I probably should have mentioned yesterday that we did get home, but I was tired.
It was the most nerve-wracking last leg to a trip I’ve ever been on, though. Small Town Dodge Dealership didn’t have the part we needed, so they zip-tied the hanging fuel line to the gas tank door to keep it out of the way so we could drive the last 5 hours home.
They also told me that the fuel line was “bent” and that it was probably possible to put gas in, but very slowly because of that bend.
So we set off, and because there’s no actual gas cap, our gauge goes down faster than we’d hoped as some of the gas evaporates. We pull in to try and slowly fill up, only to find that the line is not bent, it’s completely crumpled like a crushed aluminum can, and that there’s also a crack in that mess, so there’s no way we can put any gas in. At the last station before the massive blow-out, Mags had accidentally put about a gallon and a half more of expensive gas in than she’d intended. This extra gallon and a half was now the only thing that might get us home.
We come into Austin and the traffic is pretty good (Austin traffic is objectively some of the worst in Texas, especially compared to its size), but Austin is full of hills and the gauge is now at the top of the empty line and dropping fast. We’ve had the AC turned off for a while to conserve gas, but this is Texas and it’s hot as balls, so it’s not fun. We can see that the highway going North is completely backed up, but thankfully that’s not our problem and South is going more or less smoothly, however we’re are now at the bottom of the empty line. We get off the highway on the closest major road to our house and immediately stop at a red light. When the car is stopped, we can feel it doing the spastic jolting forward thing that means it’s eking out every last drop of gas, but it’s not sputtering yet. We somehow manage to get through every other light at green, and I claim credit for this because of the sheer willpower I had focused on every light we saw.
We pull onto our street, which is just one long hill with our house at the top. Mags cheats at the stop sign because actually stopping now means it’ll never start up again.
Victory. We pull into the driveway to be met by our oldest cat, Paul, and my dad, who had steadfastly not offered to come pick us up until we were on our side of town because he’s a self-absorbed dick.
- crumpled and cracked gas line held up by zip-ties
- evaporating gas
- inability to put any more gas in
- Austin AND Dallas in our way
= Challenge fucking accepted.