Borderline

I had left the home of my daughter and her family near Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, and I felt confident that I could make it to a gas station in the U.S. and the lower fuel prices. Heading west on Highway 1 I chose to turn south for the border at Gull Lake. When I cruised past Shaunavon I still had what looked like a quarter of a tank and the map showed other towns along the route, so I passed on by. As I neared the border crossing, though, I could swear I could even see the needle on my fuel gauge moving down! At any rate, the light came on just before reaching Montana, but I still felt confident until I asked the congenial customs fellow how much further to the first gas station. He told me that all the places that used to be open are now closed and I'd have to make it to U.S. 2 and the town of Harlem before I would find one. The northern plains are beautiful, with wide open vistas of gently rolling hills dotted with scrubby trees and occasional oil derricks. But at least on route 241 meandering south to Harlem, homes and farms were few and far between, and for mile after mile the road was void of vehicles. I stopped to calculate the distance to Harlem and was a bit startled to learn it was an additional 34 miles. Oh my God! I had no idea how many gallons that would take for a vehicle that barely made 19 mpg on the highway. So immediately I slowed down to about 35 mph, creeping up hills and shoving it into neutral going down. I looked in vain down the road ahead, hoping to a least spot a pickup or tractor with a real person inside who might have a bit of gasoline or who could tell me where I could get some. My cell phone was useless up there in the American outback, but at least I had lots of warm clothes and food in case I got stranded overnight. So with a tightening jaw and eyes bouncing from the gauge to the windshield, I crept ahead hoping that at any moment I might see the water tower which usually was the first evidence of a village or town nestled in the hills. The needle had slid well down below the "E" line when finally I crested a small rise and saw a water tower. A few more hundred yards and I could make out some buildings and a church steeple. Harlem! Who would have thought a habitation named Harlem could inspire such joy!! Slowly but now with a huge feeling of relief I edged my way into town and was even irritated when I got all the way through and discovered that the gas stations must be ahead on the big highway. A couple more miles of pleasant valley scenery and across a small stream, and finally I came to U.S. 2 and saw a gas station a few hundred feet west. Gliding up to the pump, I immediately turned off the engine but not before checking the odometer and figuring I had driven an additional 34 miles, or a total of maybe 37-38. The tank took almost 17 gallons so I guessed that I might not have made it if U.S. 2 had been as little as 5 miles further.
I almost felt like hugging the young fellow who processed my Visa card!

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