Jeff Bayley has shared a wonderful story in this thread, and Merle and Louise have suggested he should write a book. I think if we all contribute our chapters, the ‘book’ will become a lot more interesting, and isn’t that what POG is all about?
So, here’s my story. My name is Peter, and I’m a Run Out Of Gasoholic.
My bus is a 1994 XLV, and I was told it has a 208-gallon tank. Based on 7 mpg, that should allow for about 1,400 miles on a full tank, right? We had owned the bus for about a year, and I always filled it up before it got too low, but I could never get more than 160 gallons in during a fill-up. Besides, the red low-fuel light had never come on, so I assumed there was still some reserve when it did. After all, Prevost must have designed it similarly to other coaches.
One Sunday, while returning from a trip, I calculated that we could make it to the Flying J in Troutdale, Oregon—the last station we’d pass on our way home. I watched the gauge closely for the last few hours, and it seemed like we’d make it. We’d traveled about 1,240 miles since the last fill-up, and while the needle fluctuated a bit, I figured we still had fuel sloshing around. It was a nice sunny day, and things looked good.
About 50 miles from the Flying J, the red low-fuel light came on. I figured if there were still about 7 gallons left, we’d be fine. They must have designed the low-fuel light to give you at least 50 miles to find a station, right? So we continued on. Things were still looking good.
About 40 miles out, I noticed a slight hesitation. I thought, “Nah, it can’t be low fuel yet,” but perhaps we should look for a diesel station. Unfortunately, there weren’t any nearby. Then came more sputtering. Things were starting to look bad. The engine kept running long enough for me to get off the freeway, but it died as I rolled off the exit. Luckily, I managed to coast downhill for half a mile and came to a stop in front of a Shell station in the friendly town of Cascade Locks, Oregon—only about 25 miles from the Flying J. Things were looking good.
I bought a 2-gallon gas can and made 15 trips back and forth to put in enough fuel to ensure the engine would start, considering we were parked on a bit of a slope. After about an hour, my dear wife asked, “Are we having fun yet?” I had to admit she had been with me on several previous “run out of gas” adventures.
It was time to start the engine. I cranked it for a while, but no luck. I called Prevost, and the helpful representative instructed me on how to prime the system—basically, unscrew the fuel filter and fill it with diesel, then try again. If that didn’t work, I was to remove the fuel line and fill that with diesel before cranking. I followed all the steps, but the engine still wouldn’t start.
Just when I thought I had it figured out, the wrench I was using slipped from my hand, landing on the starter terminal and creating a spark. Sparks flew everywhere! My wrench turned bright red from the heat, and I managed to grab another tool to dislodge it before it caught fire. After cooling off, I noticed that one of the battery posts had melted 80% due to the excessive current flow. Things were looking bad again.
At this point, I decided to call for professional help. A mobile truck repair guy arrived quickly and used a nifty electric pump to prime the system. We cranked the engine, but it still wouldn’t start. He tried everything, but then he sprayed some ether into the intake, and it fired immediately, though it wouldn’t run on its own. After a while, he gave up and didn’t charge me a dime since he didn’t succeed. Things were looking good—or bad, depending on your perspective.
Next, I called for a tow truck. The driver arrived an hour later and expertly disconnected the drive shaft, lifting the front axle onto his truck. He tapped into the air system to keep the emergency brakes off and the airbags up, showing he knew what he was doing. The tow was about 65 miles and cost me $540. I considered it tuition for my education, and I figured it might even be deductible by the IRS, unlike those towing insurance policies!
Now my bus was at the dealer, but they were closed on Sunday, so we went home. I visited the dealer first thing Monday morning, and they informed me that the coach was running fine; it just needed new batteries. I asked how they got it started, and they mentioned that only one breaker in the engine electrical panel had tripped. I suspected the sparks had caused the breaker to trip during my priming attempts. Later that day, the bus was finished, and I went to fill it up. I don’t recall the exact amount, but after fueling, the low-fuel light remained on for about 125 miles before finally turning off. Since then, I’ve only seen it on once more—while driving to the station just two miles away. I never want to see that light come on again!
I’ve learned my lesson not to run low on fuel in the bus. I’ve learned this lesson in my airplanes as well. As for cars, well, what’s the use of having a big gas tank if you don’t occasionally use it all? I admit, during POG II, we were driving back from Taos, racing to make it in time for the final dinner, and the toad ran out of gas just one mile from the Santa Fe Skies resort. Thankfully, my good friend Brian was there to rescue us in no time, allowing us to make it to dinner.
So, as I said, I am a Run Out Of Gasoholic! But I’m trying to reform—really!