This morning, I left later than I intended and rather than fill up my gas tank before my long drive, I figured stopping halfway on the trip was more conducive to positive momentum. A pit stop would be a nice excuse to get a cup of coffee. So I hit the road on my 70 mile trip with about 60 miles worth of gas in my car and the new (to me, at least) Counting Crows album in my stereo. This is where I went wrong.
I was so busy jamming, trying to pick my favorite tracks, and working to memorize refrains that I didn’t notice my gas light go on. In fact, I didn’t notice until this rush of panic swept over me about 9 miles outside of my final destination, with no gas stations in between. F@*&!! I had no idea how long the light had been on. I instantly laid off the accelerator, hoping to coast into town. I tried to remember what speed is the most fuel efficient, and settled on 55 mph. This did not make the other traffic on the Interstate happy, but when I rolled into the gas station, my heart beating fast in my throat I was certainly happy!
Dearest Chevy Prism and your magical ability to run on fumes, I am thankful for you.