out of gas

So, I decided to take my wife out to a grab some food and go see a movie since we've both had hectic schedules lately. She hopped on the back of the bike and we rode down to good ol' Sonic for something quick (had to stay late at work ) and then made our way over to the movie theater.

Watched movie.

Came back outside and cranked the bike up... hmm sounds like its only running on one cylinder. Then it dies. Damn, I think its out of gas.

At this point she's like, call your friend. Nah baby I'll just walk home its only like a mile or two there. She's like what am I supposed to do haha. We ended up walking home, she went to bed and I walked back to the movie theater with a gallon of gasoline... Cranked up and rode home.

Lame story I know, and I don't blame you if you skip to the bottom haha... but I'm sure some of you have stories about breaking down or running out of gas that are way better than mine and I'm bored so let's hear them!

 

My brother's story from back when he owned my '55 chebby truck -

It was a sunny, early June morning about 7:00 am and I was standing outside the service entrance at a Chrysler dealer waiting on a ride. Yes, it was that time to pay homage to the Pennsylvania auto safety and pollution inspection conspiracy. My other car, a Chrysler turbo Lazer was due for inspection and this dealer had a slot in the door so you could drop off your keys in a convenient envelope/form when no one was there. The form part was intended to tell the shop what needed to be done and, so they wouldn’t or couldn’t be accused of doing unauthorized work, the form was quite comprehensive. In fact, it had more blocks on it than the Federal Income tax long form with attachments. I carefully and diligently filled out the form wondering why they would need my social security number to do auto repairs. I used my brother’s number.

I parked the Lazer in a conspicuous place-directly in front of the main garage door and dropped the envelope containing my keys in the slot. A short time later, Mark Bloom came bombing into the parking lot and skidded to a stop. Mark, a natural born space agent, was known for his unique driving style. I recall he was once cautioned against procreating to which he responded that it wouldn’t be a problem as he was the only one of his species on this planet. The plan was for Mark to drive back to my place and if I survived the trip I would get in the truck and to go to a vendor seminar. Later in the day Mark would pick me up and drop me at the dealer to retrieve my Lazer which, hopefully, would sport a new inspection sticker. The distance from my house to the dealer was twenty-five miles to the east. The vendor seminar was at a hotel eighteen miles to the west of my house. The seminar was scheduled for 9:00am so I had plenty of time. That was the plan.

Mark managed to get me to my house in one piece even though my blood pressure spiked and my skin became pale. Something was nagging at me as he drove me home that helped to keep my mind off the countless close calls. As I got out of Mark’s car and noted that the time was about 7:45, I became aware why I was preoccupied during the trip. I had failed to put the Lazer’s registration card and the insurance card in the envelope with the keys! One cannot get an inspection in Pennsylvania without these documents!

I now had to modify my plan. If I was lucky, there was just enough time to take the cards to the garage and then get to the vendor seminar. This plan would work if the traffic lights were with me and I stopped for nothing. Mark drove away laughing; I made the mistake of revealing my error to him. I jumped in the truck and fired the old boy up.

At this point, it might be instructive to review the hack job done to the truck’s electrical system as a result of some previous owner’s attempt at converting the truck to a twelve volt system. While he got the ignition and charging system basically correct although he wasn’t very religious about ground connections, he really blew it when it came to the gauges. In particular, he had managed to destroy the fuel gauge. I’m guessing this was done by simply connecting the twelve volts to the fuel circuit where the six volts had previously been. My approach, then, to keeping gas in the truck was to gas up whenever I had gone about a hundred miles. This seemed to work well. This procedure would come back to haunt me, however.

I flew back to the garage being lucky to catch all the lights green. But I did have to pass an old man on left to speed things up. Mark Bloom would have been proud. I screeched to a stop at the garage, ran inside, threw the registration and insurance cards at the garage supervisor then ran back to the still running truck and was back on the road in record time. I just had forty-three miles to go in about forty minutes - no problem.
I hit some red lights on the way. About ten miles of the trip would be on the Pennsylvania Turnpike, America’s first limited access highway and a toll road to boot, and I would have to do around seventy-five on the 'pike to make up for lost time. Fortunately, I didn’t encounter a state trooper on the Turnpike and I made it to the seminar with a minute to spare. To quote Col. John "Hannibal" Smith of the A-team (played by George Peppard),"I love it when a plan comes together!"

After a rather boring seminar, I walk out to truck anticipating a leisurely ride back to the plant. I got in the truck, turned the key and stomped down on the starter. Nothing! Not so much as a grunt, a whirl, a sound: NOTHING! It was at this point that I noticed that the light switch was in the on position. In my haste to get to the seminar I had left the lights on and the lights then dutifully drained the battery. The truck was on a slight hill in the parking lot and the other cars around it had left so I pushed the truck down the hill, jumped on the running board and into the cab. I quickly slipped the transmission into reverse as the truck was moving backwards and popped the clutch. Much to my satisfaction he fired up. I was in business.

