N Is For No Gas

We're in the Denver area for a few days before heading off to Tennessee on Tuesday. Since Tacoma we've done a couple nice days of guerilla events which is our favorite kind of workdays because there's no painfull setup and breakdown and we just hand out some bottled water and blinky lights at some local parks to the runners. The best part is that when we're out of stuff we're done for the day. Usually an hour and a half tops. This left for a lot of time to hang around in downtown Portland, OR which was a lot more fun than it sounds but didn't make for tons of good journal stories.

On Thursday we were told, thanks to another delay in the parts for our van being shipped to Baker City, that we were to head directly to Colorado Springs, CO (1 hour south of Denver) for a race event. That's about 1,200 miles my friends and we had a day and a half to do it.

A little background before I get into not one but two tales of running out of gas for you all. This truck we have seems to get even worse gas mileage than the crappy van (as much as we love the truck in comparison). We're talking about 100 to 110 miles to the full tank!! When you're crossing across places like Idaho and Wyoming that ain't much. Another thing is the last quarter tank goes down so fast you can actually watch the needle move towards the pin. And finally when the gas light comes in you're lucky to get another 10 miles before conking out.

Time number one we were a mile and a half from the station. We had passed about 5 or 6 well distanced exits in a row that said "Ranch Exit - No Services." I started looking for a station somewhere just under a half a tank. As each identically posted exit sign passed us by the uneasiness in my stomach grew. I'd see a sign or light up ahead in the distance and when we got nearer it turned out to be a barn or junkheap of old tractors or something else just as useful. I set the cruise control and turned off the AC to conserve what was left of our fuel. It was the hills of Utah that were killing us. The truck was struggling mightily and the high RPM count was draining gas fast. We finally stalled with the exit for the station actually within our sights. Even closer was some kind of emergency vehicle parked on the side of the road about 300 yards ahead. We grabbed our gas can and headed out for a walk.

The vehicle turned out to be some sort of makeshift fire engine. There had been a brush fire about half an hour before on the side of the highway and they were still watering down the hot spots. The grass and trees along our walk were all charred up. Well these fire dutes filled up our gas tank for us and before we knew it we were back on the road.

The next day was pretty similar. This time we hitched and got picked up within 2 minutes by what we now refer to as the "ghost truck." The Ghost Truck was actually the 3rd vehicle to pass us. The first two were cars. I didn't even want to wave my thumb at the Ghost Trcuk but figured what the hell. This thing was a gigantic tractor trailer with the most unsightly load of twisted metal and trailer scraps you could imagine. I doubt if you could fit an old ass toaster oven in with the rest of the mess it was filled so high with schrapnel. It sounded like about 9 downshifts until we realized that he was actually trying to stop. I climbed up onto the passenger side of the truck and peered in, still not convinced that he was actually stopping to pick us up, and said "Got room for two for a couple miles?" The burly ass trucker dute just nodded his head without saying a word so I opened up the door and climbed in and Boom followed suit. Boom said hi to the guy and alls he got was another nod in return.

There was only one passenger seat so I went to squat down in the middle when I noticed that in the rear of the cab was a bunk with a woman sitting down in it who was holding a 2 year old kid. I said hi to her and she just smiled back at me bouncing the kid in her lap and looked nervous or embarassed or both. I settled in for our drive with the scrap hauling mute family and wondered if Boom was as nervous as I was.

If it took 9 gears to stop this monster it took about 19 to get it going. That he took the trouble to stop at all was at first thought quite generous and at second thought a wee bit troubling. The cab of the truck looked like it belonged in the back with the rest of the junk. The windshield was cracked and almost completely coated in dead bugs, the controls panels and gear shifts looked like they would be falling to pieces at the very next pothole, and the noises coming from within resembled the start of a demolition derby. We rode on in silence until the next exit whereupon the slowing down process began. He down shifted, flipped a switch that unleashed that loud rapid fire drum role sound that truck brakes make, shifted again, flipped the switch again and we herked and jerked our way to a stop at the top of the offramp.

Not sure of his plan, and with the Exxon within our sights I asked, "You goin' back on here? Should we (can we)get out?"

"I'll take you down there," he muttered.

He lurched over the highway overpass and we approached gas stations on either side of the road. The slowing down process didn't begin. We watched in nervous wonderment as the stations slowly passed us by as visions of the movie Breakdown danced in each of our heads simultaneously. I wondered if making a jump for it at this speed would fudge us up or if we'd be able to roll up onto the curb safely. Trucker guy whips out his cell phone and dials a number all while fighting with the 16 wheeler.

"Reggie there?........tell him I got a couple-a guys run outa gas bout 3 miles up on the interstate that I'm sendin his way allright?................what...........I can't hear ya............okay...........I'll talk to ya later......."

He stops the truck in front of a garage and tells us to go in and ask for Reggie and he'll help us get back to the car. We hop out and thank him and watch the tangled pile of metal rumble away in a cloud of diesel smoke and wonder if we had just stepped out of an actual truck or if it was really a family who had died on the road many years ago and whose ghosts found peace in helping out stranded motorists for all of eternity.

We thought obout skipping out on Reggie all together, filling up our tank back at the Exxon, and hitching a ride back but thought better of upsetting the ghosts and headed into the garage.

Reggie had long blond hair that fell from under his greasy cap and a full body mechanics suit on with the customary oval nametag that confirmed his identity. He was a little guy and he looked pretty young, much less intimidating than the trucker that's for sure. He approached us and said, in the strangest whispered raspy voice, "You ready?" and walked out to his little tool truck with us following behind.

"Is there a fee for this kind of service, we're a little short on cash right now," I asked knowing that we had 6 bucks between us.

"Uhhh, I don't know. What do you guys think is fair?" His voice was so hushed yet we could hear every word as clear as day. Muhammad Ali but more understandable is as close as I can describe it, or maybe the Godfather as a teenager.

"We got 6 bucks."

"Okay, that's fine."

He drove us to our truck....right across the median. He offered to stay to make sure it started and even followed us back to the station to be sure we made it. Too bad we didn't have more to offer than six lousy bucks, a few pairs of socks, and a couple bottles of water for the dute.

Believe me I don't feel good about running out of gas two days in a row (yes I was at the wheel both times). Believe it or not it could have been even worse. We limped up the the station at least twice more along the way even after taking extra precautions. On the bright side both times were overcome within 1/2 hour and we got to meet a couple nice dutes and 3 ghosts to boot. I'd say it was worth it.