| The
other day after work and on my way home, my bike started
to sputter and I switched the petcock to reserve. It
quickly came to life again and I was planning my next
stop at a gas station up the road a bit. I take the same
road back and forth to work and usually stop at the same
gas station because of the ease in getting in and out of
the pump lines. In my head, I was trying to figure out
how far up the road ahead it was. I guess it's a little
farther up the road than I was thinking, and sure enough
the bike gave that familiar sputter again, but I was
about a mile or so from my destination gas pump. Damn! I
can't believe I undershot my distance and ran out of
gas!! This morning, I clocked the distance of my reserve
and it was right at 8 km. I thought for sure it would be
further. I remember my Harley and my Yamaha doing
slightly better than that. Anyway, back to yesterday. It
was a warm sunny day and I was in good health, so I
started walking in a direction that I thought might have
a gas station. I knew the one I was originally headed for
was about a mile or so up the road, but didn't know if
there was one closer. I must have walked a mile and a
half before I gave up and headed back for the bike. When
I got back at the bike, I stopped to get something out of
the trunk and to catch my breath. A police car had pulled
over another car in the parking lot where I was parked.
As I approached the bike, the cop drove over to me and
asked the usual questions; "what year is that? What
kind of a bike is that?" Yet another person lured to
the cool looks of the CJ. After answering his questions,
I wiped the sweat from my brow and asked where the
nearest gas station was, besides the one a mile down |
the
road. He said it was the closest one, then paused and
asked, " Are you out of gas?" I told him yes,
and I was about to use the jerry can for the first time
and wish it would have had some fuel in it. I felt so
embarrassed. "You have anyone coming to get
you?" I said no, and was about to start hoofin' it
down the road, when he offered to take me in his squad
car! Cool! I get to ride in a squad car! He looked beside
him at all the computer stuff bolted to the dash and a
pile of papers in the seat and said that I would have to
ride in the back of the car. He got out, and opened the
door for me and we were off. I sure had mixed feelings of
that ride. I don't know if you have ever been in the back
of a squad car, but they don't have real seats, just a
big plastic one, ABS or fiberglass I think. It was my
first time in the back of a cop car and I couldn't help
feeling like a bad guy. I made every attempt to put my
uncuffed hands up on the front seat and move about freely
to show other motorists I wasn't cuffed and headed off to
the pokey. I had to wait for the policeman to come around
and let me out of the car to get the gas and took me back
to the bike where there was another fella looking at my
bike. The cop walked around again and let me out of the
back seat, I thanked him from the bottom of my heart and
proceeded to fill up the tank while chatting with the guy
that was drooling over the CJ. So, there you have it. I
can honestly say if I were in my Ford truck, I would be
walking to the gas station. The CJ drew another curious
soul to it, and it so happened it was a member of our
police department, there to protect and serve us. |
