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Colorado Day 2

When I was little- I mean really little, like four or so- I remember riding with my mother and looking at her gas gauge and asking if she was going to fill up soon. She laughed and said she had plenty of fuel. I watched the gauge, worried, and thought about what would happen, should we run out of fuel.
Fifty-four years later, I peered at the gas gauge and wondered if we'd make it or not. We had flown past the Hite turn- off. The sign indicated a mile off the highway to Hite. From the butte above, it didn't look like a gas town anyway. We'll fuel at the next stop.
Then the miles ratcheted up. Beautiful vistas, red rock, lush valleys, and beige outcrops blessed us, mile after mile.
But no gas.
The beauty turned to gray as I watched the gauge, did the math, and wondered if we'd make it. Near as is could tell, we should go 180 miles on this tankful. Blanding would be at mile 179. We climbed a hill. A steep, fuel- sucking hill.
Jesus said not to worry. Worry wouldn't add an inch to a man's stature. I decided not to worry. I prayed we'd make it. Then I envisioned pulling over to the side, hitching a ride with some stranger while the Little Woman stayed back.
The gauge showed below the empty line.
Nineteen miles to go. Another winding, steep uphill. The huge rocks, jutting up from the flat ground, clamored for my attention. I watched the needle.
At last, a Sinclair sign, and we got fuel. Hallelujah!
Wait a minute.
Five point one gallons.
I dug out the owner's manual.
It holds six point three.
We could have gone another forty miles!
But what a fabulous drive. Huge vistas tower over the roadway; maroon, amber, and even gray. These resemble lunar landscapes- not that we've been there yet.
Thanks to reasonable planning we roll into Moab around four and stop at the local supermarket. Utter chaos! Tourists crowd the place, shoulder to shoulder, the aisles teeming with people just like us, picking up groceries we didn't want to lug across the country.
We enjoy an early evening reading, cooking up steaks and enjoying one another's company. After dating for forty years, the Little Woman and I still get along pretty good. She is one patient woman.

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