Stopping for Gas

I hate stopping for gas.  I hate cutting my speed, taking an extra five minutes to get whereever I 'm going, pull into a station, stop the car in front of a pump, find the un-lock switch for the little door to the gas tank, swipe my credit card, stretch the hose, insert the nozzle, and depress the metalic trigger that releases gas into the car.  (I do like the smell of gas, but I know I shouldn't breathe the fumes.)  I hate waiting for the tank to fill.  Now that gas is around $3 a gallon, more numbers have to swirl around, and around before the pump snaps off.  And I really hate when a stupid video ad plays and I watch it.

With the Prius, we don't have to stop as often.  We can go almost 500 miles on about 10 gallons.  (In the winter, the tank shrinks, so we've been told, and the car goes about 350 miles on 7 or 8 gallons.)   But with the dependable Volvo, we travel  about 350 miles on 16 gallons.  With a 70 mile drive each day, that's five round trips.  Plus, the Volvo has over 125,000 miles on it, and we want to preserve the car, so it's the one usually left at the train station.

Tonight, leaving an in-service just after 7 pm, almost 13 hours since I'd left this morning, I knew I'd need to stop for gas, and I didn't want to.  I was hungry.  But if I drove the 35 miles to the city and back up, I'd probably run out of gas.  Should I stop along the way?  Should I wait to get into the city and fill up in Harlem on 125th Street?  Or should I wait until morning?  I stopped in Thornwood -- about 8 miles south of Chappaqua.   The Volvo took over 13 gallons and I paid more than $40.

A Haagan Das ice cream freezer rimmed in waffles of gold stood outside the station's convenience store.  Dinner.  Yes.  A chocolate covered ice cream bar to nibble as I drive away.