but exhilarating and full of surprises.
Two noteworthy points jump out not far from Montopolis Drive. Across from Alvin Devane Boulevard, beside the Office of the Attorney General, is a small patch of farmland where you can see some cattle. I’ve noticed for some reason that they like to gather around the streetlight by Oltorf, usually in the evening. If you ever feel like having a little bucolic moment before you go fight for a parking space somewhere downtown, go visit the cows of Oltorf for a spell. (Note, however, that as of this writing, some construction is going on at that very intersection, so the cows may be spooked away as a result.)
Driving away from the cows, you’ll round a bend and see a nice view of the skyline. Who knows how long this will be here before some high-rises come to block the view, so enjoy it while it lasts.
As you approach Pleasant Valley Road, you’re about to start down a stretch of Oltorf that I affectionately refer to as the Gauntlet. Running from Pleasant Valley to I-35, this is where you need to buckle up and knuckle up (i.e., grip the wheel)—you’re gonna see some wild shit. If there were an Oltorf Street bingo card, the Gauntlet is where you’d be most likely to scratch off “see a prostitute” and “hear a racial slur.” Also, the potential for accidents is alarmingly high. Cars weave out of lanes and make odd turns at irregular intervals. I can’t explain why. People just seem to enter a fog here where they lose some of their mental and perhaps physical faculties.
Similarly, crosswalks have no power here—people will cross the road wherever they please, with as much nonchalance as they’d have walking across their own living room. Perhaps this is all a veiled threat against gentrification. If some developer wants to take this particular slice of Oltorf, they’re gonna have to take it from the Oltorfians’ crazy-ass hands.
The sun rises on the Gauntlet.
The stoplight at the I-35 intersection is your signal that you’ve made it through the Gauntlet unscathed. Give yourself the sign of the cross.
When you reach the intersection of Oltorf and South Congress, you can find another rejected Tolkien name: Freddo. If you don’t think Austin is still weird, just mosey on in to Freddo sometime. I’ll let you decide for yourself if it’s truly “Soco’s Best Happy Hour.”
Next, you’ll cross Oltorf and South 1st Street, where there’s a nice detour you can take: hang a right down South 1st to enjoy one of Austin’s coolest little stretches of road (more to come on that in a future segment). Otherwise, you’ll see El Tacorrido on your right, which, to my palette, has some delicious (and actually affordable) breakfast tacos. This is a chaotic location to access, though—one more appropriate for the Austin traffic of 10 or 15 years ago—so the one on Riverside is likely a better bet depending on the time of day you’re in the area. Regardless, snag yourself some El Tacorrido if you know what’s good for you.
The rest of the drive down Oltorf is pretty pleasant, save for the narrow lanes that, if you’re still new to Austin, will make your cheeks clench tight enough to bend a quarter when one of the city buses rolls by (seriously, how on earth do they fit in the lanes?). You’ll see some nice little houses that are worth more than Meta or Google probably, and overall it’s a sharp contrast from the earlier chaos of the Gauntlet. Just breathe easy and enjoy the scener—OH DEAR GOD IT’S THE TRAIN.
Actual Oltorf train not pictured here.
A scientific aberration, this train defies what we know about the physical properties of our life here on Earth. Much like being on that one planet in Interstellar, after the train finally passes, you’ll realize that some sort of time dilation has happened, and your friends and family have aged at least 10 years while you’re still the same. If you don’t take anything else away from this article, just know that you should never, ever take the risk of running into this train—find an alternate route. If you don’t, it will change your life forever, and not in a good way.
But if you’re bold enough to keep going, you’ll cross the tracks and finally reach the end of the journey. The intersection with Lamar is an interesting metaphorical and literal crossroads. To your right lies downtown, exploding in growth, and beyond that North Austin, also rapidly expanding. To your right lies the future. To your left, the road to South Austin awaits, where you can see much of what people think of when they imagine the idyllic Austin of yore. At this midway point lies Martinez Brothers. With its dilapidated signage, I’m always doubtful if it’s still open. But it is. And it’s microcosm of what weird places like Oltorf represent to Austin as a whole. Strange, but endearing. Hanging on to its roots, improbably but defiantly. Out of place, and yet right at home.
