Adventures in pumping gas, part one

I’m usually pretty careful about these sorts of things, but on Monday afternoon, I found myself scolding… well, myself, when it became clear that I probably wasn’t going to make it to my destination before running out of gas.

The tC and I had made most of my 70-some mile trip by that point, and if not for some running around Ft Lauderdale for lunch, city driving, I’m pretty sure I would have made it to Boca Raton, my destination, on our virgin tank of gas.

Jesus, I haven’t even pumped my own gas yet, and I’m already turning into a fueling delinquent, I thought. To make matters worse, I was looking for a certain brand of gas, thanks the free fuel incentive thrown in by my dealer. But when the low-fuel light came on and I passed two or three exits, their ‘amenities you’ll find at this exit’ signs all advertising the wrong gas stations, I decided I’d better take whatever came along.

Whatever came along was the brand I was looking for. Turn right, 1/10th of a mile.

The tenth went by too quickly, and I found the gas station behind me. I made a legal U-turn at the first light, but found the entrance to the station came up way too fast as well. I looked for the next place I could make a U-turn in the other direction, to get back and give the original U-ie another shot. At this point, I decided that I should probably go without stereo and air conditioning to save fuel, but found myself wondering if cracking the windows was a bad idea, in terms of aerodynamics and saving fuel. I ended up doing so, as opening the sunroof seemed like far too much power to waste. It all seems a bit silly now.

The U-turn worked out this time; I skillfully maneuvered my tC into the gas station, finding that I had the run of the place — not another car was around. And for good reason; I spied bags on the pumps.

My heart kind of sank.

Stay tuned for part two, etc.