The nicest people..

It's dark outside, I'm wide awake and clearly the rest of the world is not. 

Not that I would know what the rest of the world is doing. I gaze out my nearest windows and I see no lights, no houses, no sign of people in any direction.  The luminous full moon beams through thin clouds and bathes cool, blue light on snow draped pine boughs - I'm inside a soft, gauzy Christmas card.    Sleep is overrated.  

The trip is over but the journey still moves me forward. The adventure is just beginning.

Earlier I blogged / moaned about still being in a hurry.

There is nothing like spending time with your 80+ year old mother to slow you down. It's good.  She puttered; I puttered. We had a lovely breakfast and read her devotionals. We discussed our plans. She went down the hall for morning coffee and chitchat; I tried to write. I lost much of what I wrote.  I went to coffee, my mother's face lighting up, "Get some coffee and come sit here. This is my daughter. She just drove in from Virginia."  It's lovely to be with her.
                                                                                        It's slowing my spirit. 

But still, much to be done. Places to go, people to see, things to buy, papers to fax. 

And Clyde, the wonder truck, is definitely out of gas, well, technically he's out of diesel. 

      "I knew that would be a problem if you parked it downhill like that." Really? Who knew? Why wasn't I told this before now? Is there a manual?  Well, probably. 

    And I remember yesterday's small Whisper,
             "You're getting low. There's diesel at that station. You should stop."  

No, I was in a hurry. I wanted to get on to the other side of town. I thought it was just low.  I was certain of the location of another gas station.

          I, I, I…. I know squat about trucks or Rapid City. sigh.

If you run out of gas, it's best to do it in the parking lot of your mother's condo. Especially when she has just bought a new car with a second car to loan you.  

Leaving behind my gas/diesel guzzling beast, I run errands in a zippy little toy car. How fun it this?  Popping in and out of parking lots, turning on a dime, changing lanes without a football field of clearance. ahh… fun stuff. 

Even if it's 35 degrees. And drifting between drizzle and sleet and flurries. Overcast. This is April? Not a good day to judge Rapid City.
                                              Why do people live here? 

Well, there is no traffic. Really, Mom, there is no traffic. Trust me.  There is decent shopping- there's also no other place to shop within 200 miles. The closest Ikea is presently in Minneapolis, soon coming to Parker, Colorado. Check out the mileage. 

The Safeway does have lovely turkey pesto wraps and killer kifer drink. Peach. 

And there are the nicest people here.  

With great patience, the nice gal at the Ace hardware store demonstrates the most complicated gas nozzle mechanism ever. On a plastic gas can. 

         I do love hardware stores.  You can find everything in a good hardware store and Rapid City has several.      These are people who know how to fix things.        Nice people.

The nice lady at the Sinclair gas station checks Clyde's height and steers me away from her overhang. Hate to take off her roof or my air conditioner. I fill the world's most complicated gas can with two gallons of diesel, carry the smelly, messy container back to Clyde in my mother's clean, zippy little car. There's nothing in her back seat. Even on the floor. sigh  She's a nice people. 

    Two and  a half gallons of fuel is more awkward to wrestle than you might think. Especially when the gas tank fill up spot is sharing space with camper tie downs rod thingys. At chest level. 

      Especially with the world's most complicated, "will-not-spill" mechanism. It is very easy to suddenly have the floppy plastic fill hose gone. Gone. Down into the fuel tank. To disappear into the abyss of Clyde's tummy.          I'm sure this happens all the time.

I am not sure, at all.  I'm panicked.       It's cold and wet and someone else, some responsible grown up should be doing this stupid, dirty task.        I have roadside assist. Why didn't I call?        I have just dropped a big piece of plastic inside the fuel tank of my new truck.                 My expensive new truck. 

                                   I'm an idiot.

I call my brother and talk to his nice wife.  Hopefully the little hose will just jiggle around in Clyde's tummy, right? It can't be sucked into the engine, can it?  

        "But you know you can't let a diesel run out of gas.  It'll have to be towed and have the fuel pump primed." Really?  Who knew? Clearly not me. Why wasn't I told this like she was told?  

                 Oh, yeah… the whole manual thing.   sigh.               She's nice people, too.

   

Clyde ignores my meager fuel offering and refuses to start. How much DOE$ it cost to tow a one ton truck WITH camper?     I need another fill hose, maybe a real funnel?    Back to the Sinclair and Daniel's service station next door. Or maybe it's Doug's- it's a D name and it's on Jackson Blvd.
           He has a BIG tow truck. He's  also a very nice man. He has a BIG funnel.

         "The hose shouldn't be a problem. Add some more diesel. Try this funnel.  Bring it back when you're done."                Clearly nice people trust each other here AND fix things themselves. 

I return in Zippy with gas for Piggy and I have left Clyde's fuel lid off, open for bad people to pour sugar or salt or GAS into Clyde. I am paranoid. Breathe. 
       I pour more gas into Clyde- well, again actually not gas. But all fuel is still gas to me. I do use diesel. I checked the receipt. Twice. Let's not make three stupid mistakes in one afternoon.
         I load my morning purchases into Clyde's ever bulging back seat. I need to get out to my cabin and unload this beast. It's snowing, it's late afternoon. I need to accomplish something.
        This adventure is not nearly as simple or funny to live as it is to write about. My hands are freezing. My little April jacket is thin and wet.    My feet are wet.       I bet I have wet, stringy hair. I refuse to look. 

I pray my new favorite prayer. "Lord, give me Favor or give me Grace." 

Clyde takes a big drink and after an anxious moment, roars to life.
                  Back at the Sinclair I fill him up, way up but no little plastic hose floats out. I return the funnel. I take an orange business card. Doug or Daniel assures me Clyde's fine. 
                 I head into the muck.  My brother calls to tell me to be careful, it's 29 degrees out there and the road may be slick.

        It's five o'clock in the largest city within 200 miles. There are a handful of cars  and they pull back and let me merge.
                
                       Wave me in, in front of them.      They'll wait.       They are the nicest people.