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MLTDWN

Have you ever run out of gas???

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MLTDWN

What's your goofiest run of gas story??

 

Mine was in 1995 on the Will Rogers Turnpike in Oklahoma.

Maybe the reason was that I was not riding a BMW, but was riding a Harley without a gas gauge.

But in any event, I'm riding from Chicago to New Mexico and back on one of those ride with little stopping journeys. I'm riding alone.

My second day out, Im going from Springfield MO to somewhere in western Oklahoma or the Texas panhandle, wherever I feel like stopping at the end of the day. I'm about 2+ hours into my ride when I enter the Will Rogers Turnpike in Oklahoma, I44. So far so good, its hot and windy, but the traffic is light and I'm making good time going about 80+ on my '92 Harley Softail Classic, a beautiful bike (don't start with the Harley vs. BMW stuff...). Since it did not have a gas guage, you went by the miles on the odometer. For me, that bike would go somewhere around 160 - 180 miles on a tank TYPICALLY.

Thinking that there will be a bunch of places to stop for gas, when I come up to the McDonalds Oasis, I look down at my odometer and I'd only gone about 100 miles. I was flying by the place and just didn't feel like stopping - MISTAKE. What they didn't tell you was that there were no services for about the next 60+ miles.

About 20-25 miles after the McDonalds Oasis, with me riding along feeling no pain, the bike starts to sputter and I realize its the gas situation. At only around 125 miles on the odometer I'm trying to figure out why its so soon, but it soons dawns on me that I'm sucking up gas pretty good at 80+ mph and into a headwind (I'm not giving myself any gold starts for advanced thinking on this subject - I was just being oblivious).

Now I'm nervous since I haven't seen any other exits since passing the oasis. I slow down to around 50-55 and put the bike on reserve - about 3/4 of a tank. I figure I can go another 25-30 miles or so, and that's just gotta be enuf.

Every hill I go over, I'm expecting to see an exit, but NOOOO. After another 20 or so miles, I see a sign that the next exit is about 23 miles away, but at the same time, at around 145 miles on my odometer, I'm coasting to a stop out of gas. There's hardly any traffic, its a Sunday, I can't see any buildings on either side of the highway, and I'm in the middle of what seemed like the middle of nowhere. All together I'm feeling pretty stupid and stuck (and its messing up my timetable!!)

 

As luck would have it, I had somehow seen a sign as I entered Oklahoma that for cellular help, dial *55. Why I took note of that sign I can't say, but it may have saved my life (not to seem overly dramatic). I did have a cell phone, but figured there was no way it would work, especially after I tried the help line and nothing worked. On about my third try, a voice comes on the phone - highway patrol - I'm SAVED, or so I thought. I tell the highway patrol about where I'm at and they say a squad car will be by in awhile to help me.

I go and sit up on the hill along side the road and in the 100+ heat - they were having a heat spell - this was in early May - and start to feel pretty good about things again. I'm getting delayed in where I wanted to be that day (wherever that was), but what the heck, at least I've solved the problem and all I have to do is wait.

While I'm waiting, a few cars and trucks are going by, but not very many. One car in particular goes by and stops about 1/4 mile away. Its an old beater of some type and I see it starts to back up. I'm thinking its really nice of these folks to stop and see if they can help and I go down to meet them. When I walk up along side the car, I see there are 4 guys in the car. The passenger in front is a pretty scraggly older looking guy with very long hair and a fair amount of "prison" tattoos up and down his arm and the always encouraging tattoos on the knuckles of at least one of his hands. He asks me what the problem is and I say I'm out of gas. He says is that all, and I reply (this whole conversation lasted about 30 seconds) in a conversational manner, yea but its ok because I called the state troopers and they're sending someone to help me. The only reason I said this was because it was simply true - I doubt I would have thought to say it otherwise.

Well, no sooner that I utter the words "state troopers", my new "friend" turns to the driver, who I never really saw too clearly, and says "he called the troopers man, we gotta booger on out of here". He turns to me and just as its sinking in that I really don't think I want to get to know these fellas, he says, we gotta go - and they take off in a hurry. At this point, my knees begin to shake a little as I'm thinking that of all the people riding on the highway this nice Sunday morning, I've just run into some guys who for one reason or another have the strong need not to be around when the state troopers come by.

