Last Friday I ran out of gas, literally, for the first time ever in my 32 years. I'm not proud of it, normally I have quite a bit of common sense. which I usually listen to. On Friday I ignored it. And that is how we found ourselves on the side of the interstate a mile west of the service station. Yes, thankfully, or embarrassingly, I ran out of gas right after I passed a service station.
My dear, sweet husband, who we just picked up from the airport after his long business trip, got out of the truck, unpacked his running shoes from his suitcase and ran back to the service station. The kids and I stayed in the truck watching him go. He never made it to the service station, but instead came upon a highway patrol officer sitting on the on ramp of the highway. I think they had a good laugh at our situation as the patrol officer gave him a ride back to our truck. Then the highway patrol officer pulled a gas can out of his car and put in a couple of gallons of gas into our truck. Ryan took over the driving to get us safely to a gas station.
And that is where I learned to trust my gut and not the fuel range the truck so inaccurately displayed.
Did I mention the fuel light never came on?
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