Today’s itinerary was simple: wake up in Nowheresville, Colorado near the Kansas border. Drive in mostly straight lines through cornfields. Dinner in Tulsa with Evan. George was leaving Denver this morning bound for Tulsa, too, but I was several hours ahead of him.
Things were going well, until I made my first gas stop of the day in the settlement of WaKeeney at seemingly the only truck stop for miles. Lines at every pump. Commotion everywhere. And then, as it was my turn to get out of the way, an entire failure.
Somehow, this battery went from hero to zero at this station. No indication of any kind of previous trouble ,despite all the altitude, cold, and frequent stops of last week. But turning the key produced no sign of life at all. I had to wander around the gas station looking moderately disheveled and ask people for help. We’ve all seen that guy before. No one wants to talk to that guy.
Thankfully a kind gentleman in his bro-dozer had just filled up and was willing to help. Turns out he wasn’t alone, nor had he owned this car for more than a couple days. As I helped him figure out how to open his hood latch, a passel of young children materialized with the sugary treasures of the convenience store. Suddenly, I was on a deadline. And Xterra the Younger could not be coaxed to life for several tries, but finally the roar of life. Now to figure out how many miles I might be from the nearest AutoZone.
Oh good. An eleven hour walk to Hays, KS. Assuming I do not stop, that should be a doable drive. Unfortunately, although my superpower in this situation is that I can do a roll-start, good luck finding a hill to park on in Kansas. Guess the Diet Coke and bathroom break I needed will have to wait.
I do not know how that battery got so gross, but I probably should have taken it as a warning. Also an entire gallon of bug cleaner was desperately needed. Armed with a pair of Leathermans, I got the battery replaced while wondering why I seem to have misplaced the wrenches from my tool roll.
Shortly after I got back on the road, I whined about my struggles to the boys and George responded with this:
And NO I ABSOLUTELY DID NOT RUN OUT OF GAS FIFTY YARDS FROM A GAS STATION. And anyone trying to tell you otherwise is a filthy liar.
Now I know I can’t trust my gas gauge under a quarter tank…
Armed for light offroading, George had his usual container of roof gas, which he used to get to that service station behind him. Which was, in total seriousness, the same place that ate my battery in WaKeeney.
Perhaps it is time to get off the road a while. A week or so in Tulsa sounds pleasant. And despite our delays, I made it in time for a late dinner, and George joined for the nightcap.