TANK'S ON E!!!
So it's Friday, and I've still managed to put off blogging over last weekend. Heck, I'm still going to put it off because I've had a pissy morning so far. But, I'll amuse myself and you (maybe) by recounting the story of the drive back into civilization via what amounts to Purgatory.
The "OH Contingent" left the grounds with a loose plan to "get money, get gas, and get some food." No other details. So, we pass a gas station with an ATM to get to the Thruway. "No worries," E. and I think. "Gas is $1.74/gallon here and besides, there's no food." We drive along a ways and decide early on to go our own way. The ol' buggy we were driving just wasn't fit to barrel inxs of 80 mph down the highway. In any case, we catch up to the group at a rest stop. We get some food and decide, "Eh, gas is $1.71/gallon here. Let's just gas up in PA -- it'll be much cheaper."
So we drive along, blissful and reminicent, planning next summer's Adventure. We drive straight thru PA and just as we headed into OH, driving right past a gas station, E. looks over.
"Oh $hi+! It's on E."
Immediately, she
freaks, having PTSD flashbacks of the last time someone else drove her car and managed to get them stuck out on the freeway completely unaware of the tank hitting empty. Well, calmly, cooly, and collectedly, I decide simply to get off at the next exit, which happened to be State Route 11. A major route, more or less, plus there was a sign for a hospital.
Well, what I had forgotten was that Route 11 wasn't so major up on I-90. Nothing but freeway in either direction. Slightly rattled, but still in control, I note that the next exit was a simple 1/4 mile off. Now, by this time, the low-fuel light had been fading in and out with each curve and hill. We get off at that exit, and end up right in the sticks. What we saw could've been described as "Jack $hi+" -- except that even Jack had long since abandoned this place. By this time, even I'm rattled.
We pick a turn and happen upon some gravel parking lot upon which sat two vehicles and a couple working on them: a rather unsavory looking male, let's call him "Clem" and his wife... or sister.. or both... whatever. So, I roll down the window and ask if there's a gas station around.
I hate people who answer my questions with questions. He in turn asks me, "How much gas ya got?" "Not much," I reply. And, then he proceeds to flail his grease-soaked arm about telling us a gas station was "Eight miles over there.. somewhere... near the freeway..." as if his arm-flailing indicated a direction.
His wife/sister/mom/whatever saw the obvious look of panic on our faces and quieted "Clem" down and gave us directions. Her directions, paraphrased, went like this:
Take a left down this road. At the end of it, make another left. Then go until you see a gas station right where it hits the freeway.
Unfortunately, I only heard the first and last sentences. We drive along at 45 mph, windows rolled up to reduce drag, with what can only be described as the "White Fred Sanford" following angrily behind us for a time. He was an elderly gentleman with a white beard driving a battered red pickup. He didn't honk or attempt to pass. He simply tailgated us until he turned off.
Now, E's stress level was obviously rising and I was clueless as to why. She was stressing out loud about whether to turn left or right at the end of the first road we were on. Now, by this point, I'm entirely frayed. "The road T's?? No, it doesn't! I didn't hear that!" Well, I couldn't deny it when I saw it.
Left or right. She wasn't sure, so I make an executive decision: right! We turn right and after a short way, I spot this dog standing at the very edge of the road. I clutch the wheel, white-knuckled, begging the dog, "Please, don't let me brake and waste gas!" So, being the old dog it appeared to be, it waited until the car was about ten feet away before starting to cross the road. I brake, honk the horn and drive around it.
We didn't get very far down that road when E felt that we should've turned left. Being unwilling to be the jerk who insists he's right and end up stuck in the middle of BFE, I turn the car around.
By this time, the low-fuel light is a solid amber.
Well, "Clem" was right about one thing. It very well may have been 8 miles to the gas station which we eventually found. I was the first one who spotted the BP symbol. It was like a shining star from afar. E and I both heard the chorus of angels singing from above. We gas up, get some food and get back on I-90 which Clem's wife/sister/whatever said would be there. Gas was $1.68/gallon to boot, though at that point, I'd have gladly paid $1.74+.
Relieved, fed, and laughing, E said that she
knew she should've had me press on until the next exit. "Yeah yeah... 20/20 hindsight," I think to myself as we drove along and, like a rejected scene from the movie
Groundhog Day, passed the freaking State Route 11 exit sign -- AGAIN! Not only had we lost time, but distance as well.
Ah, the joy of road trips :).
