G (double) A (double) S (double) R U N Gas Run!

Your resident idiot gas-will-be-here-when-I-need-it blogger finally accepted that his pride must be swallowed (insert gulping sound here) down like the gas in the tank of a Ford Excursion.  I went on a gas-run.  

With the D.T.E. (distance till empty) gauged queued up in the car, the a/c off, and the radio up, I headed out at 12:30 am.  I had enjoyed watching the #1 college football team in the country, the USC Trojans, get beat by the Oregon State Beavers and was feeling very optimistic.  I thought if one under dog can win, so can I.  I took a cursory glance at my own exit, knowing the BP had fuel at 9pm but not wanting to wait, it was out.  My roommate Tim informed me that Mooresville, exit 36, had gas at multiple stations I headed north.  There's gas in them there tanks, I know it paw... I need to start shootin' at some food.  

I pass by exit 25, dry, exit 28, dry and dead at this time of night.  With 40 miles registered on the DTE, I had a choice, do I go home with enough fuel in the tank to make to work, but not back from work was the logical choice, I would have better shot of finding gas during the day on the way to work.  Choice two was to head to Mooresville, hope they still had gas, if not, I would go home and call out of work until my exit had confirmed supplies of gas.  I chose the second.  I felt like I was on a quest for the Holy Grail, by God, I had to find out the nationality of the swallow.  

I pulled into three stations, no gas, upon the hill, high upon that hallowed hill I had the Marathon and the Hess station.  These holy parishes of liquid goodness surely possess the cure to what ails me.  Indeed, the Hess had gas, cheaper gas, but no premium, WINI is a woman of sophisticated taste, and she drinks '93 Chateau D'Petro.  Marathon had it for a bargain at $4.39 a gallon.  A sixty dollar drink of Chateau D'Petro later, we were on our way.  

I still would like to avoid the editorial, but I thought it brilliant that I just paid $4.39 for gas and didn't care, I was happy to have it.  The oil tycoons are way smarter than me.  If you want me to pay four bucks, give me the choice between that or none at all and see what I do.  

On the way home I enjoyed a faster pace in my 36mpg rocket car.  DTE said 464 miles, I was hooked up.  I ventured to exit 25 and decided to see if the Cashions had fuel, it would figure that the one I did not check would have it, but alas, dry!  Going down Sam Furr Road, I saw a figure from my peripheral vision, I slammed on the brakes in the curve and the deer entered the beam of light from my HID's I then steered to where the deer had come from hoping that she would continue running.  She did, I heard her tail slap the WINI's bonnet and I began to correct my over correction.  I looped the car completely around and came to a complete stop facing Concord, I swear my boot was just facing that way seconds ago... oh.. yeah... it had been.  

A little note here:  I cannot suggest enough a defensive driving course.  It gives you the reflexes you need to avoid accidents.  I would never have known how to correct and re correct the car, modulate the brakes, control the skid, and intentionally spin a car to a stop without my instructors.  Thanks!

I returned to the Smith's house at 1:30, heart racing, blood pressure high, and a little weary of this shit.