Fuel's Folly

Riding with me in a car takes a lot of trust. I have only ran out of gas once in my life, but the risk is pretty consistent because I get pretty close to empty on a regular basis. If you read my previous article, "Compromising Trips," you already know the hubs and I are opposites. He is that person who fills up the tank when it's down to 1/4 of a tank. However, we have almost ran out of gas three times on the motorcycle, and all three occurred on the same trip!

Gila Cliffs

Last summer, we started in Texas and traveled to New Mexico, Arizona, California, Oregon, Utah, Nevada, and Colorado. The Silver City Loop in New Mexico was part of our trip plan and included a beautiful ride into the Gila National Forest and crossed the Continental Divide twice. We went all the way up to the Gila Cliffs National Monument and then came back down. The plan was to head to Silver City for gas. However, the road to Silver City was closed due to construction. There was a very unhelpful construction worker there, and we asked him about the nearest gas station. He pointed us in the direction of Bayard. Fortunately, three bikers pulled in behind us and informed us we wouldn’t make it. They suggested we turn around and go to the gas station about fifteen miles back. Now, why didn’t we see said gas station? Well, the signage wasn’t great... almost hidden. Nevertheless, we did an about-face and got the gas. The hubs, being the hubs, had to see if we would have made it to Bayard. Yes, we would have, but barely.

From our daughter's house in Arizona, we headed into California toward Joshua Tree. As I mentioned in my second article, "Precious Cargo," we try to avoid spending much time on the freeway, but during our second fuel mishap, the freeway proved to be a lifesaver. I was on the back of the bike jamming out to music when we suddenly pulled over on the freeway. I got off thinking something was wrong with the bike, and the hubs got off and went to the call box. At this point, I really thought something was wrong because we had never used a call box before. I could tell he was agitated, so I just listened to the call as he requested assistance with gas, and the only option given was a tow truck… well, two options: a tow truck that could get to us in thirty minutes at the cost of $900 or a second one that we had to wait an hour, but pay $500 ($100 per gallon)! Mind you, we were on the side of the interstate in the heat of the day with zero shade. Either option was bad, but our only option was to wait.

He opened the cooler in the saddlebag, drank a Gatorade, and handed me a Gatorade and pickle bites. I drank the pickle juice as well since I dehydrate easily. After that, we switched to water. We were out in the sun for about fiften minutes (it seemed like an eternity) before a California Highway Patrol unit pulled up. The hubs approached and leaned in the window. The next thing I know, I am being called to ride with the officer, and the hubs starts the bike. Funny, but I did ask whether to get in the front or back seat... I rode in front. The forged plan was to get to the nearest gas station as the officer and I followed behind. They both agreed removing my weight from the bike would help (ouch). Yes, I understood it was for aerodynamics, but that hurt (not really).

I hopped in the front seat, and the officer explained they were not permitted to transport gas in their vehicle, so this was the best way for him to assist. He also canceled the tow truck for us, and off we went. The officer provided commentary along the way: “You got this, man”; “Keep going.” We all had a sense of relief when we saw the gas station: one more hill to climb, an uphill exit, a stop sign, a right turn, and another right turn into the station.

Now, I know my husband’s body language, and I could tell he was trying to determine whether he should or should not come to a full stop at the stop sign. Simultaneously, the officer audibly states in the car, “Just run it, I got you.” Obviously, he couldn't hear the officer, but the hubs did put a toe down and came to a partial stop, then went on and pulled into the gas station. He immediately approached the officer, thanked him, and offered to pay him the tow truck amount with cash in hand. The officer declined and said he was happy to help. Thank you, California Highway Patrol!

No gas station in sight

So you would think after that, a lesson was learned. While that is true, there are some things beyond your control. Days later, we made our way to Utah and headed towards Moab. We got caught in a storm at about 10,000 feet in elevation. We made our way down to the interstate. Two exits down, we saw the glorious gas icon and exit. We turned and went under the interstate and saw the sign that gas was twelve miles away! No choice, had to go. That was the most expensive gas we encountered on the trip. I think many others have been desperate for gas, and they knew they could charge whatever they wanted and get it.

Waiting...

The entire fourteen day trip was riddled with construction issues. We were lucky we were only rerouted once. The number of times we had to stop at a temporary traffic light was ridiculous, but the worst part was that the motorcycle did not set off the light. In all trips since the fuel folly, gas stations have been double and triple-checked. From now on, fuel issues will only be in our rearview mirror (fingers crossed).

The Blonde Backpack