Great. So.. it's 107 degrees outside. I have a hot puppy with me. I'm in a stupid dress. AND my feed pickup is about to run out of diesel.

Along with a handful of my family, for some number of years now, calling Lance my husband; there are a few other running jokes that my family likes to tease me about. My brother-in-law's favorite thing to say in front of the whole family (and company if we have it) is, "Lance... if you can ever get over the fact that she is an idiot she might make an alright wife." My stepdad, Steve, and I made a bet that I wouldn't be married in three years and if I am I owe him a set of new tires. He continually reminds Lance and I when we are together that he's "already got his favorites picked out." My sister's favorite thing to say (usually just under her breath enough that the whole room can hear) is, "Yep, my bet is...that her next vehicle will have a cake feeder on the back of it."

If you don't know what a cake feeder is...

Cows are animals. Cows eat grass when the weather is nice. When the weather is not nice, like in the winter.. they get fed. They sometimes get fed hay, and sometimes they get fed cake. Now I know what you are thinking.. NOT the kind that Miss Trunchbull makes Bruce, the chubby kid, eat in the movie Matilda. Cake is a pellet that is dispensed out of a metal box systematically by flicking an on/off switch inside of a pickup. Cows LOVE cake. Just like Bruce.... but it's a little different.

This is cake. 

This is a cake feeder on a pickup. 

You can imagine me... in my summer dress and cute shoes and dangly earrings... hopping out of a diesel farm truck with one of these on the back and getting a few curious looks from farmers. That is why she thinks that it's so funny. 

Not too long ago, all of this happened. You see, we took the feed pickup with us on harvest for several weeks to help us move stuff around. A week or so ago it was time to return it to Oklahoma and to Lance's dad so he could have it for the cattle that are left there. (Because we didn't take them with us in case you were wondering.) So, I made the trip home with the pickup. And my dog. And all my things. 

I take off pretty early on a Wednesday morning, I think. (I have no idea what day of the week it is nearly all the time.) And I head for Oklahoma. 

Never having driven the way myself and having a TERRIBLE habit of paying absolutely NO attention to where we are going when I am not driving, I had directions from Lance running in my head. I set off.

I drive. and drive. and grab some lunch. and let my dog pee. and keep driving. 

Eventually I come to the point where I have to turn off the interstate and take a smaller highway that leads me south. I check my fuel gage and I have half a tank, so I opt to take the bypass part of the road I needed and skip the town. I mean... I'm about to drive south through the ENTIRE state of Kansas. There will be PLENTY of places to get fuel...

Okay. Maybe not. 

I keep heading south. The needle on my fuel gage is steadily dropping as I drive through little town after little town. (Okay.. so maybe I use the word "town" a little loosely. These "towns" were a single grain elevator with a "town" name. That.Was.It.  Sometimes... there would be a single grain elevator and within my line of sight there was a small little farmhouse and THAT was it.) After a while more of driving, my fuel range read 91 more miles to go. Then I passed a sign that said KINSLEY 45 miles. In my head I went, "Shoof. I've got plenty of diesel to get there! No need to worry." 

So I drove. After a minute or two I checked my range again.... I may have been a little worried. (If you are privy to my slightly anal personality you will know that a little worried means that I had broken out in a cold sweat, both of my hands were white knuckling the steering wheel, and I was sitting up, back straight as a board, unable to relax.) The range? 83. 

WHAT?! It JUST read 91. 

So, I start watching the range more closely. (That means I'm hardly paying attention to the road in front of me and I can just see the numbers drop. Soon, I was down to 76. The way I figured it, it was dropping between two and three numbers for every mile that I actually drove. 

I wasn't going to make it it Kinsley. I KNEW it. 

As it so happened, the highway that I was on was comparable to a barren wasteland. Okay.. not really. But there was really almost no traffic on it. I think in the two hours that I had already been on it I had met only ONE car. 

Great. So.. it's 107 degrees outside. I have a hot puppy with me. I'm in a stupid dress. AND my feed pickup is about to run out of diesel. 

Luckily, the one other vehicle with in a 175 mile radius, I'm sure, happened to be right in front of me. It was a white dodge diesel pickup with a kid in the front seat eating sunflower seeds and wearing a ball cap. (I know all of this because I was tailing him so closely.) He was going a little faster than I wanted to go to conserve my fuel, but I dared not lose him and stand the chance of melting before the next car drove by. Also, in a place were I didn't know a single soul for Adam, I couldn't imagine finding a more trustworthy person than someone that wears a ball cap and drives a diesel pickup. So, I kept on his tail. 

Miles went by and my fuel range steadily dropped. I prayed. Oh man, did I pray! Soon enough, I made it to Kinsley. Sigh. FINALLY. 

To my relief, the gas station was within sight whenever I pulled into town. I pulled up. Looked for the diesel pumps... kept looking for the diesel pumps. There weren't any. 

WHAT?!  A gas station with no diesel pumps? That's like going to Braum's to find out they don't have any chocolate ice cream It. just. doesn't. happen. 

Okay....? I'll just find the next station. Kinsley has got to be a fairly big town, the signs told me about it 45 miles in advance. 

Wrong. 

It was tiny. No stoplights. ONE gas station. 

So I pulled out my fancy smartphone and asked Siri where I could find diesel. Her response? "Here are a list of gas stations not too far from you." ...22 miles... 34 miles... 103 miles. 

Okay back to... Great. So.. it's 107 degrees outside. I have a hot puppy with me. I'm in a stupid dress. AND my feed pickup is about to run out of diesel. 

As a last resort before my imminent doom, I decide to stop in to the nearest place with people to ask for diesel: the town grocery store. 

Me: Excuse me sir, could you tell me where in this town I could find some diesel? 

Middle aged man I found: Diesel? 

Me: Yes. Diesel. 

Man: You really want diesel?

Me: Yes. I want diesel. 

Man: Shoof.. I don't know?

Again... Great. So.. it's 107 degrees outside. I have a hot puppy with me. I'm in a stupid dress. AND my feed pickup is about to run out of diesel. 

So I walked inside of the grocery store and timidly, but loudly ask the row of seven checkout stations

"Does anyone know where I can get some diesel in this town?"

Mass response of the billions of people in the tiny store: Diesel??

Me: Yes. I want diesel. 

Mass response: Shoof... I don't know?

One man that if I knew his name I would write a "Thank you" note to: Diesel? You can get it over at.... I don't remember what the name was, all that matters was that ONE person knew where to go.

So I got directions. It was about two miles away. I prayed I would make it... thinking to myself all the while: Great. So.. it's 107 degrees outside. I have a hot puppy with me. I'm in a stupid dress. AND my feed pickup is about to run out of diesel and I might have to push it two miles to the nearest pump. 

But.. I made it. 

And I understood why no one knew about it. 

It was LITERALLY an awning with ONE pump that had road diesel and farm diesel. And a separate card reader tower. 

I filled up the truck. Got back in. And finished my drive home. With a little less sweat and a little less white knuckles. 

Moral of the story? Never go through Kansas in a diesel feed pickup.