We stopped just out of Waseca for gas, potty, smoke, whatever while I read my book. When hubby returned, I put us back on the interstate and we headed south. I glanced at Tom Tom to see our ETA in San Antonio. It was 4:54AM Wednesday morning if we drove the speed limit and made no stops. Of course we weren't going to drive the speed limit and there would have to be a stop or two. It was sort of a game I played with Dick. I tried to make time (exceed the speed limit) and then when hubby wanted to stop for something I would tell him how far ahead of time we were and that he couldn't waste any more time than that. I got a bad look in return.
We were out of MN in minutes. In IA, I admired the windmill farms again. Most were not turning. Do they turn them off? Why? After a while we stopped again and I let Rick drive for a while. I napped until Kansas City.
I awoke to Dick and Rick having an argument. Rick wanted to stay on I-35 where ever it took us. Dick wanted to send us to I-70 where ever that went because neither of us reached back for the atlas. I thought I-70 would just take us back to I-35 but get us out of some traffic so I sided with Dick, naturally, and Rick gave in. I haven't admitted it to Rick but later looking at the map it would have been a little shorter to have continued on I-35 and avoided Topeka but then we would have never experienced Eskridge.
Just out of Kansas City, I guess on the Kansas line, we began the toll road I-70 (which turned into I-335 shortly) with less than a half a tank of gas. I saw a sign that said Gas and food 21 miles and suggested to hubby that we plan on that. Hubby decided we would wait and buy gas once we got off the toll road. I assumed hubby knew what he was doing but I was wrong. Turns out hubby had decided in his head that a toll road shouldn't be more than 20 or 30 miles and that was that.
I closed my eyes. When I opened them again we were passing the McDonald's and gas station and a sign that read "Next services 33 miles". I looked over at the gas gauge and saw less than a quarter of a tank. Hubby didn't stop at the next McDonald's and gas station either. It was crazy, this toll road and Mickey D's had something going. It was the only place to eat along the way.
When the gas gauge hit the red line I consulted my trusted friend Dick. Dick says take the next exit and there's gas in 3.2 miles. As we are exiting the free way, make that toll road, I read "No amenities this exit". Another sign warned, "Next services 17 miles". Once again I side with Dick. There's a sick pattern forming here I'm afraid.
We paid our toll of $3.50 for the miles we spent on the I-335. We paid our toll to a live person who presumably lived in the area and could probably have saved us a biggie headache had we asked her right then, "Where can we get gas?" But we didn't so she didn't have the opportunity to tell us, "No frickin' where. There's only three gas stations in Kansas and you have to take a ticket and get back on the pay road to find them. Can't you people from Alabama read signs?"
Leaving the toll plaza, Dick commanded, "Turn left in 400 yards." So we turned left on US Highway 56 and went 3.2 miles to the gas station we were promised. After 3.2 miles we did not find ourselves at a gas station. We were sitting at a stop sign at the junction of Highways 56 and 99 and Dick ordered a right turn. We obeyed.
After a mile I poked Tom Tom to find out where this gas station was. Now it says 17 miles. Rick put on the brakes and we evaluated out situation. The gas light was on but we were not below the red line. Yet. I looked around and saw a water tower. Where there's a water tower there's a town and where there's a town there has to be a gas station. Right?
Rick turned the car around and we went back through the 56/99 intersection and there was a sign, Admire 1 mile. As we drew closer I could read the letters on the water tower, Admire. We were in luck!
No. Just because there is a water tower with a town name on it does not promise there is gas anywhere near. It doesn't even have to mean there's water. I checked just now. Admire's population is 177. I would have guessed 26. Rick stopped at a house to ask about gas. Certainly there was something close. We saw cars parked in yards.
I let Rick walk up to the door. I stayed in the locked car armed with my cell phone ready to call 911 if the need arose. Rick stood on the porch for a couple of minutes and then opened the door and went inside.
NONONONONO! Didn't his mother have that talk with him every Halloween afternoon. "Never go inside even if you are invited! Just take your candy [from strangers] and and make a quick get away!" And then it occurred to me that a lot of horror movies start out with innocent travelers seeking assistance and the would be good samaritan turns out to be some psycho! Of course there was Frank N. Furter . . .
Then Rick walked back out and down the steps. He wasn't exactly smiling as I had hoped but he was in one piece. Rick got in the car and started backing it up. "Nearest gas, that way," pointing north, "17 miles," he growled. We turned off the air conditioning to conserve fuel, held our breath, because that's what one is supposed to do in a situation like this, and drove north on 99.
Twelve miles later, Dick ordered, "In 400 yards, turn right." I turned Dick off. I'd had enough Dick for the day. We continued straight ahead just as the guy at the house instructed Rick to do. I looked at the clock. It was 7:20PM and I wasn't sure what time the sun was going to set here but I knew I wanted to be back on the interstate with a full tank of gas before dark. We had at least five miles to go and there was still nothing but corn fields as far as my eyes could see.