I looked at the odometer and made a quick calculation. I was at about ninety-five miles since the last fill up. I surmised that I should be ok gas wise as the hundred mile fill up ploy allowed for a certain amount of reserve and I only had about twenty miles to go. I didn’t want to stop at a gas station before getting on the 'pike because I was afraid I wouldn’t get it started again.

Everything was fine until I was about three miles from my exit when the truck started to buck and surge. I pulled off the highway and went around to the front of the truck. I opened the hood and checked out the points thinking that maybe they had malfunctioned. See, I had a problem with aftermarket points that used a plastic block which rides on the distributor cam to actuate the switch action. I found that under certain conditions the plastic block would get hot and melt resulting in the points not opening when they should. The first telltale sign of this condition was that the truck would buck and surge. But, the points were fine.

Just to rule it out I stuck a stick I kept for the purpose into the gas tank filler tube. I pulled it out expecting to see at least four inches of the stick wet with gasoline. It was dry! I was out of gas at least four miles from the nearest gas station without a gas can. Somehow my hundred mile plan failed. I'm guessing that my high speed run to the garage and then to the seminar caused lower gas mileage than I expected and maybe my estimate of the truck’s gas mileage and the reserve were optimistic. In any case I was out of gas and a long way from a gas station.

Not having a gas can was also a problem. Another time when I ran out of gas across the street from a gas station, the station attendant would not lend me a gas can to put gas in the truck that was clearly visible! He said I’d steal the can! I bought a sixteen ounce drink, poured it out, rinsed it out in the bathroom and bought about twenty-three cents of gas to get the truck down the road about a quarter mile and filled up at a competitor’s gas station. Screw the bastard!

What was I going to do? The Pennsylvania Turnpike is a limited access highway and the State Police regularly patrolled the highway so one would come by sooner or later. I left the hood up and sat down on the running board to wait. Thirty minutes went by: nothing! Forty-five minutes went by and I saw a trooper coming and he was on my side of the highway. I jumped up and down and waved my arms to get his attention as if the truck with hood up was invisible. He went flying by without acknowledgment. He didn’t slow down or flash his lights. He just kept going to some unknown destination, possibly a doughnut shop.
Anyhow, after another hour of me sitting on the running board looking as pitiful as possible, I saw a trooper coming on the opposite lane but this time I didn’t attempt to get his attention because I didn’t believe that I would meet with success. He stopped, however, and inquired as to my problem. He was talking to me through an amplified speaker and I was yelling across four lanes of high speed traffic. The trooper indicated that he was the one that passed me an hour before but he couldn’t stop because he had somewhere to he had to go, ah the doughnut shop. I was wondering why his radio was apparently not working as he clearly had not called for aid and assistance for me, but I didn’t breach the subject with him in as much as I make it my policy to not unduly question anyone in authority. Keeps one under the radar, so to speak. I yelled "Out of Gas". With that he got back on the highway and was gone without another word.

With no clear solution at hand, I sat down on the running board to contemplate my next move. Had I started walking when I first ran out of gas I would just about be back with the gas assuming that I could beg or buy a gas can. I was just about ready to "hoof it" for some gas when a tow truck pulled up behind me. The driver got out and said "Out of gas are ya." The trooper had called for help. Why the trooper didn’t think it necessary to tell me, however, escapes me. I said "Yes I am." He produced a five gallon can from the bed of the wrecker and walked over to the gas filler tube on the passenger side of the cab. Before, he started pouring the gas he said "This’ll cost you twenty five dollars, five dollars for the gas and twenty to deliver it." In 1985 this was a tidy sum, but I would have paid him twice that to get off the 'pike and on my way. This was a good example of capitalism at its finest. My demand was high and he had the only supply so the price was his to name. He, however, didn’t realize his position and therefore didn’t inflate his boss’s price. I paid him and he poured the gas in.

I thanked him but requested that he stay until I started the truck in case the battery lacked the necessary energy. It started, however, and he went on his way as I went on mine. I got back to the plant in mid afternoon and laid low so I would not have to relate the day’s events.
Later in the day the Chrysler dealer called to tell me that the car was done. The service manager offered an extensive list of maintenance items that should be performed but were not required for inspection. I thanked him for his concern and said that I would take his list "under advisement". Mark gave me another memorable ride to the dealer and I picked up the car whose gas gauge was on E! I filled up at the first gas station I encountered.

I never did fix the gas gauge despite my best intentions to the contrary. I did, however, reduce the mileage from 100 miles to seventy-five miles per fill-up and never ran out of gas again, at least in the truck.

 

It is funny and I didn't skip to the bottom. Thanks for sharing.