I go and sit down on my hill again, hoping my "friends" don't come back with gas, but finally the state trooper comes, of course does not have any gas with him, takes one look at me (remember, when you're riding harleys, you gotta blend, as they said in My Cousin Vonny, so I looked the part) and says, instead of hi - do you got money for gas? I assure him I do, give him some money and he offers me a ride to the next town around 20 or so miles away. I don't want to leave my bike all alone so I tell him I'll wait, and if it isn't too much trouble, could he get me premium??

One other car stops in the meantime, a nice guy who did ask if he could help and finally, the trooper is back and I'm on my way. I feel like I stopped at every gas station I saw after that.

The next day I stop for breakfast at some little restaurant - there are three biker looking dudes on Harleys - I'm a tough guy too, so while I'm waiting for my breakfast, I put on my bifocals and start reading a book.

 

I leave and they soon follow while I'm getting ready to ride - they are Oklahoma City policemen and are riding to Amarillo for a Blue Knight convention and ask if I want to ride along with them which I did. I told them about my experience the prior day and say I don't know if those guys wanted to help me or kill me. They say, they're sure they would have helped me "because that's the way people in Oklahoma are." But I'm just not sure.

 

To this day, I still have a special interest in not running out of gas.

 

Well, that's my story, what about yours?????

 

CC_Rider

'02 RT blue

'74 R90/6 and side car

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JonathanE

When my RT was new, and I didn't exactly believe the "Low Fuel" indicator, I ran out of gas on the way to work one morning. As I entered a freeway flyover ramp at about 80 mph I felt my RT sputter and gasp just once or twice, and she died. With the clutch released, I was able to coast up and over the overpass, and then down the other side to where another freeway onramp merged. I turned down the onramp and coasted all the way down it (on the shoulder since I was going the wrong way), through an intersection (no signal pointing my way of course smile.gif ) and into a gas station on the other side. I never put a foot on the ground until I stopped. Lucky, to say the least.

 

That was the last time. I used to run out of gas all the time with my old 2-stroke since it only had a three gallon tank and rarely beat 30 miles per gallon.

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ghaverkamp

I ran out of gas once; I've come awfully close a couple of times. I'd generally prefer not to do it again.

 

I took the K75 out on my first reasonably long ride. I didn't really have anywhere to be. I hadn't done any advanced planning, and even with the hiccups, it would end up a nice little trip.

 

I had a three-day weekend, and I decided perhaps I'd head off from the SFBA to Utah. Didn't really know where in Utah; it all just depended upon how I felt. Regardless, I had decided I wanted to go across US 50, the "Loneliest Highway in America."

 

I got out after work on Friday, and I made it as far a Fallon, NV, before it got too dark and too late, and I pulled over for the night. Got up, and having only put about 60 miles on the tank, I decided I'd pick up gas once I got out of town.

 

Did I mention the "Loneliest Highway" part?

 

Next up on US 50 is Austin, NV, about 110 miles away. Next anything is a small, well off-highway gas station about 30 or 40 miles outside of Austin. I was not aware of this.

 

Cruising along at 90+, I was not getting optimal mileage. In fact, I'm lucky to get 40 MPG when moving that fast on the K75. I passed that little gas station outside of Austin, thinking little of it. I only had about 40 miles or so to go. About 10 miles later, the low fuel light came on.

 

Now, a smarter person likely would have turned back. I did not. I figured I'd make it just fine. A smarter person might even have slowed down the pace a bit. I did not. I wanted to fill up "sooner."

 

Oh, but I did slow down, as my ride started jerking its way up a hill. Actually, it stopped near the crest. I sat for a bit, opened the tank, and, seeing a wee little bit of gas, I cranked it back up. That took me another 1/4 mile or so, cresting another hill. At that point, it stopped again, and I coasted to the bottom.

 

I had not even stopped rolling when in my mirrors I saw a single headlight crest the hill behind me. This is when I met Jeff from Lafayette, CA. He was riding an R1200C, was also a new rider, and was attempting an SS1K. He first asked, "Got a siphon?" I responded in the negative, and he said he'd send someone back.

