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I'm pretty sure that nearly everyone from the Rio Grande Valley would agree- every road trip out of the Valley begins with breakfast tacos. Accordingly, on the stop to fill up the gas tank, we also make our way indoors and line up to place our order. I watch as the workers scurry, alternating between filling a bulk order and the requests of those waiting patiently but anxiously, this surely the first stop of their long day to come. One woman rolls balls of dough with a small wooden dowel; another flips the discs on the grill, checking the tell-tale brown spots for readiness. Finally, our turn at the counter and we place our order, "Dos con juevos y tocino, por favor." She scoops the scrambled eggs with pieces of bacon and fills the center of the tortilla, rolling it all up in a shiny foil wrapper. I walk away and open the package and unroll the bundle to spoon in pico de gallo and salsa verde, taking that nearly always losing gamble that it won't drip onto my shirt in the final bites. The coffee also presents a risk. Although usually known to be pretty good for a gas station brew, today a definitely burned flavor exists, and not even a splash of half and half covers it up. I drink it anyway, watching the sunrise along the way. We are off.