Road Angels- May

I was on a whirlwind tour. We had finished our first Unplugged FieldTrip in the Utah desert and then I drove my truck and trailer back to Bozeman. The next morning, I loaded up my other car and started driving west.

I was headed to Bend, Oregon to work my last camp as a coach for the Bridger Ski Foundation. I was thrilled to have the opportunity to work with our clubs highest level athletes and more than excited to get one more victory lap of what has surely been the highest quality skiing year of my life.

There are two routes from Bozeman to Bend. One takes you through Missoula, Spokane, down along the Colombia before turning south along the Cascades. The other takes you south to the Snake river valley, through Boise and then cuts through the center of Oregon. I opted for the second.

Late last summer I was looking for an additional car. I wanted something that could zip highway miles, handle snow, could be slept in, and importantly, not cost a lot of money. My friend, Heather was moving and had just picked up a fancy new truck. Thusly, she was looking to get rid of her beloved 2005 VW Passat wagon before leaving town.

As with a nearly 20 year old car from New England, it was covered in rust. The bumper was held with duct-tape, and the check engine light was always on. It had all kinds of granola-y stickers and a big sticker from Middlebury College as Heather was an alum. The Midd sticker was a trip for me to drive around with. I wanted to go there but had been too chicken to submit my application but that’s another story.

I was blasting my way westward through the Oregon desert having a hell of a good time on the road. The car was loaded with camping gear, a few pairs nordic skis, touring skis, a mountain bike, roller-blades, you know, just the bare essentials. I was jamming on fascinating podcasts, talking with friends on the phone and day dreaming about potentially getting to go crust cruising the next morning.

It was late in the afternoon when I rolled through Burns, Oregon. A rural town with several gas stations and restaurants. I had momentum and didn’t want to stop so I kept rolling. It’s 130 miles from Burns to Bend. I had a little over a third of a tank of gas and a quick glance at the map made it seem like there were several spots to refuel.

Having lived there for two years, Oregon is one of my favorite states. From its coastline, to the alpine, lush forest, and rolling high desert, it really is a fantastic place. I didn’t start to really worry until I past the scrubby ‘town’ of Brothers, Oregon. I was counting on there being a gas station. A few stranded buildings and nothing more. It was another 45 miles to Bend. “Shit! how the f@$% is there no gas station out here?” I thought to myself.

I was in and out of cell service and having a hard time loading the map on my phone. The fuel light had already been on for half an hour and I was suddenly feeling in trouble.

I rolled the windows up and slowed to 55 mph, supposedly a car’s most efficient speed. My heart rate picked up as my mind started racing. My thoughts were looping on themselves, mostly about this being an entirely avoidable situation. I kept looking at my fuel level. It had been in the orange but now it was all the way to the left of the gauge.

I got a bar of service on my phone and was able to refresh the maps screen for gas stations. It was funny, back in Burns, I past no less than four open, perfectly good gas stations and didn’t stop. “Naw, I’m not ready to pull over,” I had said to myself. And now here I was coursing with needles nerves and stress as I tried to calculate if there was any chance of making it. I was ready to pay 5x the regular price for some gas.

It was clear. I was going to run out, it was only a matter of time. If this was the first time I’d run out of gas, that would be one thing, but it wasn’t. I’d done this before. Twice. Damnit, Marshall. My eyes skipped around from the road ahead, my fuel gauge, speedometer, rear view mirror, and back again. My mind was racing. I was trying to will the car forward all the while hoping to come across a gas station. Then it happened. Unceremoniously the car used up the last of its life blood and I pulled over to the side of the road.

I packed my jacket, wallet, and phone in a backpack, locked the car and started walking down the road. I had my bike in the back but it was still over thirty miles to Bend and I thought hitchhiking would be more efficient than riding.

I walked slowly backwards, thumb out, feeling like a jerk as several cars past without acknowledgement. It wasn’t a particularly busy highway but luckily, there were cars. I’d get picked up, I was confident.

Not ten minutes past before a highway service truck pasted me before flipping a U-turn. Nice!

The service man pulled up, “Outta gas?” He asked. “Yeah!” I shouted back with puppy eyes. The guy got out of his truck and pulled out small jerry can of gasoline. He emptied it into my car’s tank. I thanked him a third or fourth time and tried to hand him twenty bucks. He wouldn’t take it.

“This should get you to town, have a good one,” He said.