I think we'll be fine.

After a rocky start to Thursday morning, (not a reference to our trip to the Grand Canyon) we headed up into the Grand Canyon.  We enjoyed the view, although with the heat and the limitations of what you can see without driving around from viewing point to viewing point; and the fact that we intended to get to Los Angeles (an 8 hour drive) gave us the impetus to high tail it out of there and get on the trail.  It has become apparent that in order for us to successfully make a transition, there must be an act of congress to get these kids moving.  It takes us an hour to get out of one place and move on.  Just the simple act of getting out of the car at a given stop takes ten minutes.  I have no idea what can keep them in the car so long.  Frustration is the kindest adjective that comes to mind.

Leaving Williams, Arizona just after lunch, I mentioned to Chelley that we probably ought to get gas.  We  had a little over a quarter of a tank at the time.  She suggested that a quarter of a tank would take us quite a way, and intimated that it was a bit premature of me to suggest it.  This is a pattern which seems to repeat itself.  I digress.  We did not get gas before leaving.  If you have ever driven westward on I-40 from Williams, Arizona towards Los Angeles, you know that it is a wasteland, a desert, and to say that there are a dearth of filling stations would be a vast understatement.  At some point, unbeknownst to the children, Chelley came over to my way of thinking.  It was somewhere between the point at which the fuel gauge reached E, and the low fuel light coming on.  Still in brief period when only she and I were aware of the pickle we were in, she suggested that I use my cellular device to determine the closest spot to refuel.  I made her aware that I had been attempting that for some time.  However, gas stations are not the only thing at a premium in the desert.  There is not a shred of cellular phone signal.  I don't care how smart your phone is, without a connection to the network, it is as useful as an empty water bottle for determining the location, mileage, or directions to the nearest gas station.  There wasn't 4G, there wasn't 3G, there wasn't G.  Not a single bar of any kind of coverage whatsoever. In its place was the telltale crossed out zero.  Complicating things was the fact that the temperature was right at 100 degrees.  A wafting stray cellular signal allowed my smartphone to elicit the location of the next gas station.  28 miles.    It has been a long time since I have travelled a distance of that kind on foot.  Never is more like it.  That is more than a marathon.  At 100 degrees, I can only hope we make it a long way towards that fuel.  I look hopefully at the landscape, wondering if a farm or something will appear and give me hope that there might be some other angle to get a little gas to get us to a station.  There are no farms on that road either.  I don't think anything will grow there.  Around this time, Chelley mentions that I should call and see about the availability of some roadside assistance.  This is a fine idea, and a timely one.  However, it is just another thing that requires more than a stray passing sliver of phone coverage.  This will require a solid bar of coverage for something on the order of three minutes.  There is no chance.  Around this time, the children have somehow become aware of our predicament.  This is perhaps our only proof that they are listening to us at all.  I take comfort at the fact that by my calculations, we are no more than ten miles from  what the smartphone told me was a gas station.  I may be old and out of shape, but I can make it ten miles, I tell myself.  The air is electrified as Jeffrey peppers us with scenarios and questions as to why we are in this predicament, questions about how to deal with it, what we will do if we run out, and how that will all play out.  A conversation ensues about drag, aerodynamics, and I explain that really the only thing that will improve our chances of making it (I did not think we were going to make it) is for Chelley to slow down a little, and run the motor at its peak efficiency.  This may be the first time in our lives that she took my advice on driving.  Jeffrey suggested that we turn off the air conditioning to help our cause.  I replied that it would not increase our gas mileage to not run the air conditioning.  Lauren suggested that we turn off the electronics. (We have a fair amount of electrical devices plugged in using the cigarette adapters)  I advised her that this too would have little to no impact, that caution with the accelerator was the only real avenue for extending our comfortable ride. I add that we have less than usual fuel efficiency due to our large bag of stuff strapped to the top of the car which is behaving with all the physical properties of a windsail.  I mention that we should have placed it up there in the other direction so that the thin side is at the front, thus giving some semblance of aerodynamics.  Chelley replies that I have no room to discuss it since I was busy or unavailable when she put it on the car. Shannon wants to roll down the windows, as another objectionable smell has wafted into her nostril.  We explain that rolling down the window will only further degrade our gas mileage.  She must suffer; in silence if possible.  I try to keep Chelley from worrying too much, as there is no particular advantage in worrying.  I tell her it will be alright.  And although I am not entirely sure how, I do believe it.  Many tense minutes later, we see the Shell station on the horizon.  We have never been happier to see one. In the intervening minutes, I had been able to get a lock on the exact location of this spot, and had the GPS loaded up.  It told us how many miles and minutes til our salvation.  It read like a thriller.  Each hill we coasted down I was happy I was not walking it, and every hill we accelerated up, I sensed would be the last we would make before the fumes we were running on were exhausted.  But somehow by the grace of God, we arrived.  In an act of sarcasm or stupidity, I will never be sure which, the smartphone prompted us to turn away from the Shell station.  After what seemed an eternity waiting for a pump to become available, and being cut off by a motorcyclist for the opening we had been waiting for, we finally got our chance, and I filled up, almost.  At its driest and emptiest, the most fuel I have ever put into that car is 25 gallons.  I put in just over 26 gallons when the pump stopped.  It stopped because it had reached its dollar limit, not fuel.  I'm not sure how much fuel that car holds, but as it turns out, its just enough to make it with a quarter tank from Williams, Arizona to BFE Arizona.

We journeyed on and spent the night in San Bernardino in a Priceline'd room at the Hilton.  The room was comfortable, although the sketchy surroundings gave us pause at our bag of stuff atop the car.  I reminded Chelley that it was only stuff, and easily replaceable.  That seemed to go over, because we all went on to sleep.