Seb and I

The drive from Regina to Lloydminster is an uneventful trip. Further north, the trees get bushier and the air gets colder, but nothing worth writing a blog on -- unless I wanted to work on making the mundane exciting.

Today, on my five hour endeavour, I had an adventure. After flying through Saskatoon, fantasizing about a bathroom break and an energy drink for my lowering lids, I denied myself these pleasures to make time. True, I could have stopped at Saskatoon and filled up while I satisfied my carnal needs, but I decided North Battleford was the better option. The gas tank was just below half.

Ten minutes outside of Saskatoon, the gas meter read closer to empty than full. That's funny. Seems just minutes ago it was almost half. I pass by Radisson, my last opportunity to fill before Battleford. I didn't take it. Mistake numero dos. Soon I pass the 70 km till Battleford sign, squinting my eyes and pursing my lips. I can make it. Seventy clicks is what, twenty minutes? Sure.

When I hit the 50 click sign I realized 50 kilometers is about half an hour. The lazy gas line was drooping ever closer to that bottom line. It was touching it. Flirting with it. Resting its defeated head down on that soft pillow.

Along with pursing lips and squinty eyes, my eyebrows raised where they meet, creating a preminant "^". I pulled the sleeves of my sweater up to cool down. I patted the steering wheel, occasionally murmering things like:

We can do it, Sebastian.

God, just let me get to Battleford.

Fifty clicks never lasted so long. I think my eyes were more on the gas gauge than the road. If a watched pot never boils, a watched gas-omoter never gives up.

It's on the line now. Merged with it. They have become one. The empty line and the stupid, plastic gas-meter-reader are having sex and all I can do is watch in disgust.

The gas light blinks. On, and off. On, and off. It doesn't stay on, it just blinks. No sign of Battleford, no sign of a sign telling me when Battleford will be coming, just dead towns with dead houses and no gas stations.

I pat my legs, turn down the music. Is the car acting weird? Does it usually feel this way? Oh, it's about to kick it. What does a car do when it runs out of gas? Cough? Sputter? Jolt suddenly into the ditch, rolling several times while combusting? Would I have time to pull over to the side, or would I have to put it in neutral and push it to the side? Would I get run over in the process? What if I can't even move the car? Why is my cellphone dead?

I've slowed down twenty clicks now. I've heard if you drive slower it saves gas. But it also takes longer. I'll take the risk, obey the fable. Pray to God. Sell my soul. As long as I can make it to Battleford.

I try not to move my foot on the petal. A light touch, a balance, between the petal and my Adidas sneaker, a gentle prod - please? Can you maybe go 110 for just a few more kilometers? Just till we reach the town. We can make it. God, just spit some gasoline in that tank for me, please.

Every car that I had passed has passed me now. I bet they think I'm stupid. That girl just passed us going like, 130, five minutes ago. Look at her now, behind that semi. Does she think she's saving gas by cutting the wind velocity from trailing that semi?

Yeah. I saw it on tv once, but they were a lot closer, and it saved gas.

Idiot.

And then, I saw it. I saw it, that grain elevator that marks the beginning. The gas light is getting brighter before it dims now, I think, or is that the sun? It's angry now. Sebastian hates me. I'm sorry, Sebastian, I should have listened to my carnal insticts, instead I listened to my stupid brain -- where has that gotten us? I'd rather be a monkey. But Sebastian, please, you can do it.

Do you know how long the entrance is to North Battleford? Long. That grain elevator takes forever to approach when you're going 80. There are no gas stations to mark the beginning of the town. Isn't that illigal? What town doesn't have a gas station at the border of the town? Battleford, that's who.

I slow to a stop. I just have to take a left. Shell is right there, right there Sebastian. Just please don't cough to a stop in the middle of this intersection. There. You did it. I'm loving you with my foot, it's not a demand it's a plead, a request. Do it for me. We can do this together.

We make it across the intersection. Like, 200 meters to go. I think the needle is below the line. The gas light stares. It's okay, Sebastian, it was my fault. If you can't make it I'll push you the rest of the way. I said that out loud.

I pull up to the tank, shut the car off, and pat the steering wheel, proud. We did it. We are a team, you and I -- but mostly you. I exhale, lower my head, close my eyes. My shakey hands open the door.

I step out to realize I pulled up to the one tank that is out of regular. That's okay. You deserve premium today, Seb.