WITH my left leg out of action thanks to my torn achilles I’ve had to borrow my dad’s automatic car as I’m now unable to work the clutch.
Personally I hate sitting in traffic having to constantly push the clutch in and out so it’s been a welcomed change.
The only problem with using a different car is the fuel situation.
I’m one who likes to push the fuel to the limit, when the car’s gauge is sitting on empty I always feel it has that little bit more to give.
I’m heading to Perth for a dinner with my girlfriend, a dinner I thought was just a rock-up at any time sort of affair but I discover there’s a booking.
I’m now running late.
I begin my drive and notice the fuel is a little low; it’s a quarter. I know in my car I would be able to make it but as I’m in a larger, more fuel hungry-vehicle than my own, I’m not sure.
I decide to chance it.
The journey progresses with no fuel light. I edge closer, I’m thinking to myself: I’m going to make just as the fuel light goes on about 15-20 kilometres from my destination.
Again, in my car I know a second fuel warning light flashes up but in my dad’s car there’s no second warning.
After some umming and arghing I decide to take the next exit just as I hit traffic, no one lets me get across so I miss the turn; I now have to go the journey.
You know you’re in trouble when you think turning off the radio and fan will help you save fuel, nevertheless this is what I do.
I make it about 10km, I know I’ve used more fuel stuck in the traffic; at this point I decide to call my dad. He said he’s never pushed the fuel that far so didn’t know, he also insulted my thinking for letting it get to this point.
Even though my destination is only 500m from a fuel station I decide not to risk the extra distance and suffer the consequences of being late so I headed for the station.
My hands get a little sweaty as I near the station, the adrenaline is pumping, the station is in sight but there’s still a lot of work to do.
I roll into the station, I made it.
Conundrum averted.
