I wasn’t going to let this happen again– the stress of nearly running out of gas. We were still on our visit in Olympic National Park in Washington, but as access to the park was split up by various types of land allotments, now we were on a small piece of Indian reservation at a gas station in front of a casino. I noticed the price was $3.19 per gallon which seemed cheap after braving the gas prices elsewhere in the Pacific Northwest. I’d notice in a few days gas prices plummet leaving Washington into Idaho and Montana, which was not much of a curiosity considering the states’ politics and their effects on their economies. Here at the Indian reservation casino gas station I filled up. When I went inside the gas station convenience store, I was surprised by free coffee and tea. I got a cup of orange spice tea to calmly ease into the morning. Then we were back in the car for a short drive into the park to the Hurricane Ridge area.

A few days prior, leaving the Chateau at Oregon Caves National Monument, driving through the long expanse of national forest, we were low on gas. We were also in a very remote area, and when we finally reached an isolated gas station there was a sign that read “cash only.” We had the cash but perhaps were here too early, for no one was working. Zach couldn’t use his phone to look up the next nearest gas station either, because we were out of service range, but I was able to search in my GPS. The next nearest gas station was thirty miles away! I wasn’t sure if we would make it, or if it was even en route, but it was the only option unless we were to wait a few hours to see if someone would show up to work at this gas station. What if they didn’t? It would be a morning wasted.

So we journeyed on. There was an uncomfortable silence in the car. I probably wasn’t the only one questioning my judgment. Out the window was merely pine tree after pine tree- no people, no cars, no buildings, just the forest and us. Mile after mile, it was all in uniform, and the road was straight and unending in the dark morning forest. It made me wonder if we were getting deeper in the wild, further from any civilization. Normally I’d like this, but not without gas! There was more and more of the same drawing on, and according to the vehicle’s interface, we were out of gas. Yet we were still moving.  I was starting to feel the regret and dread of relying on this GPS. It seemed to be leading us astray, then…

“You have reached your destination,” the GPS sounded. As my journal details, I didn’t think this was in operation, but I pulled up to the singular pump. There was no store and no booth, but attached to the gas pump was a curly coiled wire phone. Zach pointed to the sign.

“For gas dial 1,” it read. We looked at each other with probably the same thought. We were puzzled. What’s going to happen? We hadn’t seen anyone, just trees for dozens of miles. Was someone or something going to pop out of the forest and pump our gas? Is this sasquatch’s gas pump? I opened the car door and stepped out. The forest was silent. I lifted the phone and held it to my ear. To my surprise there was a dial tone. I punched in a “1.” It rang!

“Hello,” The muffled voice came through the receiver.

“Hi. I was wondering if I could get some gas.” I believe I was too puzzled and confused to have even considered the pleasantry of bidding a “good morning.”

“I’ll be right there.”

This might actually work.

We waited, looking around with suspicious anticipation in every direction.

After just a couple minutes, we saw a golf cart coming down the road- our rescue!

A pleasant older man in flannel and blue jean overalls asked how much gas we wanted. I handed him a $20. “Sorry about the wait,” he apologized, although it wasn’t much of a wait at all. “I had to find my keys at the lodge.”  I concluded there was some lodge I was unaware of, and this was their gas pump. The golf cart was used to travel around their property. 

“No problem,” I responded. “Thank you.” 

And we were on our merry way.

That was four days earlier, and I wasn’t going to find myself stuck in that sort of situation again, and that is why I filled up. In the far remote West, with distances so grand and gas stations so rare. Every opportunity to fill up should be carefully considered. Take advantage of any gas pump in the wild. 

We eventually reached the Hurricane Ridge section of the park. We were getting ready to hike about seven miles to Klahhane Ridge. There was a visitor center, and of course I had to go in. There wasn’t much to see for it was a small place. I was engrossed in the literature, the books for sale, while Zach found a binder on display with pictures and information to identify wild flowers. He studied up on the flora for the day. I ended up buying a book about wolves. The cover of the wolf’s piercing stare drew me in. Back at the car, we geared up for a beautiful hike on a trail loaded with wild flowers, majestic view, and lots of wildlife (but no wolves). 

And experience with the gas pump inspired me to write this song…

Ode to the Gas Pump in the Wild

Driving through the wild, beneath the towering trees,
Feeling the stress as the gasoline quickly depletes.
In Siskiyou National Forest, a land so vast and grand,
But stranded in the woods, was not what we had planned.
Miles of pine trees, stretching, nothing in sight,
Will anyone be our rescue, or will our day turn into night?

O gas pump in the wild, like a lifeboat in the sea,
Rescue us from drowning, would you pretty please?

Then a glimmer of hope, a steeple in the pines,
A chance to refuel? Hopeful as a child.
With a phone on the pole we dialed for our need,
And from the forest’s depths, came our lovely savior’s steed.
A golf cart in the distance, rolling into sight,
An old man with a smile, making everything alright.
In flannel and overalls, this man helped save the day,
He powered up the gas pump and sent us on our way.

O gas pump in the wild, like a lifeboat in the sea,
Rescue us from drowning, would you pretty please?

In the remote West, where gas is rare and few,
Seize every opportunity to safely see you through.
If it’s just a little gas pump, hidden in the trees,
It may be a lifeline, setting you at ease.
So now we hike the trails, where the wildflowers abound,
Learning of the animals of which us surround.
Here at Hurricane Ridge is where we will happily be
With gratitude to the gas pump forever endlessly.

O gas pump in the wild, like a lifeboat in the sea ,
Rescue us from drowning, would you pretty please?

Gas pump in the wild, a sanctuary found,
In the midst of nature’s bounty, you wear the crown
With this adventure’s end, there’s a story to compile,
Of a journey’s uncertain detour forever worthwhile.
So here’s to the gas pump, a tale to be told,
Along the Rogue River, where memories unfold.
Of a certain lonely gas pump, that will always be
In my adventurous heart forever endlessly.

If you enjoyed reading this, check out my book “Still, Calm, and Quiet“

Check out my previous entry here: “The Rainforest and the Bear”

Visit www.joshhodge.com