Then we saw it, the sign. WELCOME TO ESKRIDGE. Eskridge, Kansas we are so glad to find you. Sort of. Most of the town, including the gas station seemed to be positioned on one corner. It looked dead. There were no lit signs, no lights on inside, no signs of life. It was 7:30 PM, I wondered if the only gas station in a town with a population of 589 was still open. Rick pulled up to the pumps. The door was standing open and there was somebody inside. YES! We made it! Then Rick yelled to the guy inside, "These pumps workin'?"
Oh that's good Rick. Insult the guy BEFORE we get the tank full of gas. Dude at the register was not bright enough to be offended. Dude was a little freaky lookin'. Not Riff Raff freaky, more Norman Bates kind of freaky. I locked the car doors. Dick and I are fraidy cats.
After having the do you take credit discussion (like what did it matter? We had cash, just pump, drop some bills, and getthehellouttahere), Rick pumped gas. I watched the numbers flip on the old circa 1960's gas pump. The numbers actually flipped, not rolled, flipped. I can't remember the last time I saw a pump like this. It was hypnotic. I couldn't stop watching them. I counted the dollars and cents along with the machine until I saw movement out the windshield and turned to see what it was.
Three prostitutes were walking down the sidewalk. I watched them until they got to the corner. Then a car (the only one we'd seen with it's motor running in the last 20 miles), whose driver seemed very proud of his stereo system, came squealing around that corner. The trio looked at each other, covered their mouths, looked around, and started walking a little faster with a little extra swing in their hips. Not prostitutes. Teenage girls. They sort of look the same from across the street with the setting sun glaring on the buggy windshield.
I turned again to the pumps hoping Rick was about through. He'd already gone in to pay. Beyond the pumps, in the parking lot across the street, was a marked sheriff's patrol car. It's occupant was sitting with a drink in his hand watching us. He had to be watching us, there was no other life, not even a bird around. I wasn't sure if this was comforting or threatening but it was okay. I was a good Girl Scout once and a good Girl Scout Leader too. I was always prepared. I had a box full of home made peanut butter cookies in the back seat along with a cooler full of beer and Diet Coke with Lime. I was all set to make friendly with Boss Hogg or Cletus or whomever.
Rick opened the driver's door, reached back and pulled a beer out of the cooler, "I've gotta have one."
"ARE YOU NUTS?" I growled taking the beer from him and dropping it back in the ice. "Put your butt on the seat and start driving!" And he did.
We headed south again on 99, the way we had come. Over the next 25 minutes or so, doing the speed limit lest we should draw more attention to ourselves than we had already, we relaxed and were able to enjoy the country side. Okay, the corn fields. Incidentally, they all look the same. Rick got a little chatty as his nerves began to repair themselves. He said that when he knocked on the door at the house in Admire, a little boy answered and the child's Dad/guardian/whatever yelled for him to come inside. Rather trusting aren't they? I told Rick it worried me when he went inside. He said the guy was in a wheel chair. Like men in wheel chairs are harmless. No, remember Dr. Everett V. Scott. Rick said they talked for a minute and the little boy kept interrupting with, "I know where you can get all the gas you want for FREE!" I bet he did. We laughed.
I reset the Tom Tom to our original course. Richard, the chosen voice of our Tom Tom, formerly and fondly nick named Dick (now short for Dickhead), has been forgiven for his little miscalculation but no longer trusted with big decisions like where to buy gas. New rule, if we can't see it from the interstate, we don't go looking.
Finally back at the Interstate ramp, we had to take a ticket from the same lady in the same toll booth. I know she knew we had been searching for gas and I know she was surprised to see us back so soon (over an hour later which really messed up my making time game with the GPS) because she was probably betting we would run out of gas and be eaten by raccoons while walking towards a water tower. But here we were so I mussed my hair a little with my fingers and gave her my best just-had-sex-between-rows-of-corn look to make her think we had just pulled off the interstate to have mad passionate sex in a cornfield (hey, it could happen) rather than the truth.
It was just getting dark now that we were back on the interstate. We switched drivers. Rick clearly needed a break, and his beer. we sailed through the rest of the state without leaving the interstate even once. This toll road that hubby declared should only be 20-30 miles turned out to be well over 300 miles. It continued almost to the state line.
Rick didn't want to have more than 500 miles to drive on Wednesday, he was really eager to see the boys, so I drove on into Oklahoma, all the way to Guthrie, just north of Oklahoma City. From the interstate we spotted a Best Western. I looked at the clock, it was after midnight, so I exited.
Rick registered, got us a first floor room with a king sized bed. Good enough. I grabbed my bathroom stuff and a clean outfit out of my suitcase (no energy to carry the whole thing in) and walked into the room. It was awesome. The room smelled of fresh cut flowers, not an overpowering smell, it was pleasant. The temperature was nice and cool, not freezing, comfortable. The bed was soft with a half a dozen plump and soft pillows lined up against the headboard. I was asleep before Rick plugged in his C-Pap.
We are so not going back to Kansas, Toto.
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