You guys know what I’m talking about, right? That odd melodious beep sounds in your cabin and you KNOW you need to stop for fuel soon. If the ‘E’ and the amount of driving you have been doing aren’t enough of a clue.
Well, we went up to get the tractor last night from my parents. Since they have a heavy enough duty vehicle to haul it, and we don’t, we borrowed theirs. It’s a diesel. I don’t have much experience with diesels, just that you don’t put gas in them. They are supposed to run forever and truckers avoid turning them off when its’ super cold because sometimes they don’t want to restart. That’s my total knowledge.
Apparently my parents’ diesel, when under the light of a waning moon, under the load of a tractor/trailer and all its attachments, will NOT give you a low fuel light until you’re already looking at the dash going ‘what the….’ and thinking ‘wait a minute it sounds like we’re…’ and then you can see the low fuel light come on, hear the sound and IMMEDIATELY the little ‘battery dead’ logo pops up, as the fuel gauge drops like a rock past E. Son of a…
Even better with a sleeping baby, when you’re only wearing a tshirt and it’s almost midnight. Luckily there was a geri can (excuse the spelling if it’s wrong), in the bed of the truck for the tractor, but of course Matt had already put all of it in the tractor, figuring he’d fill up the can at the gas station. Luckily, we were just outside of town. We could see civilization. On the walk, my husband saw 3 cops. When none of them stopped (to be fair, he took to the sidewalk instead of staying on the road, looking pathetic), he remembered he had a friend in town, and called Larry. Larry is the guy who used to live down the street. The one my husband spent so much time helping to get his vehicle running a couple of months ago. Larry to the rescue. They show up, fill the tank, and I sit there, shushing the baby, shivering a little bit.
Matt’s face is weird, he starts the engine, looking worried. Having only experience with gasoline engines, I ponder the look. It cranks and cranks and cranks and sputters and finally starts. Larry expounds on how lucky we are, and hops in his truck. We follow, and I ask why we are so luckily. Apparently you aren’t supposed to let a diesel run completely out of fuel. If you do and the ‘whatever’ pressurizes too much, you need a special tool to de-pressurize the line. We were lucky.
Moral of the story: Never look a gift Larry in the mouth, or, don’t trust the low fuel light on a loaded truck.
Ah, Jill, it sure seems like you and Matt must wear targets or signs on your backs or something that say “Pour the crap RIGHT HERE.” Glad it all worked out in the end. Sounds like it could have been much worse! Glad Keeley was a good girl, too. That always helps immensely.