 

A bicyclist stopped, one I had blazed by not too long ago, to offer up the 1/8 of a gallon or so of gas he had for his gas-powered stove. He wouldn't accept payment: "What goes around comes around." About 45 minutes after I had stopped, a pickup truck pulls up. The passenger hops out with a plastic gas can with 3 gallons in it, telling me, "Your buddy said you needed gas." I asked them what I owed them, and they said they were coming my way, anyway, so just what the gas cost. I handed them a $10 and thanked them profusely.

 

My near-hour on the road pushed me to being too late to continue too far east. When I got to Ely, I ate and checked the weather. After talking to the manager of the McDonald's, I decided to take US 6 to US 93 to Vegas to avoid the rain. While calling Vegas to find a room, I looked out to see Jeff filling up. I took the opportunity to go thank him, which is when I learned what he was up to. We chatted for a bit, and he declared he was giving up.

 

I made my way to Vegas in the dark, cowering at signs, in the middle of shut-down "towns" advertising next fuel in 120 miles. But it was still a fun ride.

 

I spent only the night in Vegas. I got up the next morning to head home, hoping to avoid the rain, which I had so far eluded. No such luck. About 10 miles outside of Vegas on US 95, the rain began. It followed me to Amargosa Valley, down NV 373 (I think) to CA 127 (or 172, I always forget) and magically disappeared as I crossed from Nevada into California. The rest of the ride was uneventful.

 

I did go buy a siphon, though I've never carried it on the bike. On one trip that was supposed to be a bike trip, a weird uneasiness about riding hit me, and I took the car. On the way out, I grabbed the siphon. About 20 miles short of Vegas, a guy who had flown past me on a larger Ninja was pulled off on the side of the road. I pulled over, whipped out the siphon, and we fought a little bit of gas from my emptying tank; enough to get him to the next exit. So, I figure in the end, someone else benefitted from my stupidity...

 

Greg

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russell_bynum

No, I've never run out of gas....on UT-24 between Torrey and Hanksville at Torrey IV. blush.gif

 

But if it had happened, I'm sure BadAdam could make it to Hanksville and would be nice enough to bring some gas back for me.

 

And I didn't run out of gas in my car coming back from taking the SAT in High School but roll downhill and right into the gas station.

 

Nope. Never happened.

 

smile.gif

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sgendler

Crossing South Dakota in the middle of the night on my Mille. I had consistently gotten no less than 33mpg for in excess of 6500 miles on the trip so far (my palm pilot calculated actual mileage at every stop), so I happily rode right past the 'next services 24 miles' sign with 120 miles on the odo. The Mille had a 5.3 gallon tank according to the owners manual, after all. Sure enough, just as I point the bike at the offramp, it stutters and dies. It was an uphill ramp, so I had to push about 1/4 mile (fully loaded bike and those bars are LOW when you are standing next to the Mille). 144 miles on the odometer, and it took exactly 4.4 gallons. So much for the accuracy of the manual. Off by nearly a gallon. What frightened me the most was going back through my palm pilot record and seeing numerous 4.1-4.4 gallon fillups, and I was never aware of how close to draining the tank dry I was. I had always been curious why the fuel light came on a full 2 gallons before running out of gas!

 

--sam

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USAF1

Yep....summer 1984.... Mesa Arizona on my R100RS

again, summer 1990....on a very lonely freeway somewhere in Yugoslovia on the same bike.

 

Pat

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MLTDWN

So what happened?

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OldRider

Yes, while riding hard from Las Vegas to Tonopah in late October three years ago. Got about 20 miles out on a windy, cold day about an hour before dark. Called BMW road service and they had a support vehicle with gas out to me with in 45 minutes. Cars and trucks sound like jets going by you at 80 to 100 mph on Hwy 95.

 

 

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SteveB

I actually ran out of gas on a date in high school. Really! She just laughed and said take her home. Needless to say I didn't get anywhere that night. I think we were both grounded for a month. '67 Mustang. Totalled a month later. But that's another story and a diffrent girlfriend. smile.gif

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Ralph

Hav'nt run outa gas since I was a usless , poor teenager.

I remember on our summer 2 week road trip,I made my wife carry a 1/2 gallon gas can. (Sporty hten...3.2 gal. tank ) It came in handy once in Utah,and once in New Mexico. I will invest in a siphon for our next trip and bring that can too. Depending on wich way we go.

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