On Easter afternoon, we loaded up our gear and headed from Los Angeles to Phoenix, where Matt’s parents live. And no, we weren’t on camels. Although we might have been better off if we were.
Here’s my brilliant travel tip of the week: When you’ve been driving through desert for about four hours in a rented Jeep SUV that shifts like a golf cart and smells like oil and you’ve finally crossed the state line and pass a bunch of big signs saying “Gas!” and you look at the dashboard and there’s just over a quarter of a tank left, don’t think idly to yourself that you had better stop the next exit and fuel up and then zip by singing along to whatever your Pandora station happens to be playing, Dionne Warwick for example.
We drove and drove and drove, and the needle continued of course to go down at an alarming rate. Then we passed a sign saying that the next town, Tonopah, was 25 miles away. There was no mention of whether or not there might be a gas station there. I looked around – nothing but saguaros and yellow wildflowers as far as the eye could see.
Casually, I reached over and turned the air conditioning off, hoping that Matt wouldn’t notice and maybe the gage would hold steady. He made no comment, and for a few miles I thought maybe I was OK.
Then the low-gas light flashed on with a loud ding. “What’s that? Oh boy!” Matt exclaimed, playing Bing Crosby to my Bob Hope. “Oh boy! You better slow down.”
So I did, pulling in behind an RV going about 60 miles an hour (the speed limit was 75). And for the next 25 minutes I prayed “don’trunoutofgas, don’trunoutofgas, don’trunoutofgas” while car after car after semi came roaring up behind us, whipping over into the left lane at what seemed always like the last possible safe moment. Matt, meanwhile, was desperately trying to figure out how to get the MapQuest app on my iPhone to tell him where the nearest gas might be. To his credit, he spoke not one word of blame, but I could tell from the set of his jaw that it was taking all of his muscular control not to do so.
Periodically from the backseat one of the boys would ask “Are we going to run out of gas?” Neither of them seemed genuinely concerned that it would happen – I think they were more worried about the tension that suddenly dominated the front of the car. I could barely watch the road, my eyes were so fixed on that needle, willing it with all my power not to sink any lower.
For those of you planning this same journey, I will tell you this: Tonopah does have several gas stations, one of which we coasted into on fumes. And my marriage is still intact. And the boys are unscarred. In fact, sensing my weakness and distraction in the mini-market of the gas station, they each conned a huge soda and then proceeded to get completely drunk on high-fructose corn syrup for the rest of the ride.
I’m not one for making categorical vows, but with the Interwebs as my witness, I promise you that from now on that anything near a quarter of a tank = empty.
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I have learned that from living in Bangkok.
Even though, the distance might seem manageable for 1/4 tank but the traffic will take the last drop out of your gas tank. Now, I have my daughter as the indicator as she will remind me every time we are at 1/4 tank to get gas. 
.-= Amy @ The Q Family´s last blog ..A Tour of Homewood Suites Atlanta-Lawrenceville & Giveaway =-.
Last time I made that journey it was the opposite direction and my engine was overheating so I had to turn off the ac. It was in the middle of the summer and the heat was just dreadful. Running out of gas on some parts of that road wouldn’t be a great thing, that’s for sure!
Amy – I think you’re a better mother than I am. I was apparently too busy singing “Do You Know the Way to San Jose.”
Mark – We were lucky because it wasn’t a very hot day – although even with that, we did see several cars pulled over with the hoods open. Of course, at least that wouldn’t have been my fault!
First of all, you’re a rock star for writing this from road. Secondly, I’ve done that too. Not on the Sonoran desert, but plenty of times around town. I HATE stopping for gas. Once I stressed out my son so much on one of my driving-on-fumes days, that I swore I’d get out of this bad habit.
.-= Carolina´s last blog ..Point Lobos State Reserve =-.
I know that prayer. I learned it years ago heading INTO a campsite that had a far longer stretch of dirt road off the main hwy than my boyfriend and I had anticipated. Every mile we went deeper in, I’m thinking how are we going to get out of here? It was one of those 3 day weekends where I was also certain the day we planned to leave everything might be closed. It all turned out okay, and believe it or not that guy is now my husband. Guess there’s no hope now that the story will ever die.
Reminds me of a road trip across California when I was little when we ran out of gas outside Bakersfield in 110-degree heat. (You don’t forget such things…)
So glad that didn’t happen to you
Sounds like you guys are having a wonderful trip.
.-= Megan Regnerus´s last blog ..find a good place, make it your own =-.
Oh my goodness, yes. We were JUST there last week (in Tonapah) and they do have quite the drink/soda fountain, don’t they? (We stopped at the Subway/gas station/oasis in the desert.) Glad you made it there on fumes, because wow…that would have been a terrible place to run out of gas!
.-= Amy @ pitstops for kids´s last blog ..Turtle Bay Exploration Park =-.
Carolina – I also hate stopping for gas – I learned to drive in New Jersey, which is the one place where they still have to pump it for you. Needless to say, I have something of a history of letting the tank get lower than Matt would like…
Lora – Your story strikes as one that lies at the heart of many marriages! I’m sure it’s funnier now than it was then.
Megan – we were lucky that it wasn’t hot the day we were driving. It wasn’t even bad when I turned off the air.
Amy – So funny that you stopped in the same place! Although I think it indicates the limited number of choices. The soda array was absolutely dizzying.