This tale of woe begins Monday, when:
Down to a quarter-tank, or just below. I pulled into the usual gas station. And the wind blew the car door closed before I could get out. Four times. "The hell with it," said I. (Actually, it was a tad stronger than that.)
— Charles G Hill (@dustbury) January 21, 2019
Tuesday: same sort of wind. I didn’t even try.
Which brings us to Wednesday, and the appearance of the dreaded orange Low Fuel Light. (For some reason, all the warning lights I really hate seem to be orange.) At that precise moment, I was two blocks from that gas station.
I pulled in and filled up. The pump clicked off at just under 15 gallons.
A previous experience with the dreaded orange Low Fuel Light:
There is no gas to be had between Carlsbad, New Mexico and the eastern edge of El Paso, around 150 miles. And you will burn up most of what you have: once you cross back into Texas, the speed limit is mostly 75, and while it’s slowed down a bit through the Guadalupe Mountains National Park, there are enough downhill grades to threaten your placid, law-abiding nature. Not that I’d ever admit to doing 95 through there.
Actually, I did find one station, a little cash-only outfit south of Dell City, but (1) they had no premium, or even mid-grade, and (2) they were closed.
And just inside the eastern edge of El Paso, there was a truck stop, and I drizzled just about 15 gallons into the tank at somewhere on the wrong side of four bucks a gallon.
Filling up for $60ish was painful enough — this week’s haul was $2.419 a gallon, $36 total — but the real zinger was verifying in all of Nissan’s service materials that the tank holds 70 liters.
Which, duly rounded, is 18.5 gallons.
So I’m getting this damnfool light with about 75 miles left.
If nothing else, this is an argument for one of those newfangled electric cars, none of which are reported to be that egregiously inaccurate.