 

My wife bought me a brand new Yugo for my birthday in '91 (if you can't enjoy the hell out of driving a Yugo, you aren't a car enthusiast) so I wouldn't ride my ZX10 Ninja in snow and freezing rain. Anyway, we're on our way to church one saturday evening and she looks at the gas gauge and says, doesn't this thing need some gas? I said, no, we've got plenty to make it to church. Just as the words come out of my mouth, it runs out of gas. We're just about to our exit, so I pop it in neutral, coast up the ramp, run the stop sign, and coast down to a gas station and never touch the brakes and it just rolls to a stop at the pumps. She just shakes her head and says, You're the luckiest man in the world. I said, of course, I have you. Zero to hero in two seconds...

 

Back when I was in high school, for some reason I thought it would be a good idea to take up rowing as a sport. A bunch of us were doing a training camp and on the way back me, another student and the teacher in charge were coming back in the pick up with the trailer on the back with about 5 or 6 boats on it. This trailer was about 40 feet long but didn't weigh much and the boats are all lightweight but when the dumbass teacher doesn't fill the gas tank before leaving it's no fun jumping out when you are still rolling to push the fucking thing with the said dumbass teacher leaning out the window yelling at locals who all had WTF looks on their faces, "where can I fill up?" We pushed at jogging speed about two miles through a country town to the gas station. It was flat ground, but we just couldn't get it through the gutter into the driveway of the gas station. At that point, as far as I was concerned, it became someone elses problem.

 

How about at the border coming from Baja, Mexico into San Diego? I was sitting in the traffic line waiting to cross the border and after a 1/2 hour of idling, two cars in front of me pulls away. I put it in gear, and start to pull forward. It dies, crank it and nothing. So I dutifully push my truck to the booth and the Border Patrol just glares at me and asks what is wrong. Out of gas! But I do have 10 gallons in the back of the truck.
So, he tells me to push it over to the side and fill up. But, do not go to the secondary line because they will search the truck. That was not a problem because I didn't claim the many cases of Corona and bottles of Tequila that were in the back. Filled up and I was on my way!

 

I used to say I was out of gas alot. But it just never flew with the chicks.

 

has'nt anybody ever tell ya , its always funny when it happens to somebody else.
my ole lady was always yellin "turn the gas on dummy"
AND IT LOOKS GAY AS SHEEEEET CARRYING A GAS CAN ON A SCOOTER

 

Laroke, That is exactly the kind of story I was looking for haha. Well written and with a moral.

 

Going to family Christmas Day party, the glass bowl on the gas pressure regulater breaks spilling free flowing electrically pumped gas right on the dizzy. Instant fireball out the hood and hoodside louvers. Shut off key to stop gas flow, take off 4 wingnuts that hold on hoodsides ( with flames still flying). Someone stops with fire exstinguisher and puts out flames,thank God. Girlfriend had locked herself in by trying to open the door handle in my 35 the wrong way. She wasn't to happy that I saved the Ford before her. BTW, I married her, 22 years later, she still hates that car, and I still have it!

 

A few years ago I was towing my Hemi Dart drag car thru Idaho with a Dodge conversion van. My wife told me to fill up at an exit but I decided I'd go one more. 24 miles later the gauge was on empty and no stations at the exit. Now I'm worried, so I come to a rest area and pull the rig in. Go to the race car and pull a line loose on the cell and drain some cam 2 in a container the size of a coffee can. Four more times and I said hell with it ,I smelled like gas ,the family was hot and tired and I wanted to go to the motel. As I pulled out of the rest area there was a slight right curve and as I started around the curve was the biggest ,brightest truck stop I had ever seen. What a dipstick ,my wife still reminds me all the time.

 

pfffft......I've run out of gas likely more times than all of y'all combined.

My record---coasted two and a half miles on the shoulder of I-44 coming from the Springfield swap meet to Joplin HAMB Drags weekend 3 or 4 years ago....had enough fuel to fire up at the bottom of the ramp and up into the first station on the left at the Joplin exit......
Yep, and all those times and only ONCE did I have a girl with me.....and it was Hotrodladycrusr and I was taking her to the Nashville Airport (she didn't miss her flight either )

I carry a gallon can in the back these days....(most of the time it's empty though)

 

1956; I didn't have a car, was willing to ride with anybody that would let me in. Three of us in the car, the guy that owned it, his buddy, and a hitch hiker, me.
They kept bugging me to buy some gas. Used every which-way to entice me to do it; promises of more rides in the future, etc. I didn't have a dollar. They didn't believe me. The car came to a stop about five miles from anywhere. Dig deep for some cash or walk. I played dumb. Finally, the stalemate was broken when the driver got out and opened the trunk, where there were two five gallons of go-juice. He bitched all the way home, because I had been the cause of him having to use his reserve.
Nope, he never invited me to go along again.

