No go juice

Two things are absolutely necessary for a successful photographic adventure: 1) Vehicle filled with gasoline; 2) Camera with empty memory card and charged battery.

The camera was not the problem this time, but the go juice nearly was.

We drove the back roads on our way home from our bed and breakfast. No good way exists to reach Garden of God from the B&B. We took state highways through some very small towns, then took off on a gravel road.

We forgot one very elementary rule. Check your gas gauge before leaving!

We could have filled up at least once, but never thought about it.

We were in the middle of nowhere when Hubby looked at the gauge. Needle was hugging the E line. I could see the tops of a grain elevator on the horizon to the north, totally out of the way of our intended destination. We weren’t going to arrive without gasoline, so northward we went.

I’ve heard that 12 miles is the longest distance visible on level ground. Those elevators were all of that.

Twelve miles is a long, long way in a truck running on a bit more than fumes.

Hubby asked me to pray. As if I needed a reminder?

We had forgotten our cell phone, leaving it in the van, and no farmhouses were in evidence. If we ran out of gas, we faced a very long walk.

Surely, any place with an elevator would have a gas station.

Not this time.

These elevators were in a tiny, unincorporated town that lacked any gas station. The elevator sold us one gallon of gasoline, enough to get us the five miles to the gas station in the next tiny, unincorporated town.

I kept on praying. What a relief when we pulled into the station! (Yes, God does answer prayer, even when we behave foolishly.)

Hubby gave me a $20 bill to pay for fuel. I went in the only visible door, which entered a storage area stacked with motor vehicle parts. I asked the attendant to start the pump. He said he would, then disappeared. I saw no other door and expected him to return.

I sat in a chair next to the gasoline truck driver and chatted with him, all the while wondering where I was supposed to pay for this.

Hubby finished pumping gas and started staring at me, as if to say, “Will you get out here already? We need to leave!”

I was not about to run off without paying, but still had no idea where I’d find a cashier. Finally, I looked behind some of the shelves. A passageway with a door was hidden back there.

The cashier was startled when I appeared. Since the main entrance was on the other side of the building, opposite the gas pumps, she didn’t expect a customer to materialize out of the storage room. I gave cashier the $20, picked up a nice co-op cap and left.

“What took you so long?” Hubby asked.

“I couldn’t find the cashier!”

He just shook his head.

What’s a road trip without a little adventure?