Death Valley

Yes, I voted 80 miles for our now-thankfully-finally-totaled 1995 Nissan Quest. Even though at an early (car) age I totally ran it out of gas at home in Seattle, I did not learn enough to avoid nearly doing it again, literally in Death Valley California, a year later. I have a lifetime background of knowing that the boutique gas stations inside National Park boundaries charge far higher gas prices than the surrounding populated areas. What I forgot was, Death Valley is below sea level but exiting the park requires a mountain pass climb of 4,000 or 5,000 feet. But I knew from my map-gazing hobby that the no doubt picturesque town of Scotty's Junction awaited me where I would rejoin the main Vegas-Reno highway, US95. After I'd climbed 20 or 30 miles of mountain grades and entered the high Nevada Great Basin valley, I began to look for Scotty's Junction to appear. Ah ha... there's a semi-truck in the far distance, travelling from left to right in my view... that must be US95 five or ten miles ahead. Closer and closer. Where is Scotty's Junction? Umm, I see a stop sign ahead, a T-junction. No buildings at all, just sagebrush. Trouble. Heart pounds a bit, sweat a bit colder. What's that 1/2 mile down the road towards Vegas? A 1950's travel trailer and a semi-truck trailer parked in a clearing with a spray-painted plywood "Art Gallery" sign. Maybe there is a person there! I pull in, swallow my pride, and ask the guy on duty, which way should I go to find a station, north or south? I realize I must possibly add a 20 or 40 mile backtrack to my trip, to find gas by going the wrong direction if need be. His answer, "well, sorry, it's 40 miles in either direction." I doubt very much whether I can go 20 or even 10 more. Then he says, apologetically, "umm, I can sell you emergency gas, but I'll have to charge you $12.50 and you'll have to take 5 gallons". Sheesh, that's wonderful, how did I get this lucky (it was 1996, so $2.50/gal was kind of high, but still, hardly robbery). "Come on over to the trailer, I'll walk and meet you there". He unlocked a padlock on the semi-trailer. Inside was a steel 55 gal drum, a red jerry can, and an old garden hose. He stuck the hose in the drum, sucked out air to make a siphon, and filled the jerry can. Thus the 5 gallon rule. I paid my $12.50, poured the jerry can into the Nissan, and made Tonapah safely 30 minutes later. I've never known how to relay thanks to this amazing business establishment. I don't think there is much chance it's still there, but if you ever are in Scotty's Junction, NV at a roadside stand, ask them if they were there in April 1996. Relay the thanks of a stupid guy in a blue Nissan Quest who would have a much more rugged tale to tell if they hadn't been there.

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