 

A while back when I was still working on getting my '61 bel air up and running well I took the car into town to get some exhaust made. I was doing a lot of test driving around the country and I'm sure the neighbors would appreciate something being attached to the open headers. Fast forward a few hours and the exhaust guy has gotten everything fabbed up and it sounded great! So as I'm joyriding around town I pull into the local kroger parking lot and it dies. Dang, what happened? Well after some investigating and thinking, I found that the electric fuel pump was not doing a very good job trying to "pull" the fuel. I had it mounted up close to the motor and it would pull enough fuel to fill the carb, but under any driving above idle it took about 1.5-2 minutes for all the fuel to run out in the carb and then the car died. Ok, so I'm still in kroger parking lot imagining ways to get home that didn't involve a tow strap.

Well, here we go... turned key to on and let the carb fill up. Crank it up. Start easing across town taking back roads. I had it timed about right to when it died I just popped it in to neutral and coasted for as long as possible. Hit the starter and it roars back to life to power me another 1/2 mile or so. I continued this sequence until I finished my 10ish mile trip home. Then I proceeded to mount my fuel pump as close as possible to the gas tank. Worked fine until the day I sold it. I learned many lessons from that car.

 

I am known for my lack of fuel! I have ran out of fuel more times than any other man that has ever driven a car. I could tell plenty of stories but I am saving them for a book! It should be about 150 chapters. It will be much better to see who pipes in here and complains of the many times "they" ran out of gas while in my car or bitching about running me fuel at all hours of the night!

 

Every time i hang out with my buddy Dennis, we play with cars and i come home way to late. One night my girlfriend is working a double and i was gonna be home by 8. We were wrapping up the night by bringing the camaro he just bought for his girlfriend to her house. The gas gauge didn't work, but we were only going 6 miles. He must have said 5 times, i think we'll make it.
5 1/2 miles later we pass a gas station and Dennis looks at me and says we probably shouldn't have passed an open gas station. We ran out about a hundred yards later at the bottom of a big hill on the highway. Flat black primer, blacked out tail lights, with semi's whizzing by. It took two hours for his girlfriend to pick us up, go get a can. go to the station, and then back to the car.
I finished drying the last of the dishes i did that morning as my girlfriend pulled into the driveway :-D

 

I spent a really scary night in the middle of a desert after our 'ride' (A Blackhawk) took some hits and had to put down due to fuel starvation.
Nothing happened but I swear I saw swarms of people out there all night.

Doc.

 

and I thought I would be telling that story.
Your lucky I made my flight or you might not have ever gotten rid of me

 

had the duramax heading to salina by Ft Riley, learned the last 1/4 of a tank is 4 gallons, run out on a big hill, i am diabetic and a heat index of 105, lady trucker gave me a ride to nearest station at least 24 miles, 2 two gallon cans cost $30 same ones at wally world for $7.50 ea, walked back to interstate ramp and got a ride with a soldier right to the truck, forgot to tighten the hand pump and it was a little cranke getting it to fire off, ton of rodders flew by

so the imoral of this story is people are good i got rides easy, and had another willing to give me a ride as i was picked up going to the truck

 

Years ago when taking my dogs out to our usual spot with the truck, I suddenly noticed I would be running out of gas and not making it back.
I remembered that little gas station a couple of miles further down the road and made it and felt great relief.
It was a long day and I was tired and as I was going through my pockets, I realized I left all my cash and card at home...
What a feeling. There I was right next to all the gasoline in the world, but just not for me and my truck. The dogs couldn't care less.

So I turned around and tried to go as far as I could back home, knowing I wouldn't make it.
Eventually I ran out 7 miles from home.
The sun was going down and I had no leashes for the dogs and didn't want to leave them in the truck.
So I grabbed a rope and tied one dog at each end and walked home with them. It was still 95 degrees outside and mostly uphill. It was pitch dark when we got home and I was beat. The dogs thought is was pretty cool, but started to look for the truck that wasn't in its usual spot.

Had no other ride but my truck at the time and no gas container, but dragged out my old bicycle with flat front tire and an empty half gallon jug of milk, took my cash and went back out to get my truck.
Went to the gas station by my house and the night attendant looked at me like I was going to rob him with my baseball cap backwards and out of breath, no happy face and sweating like a pig, filling up that plastic bottle trying not to spill anything.
I didn't feel happy at all, I remember clearly, mounting my old bike with no air in both tires now and not holding any.

But I somehow made it pushing the pedals hard and keeping the bike straight all the way to my truck without any lights in the dark night. Filled up the tank with the little gas I had, threw the bike on the truck bed and made it just barely back up to the gas station I was a while earlier and filled up that damn tank all the way.
Gave the curious guy at the station a salute, even squeezed out a smile and minutes later got a huge welcome by my dogs.
I had a few cold ones and slept really well and long that night.