Bad Luck and Stupidity are Soul Mates

It was a typical Aussie summer day. That is to say, hot enough to melt lead. It was not exactly the kind of day you want to wear black. However, traditions aren't there for your comfort, and seeing that it was my father's funeral, I was not about to buck tradition for the sake of being comfortable.

The funeral itself was fairly straight forward, words were spoken, tears were shed. It was a bittersweet moment.

The following wake was also largely uneventful. Catching up with others, putting aside my diet because ... well, any excuse to skimp on your diet, right?

It was on the way home that things became interesting.

I am on my motor-scooter driving along the highway, looking forward to a nice cool drink when I get home. "Phut! Phut! Splutter, cough, bleh!" My scooter conks out. Am I out of fuel? The fuel gauge still has two bars. I try to start the engine but it fails. I am out of fuel. Or at least I hope I am out of fuel.

I look around to asses my situation. Yep, the middle of nowhere. Western Sydney, an urban desert of horizon to horizon suburban housing. I couldn't conk out in front of a fuel station? No of course not. That would be too convenient.

Looking back an forth, I cannot see any obvious destination, so I have to pick a direction. I decide to start going back the way I came, thinking that it is almost certainly the wrong choice.

So here I am, walking down the highway, pushing my motor-scooter, in full motorcycle regalia, wearing black, in the Sydney summer heat. Oh, And I sweat more than most people too, just so you can get an accurate picture in your mind. You can thank me later.

I move from shady spot to shady spot. Eventually I spot a Seven Eleven in the distance. Is it for real? Do my eyes deceive me? Is this just a mirage?

Well ... yes. Temporarily closed for upgrading.

"Nooooooooooooohohohohohooo."

Where is the next fuel station? Bugger that. Where is the next shady spot? This is a highway right? There has to be more fuel stations right? So, I strip as much as I can without getting arrested, I push on under the unforgiving sun.

Further along, I take a break in a shady spot. There should be a law requiring shady spots every ten meters, I'm thinking. Then along comes a hero. "Do you need a drink? I live nearby, I can get you a drink". He goes away and returns a few minutes later with a bottle filled with tap water and ice.

No nectar in the world ever tasted as sweet as that ice cold water. It's like pure ambrosia gliding down my throat.
If I was a woman, I would have tongue kissed him right then and there. But I'm not, and I don't swing that way, so I call him a true Bro, promise to pay it forward, and resume my journey.

Another shady spot and I take an extended break. I lay back against a tree, and think Will I get up again? Can I get up again? If I die here, will they scratch my name in the tree and bury me here? But I can't stay here forever. Someone will eventually shoo me away with a broom. So I get to my feet again and keep going.

I pass along Nepean Hospital. If I have a heart attack here, at least I'm next to the hospital. But that would be too convenient too.

I finally make it to the next fuel station. I look up with joy and hope and ....

OH COME ON!!!! YOU HAVE TO BE &$@*% KIDDING ME! THIS ONE'S CLOSED TOO?!!

"Waaaaaaahahahaaaaaaa."

What do I do now? I can't think of where the next fuel station might be. Well, it just so happens that my mom's house is now nearby. So ... plot conveniences can be realistic. Take that it's-a-small-world-after-all trope!

So, this lady has just buried her husband of sixty years, and now her lame ass son is going to knock on her door with his hand out. Great. However, being out of options, I proceed to do just that.

Push, shady spot, stop. Push, shady spot, stop. I keep going, and then, eventually, there it was. Mom's house. An oasis in the desert. I park my scooter and knock on the door.

No one's home.

That's okay. I sit down, and zone out. Sometime later my mom, brother and several other members of the family show up.

A brief recovery involving more ambrosia, and I relate my predicament. A quick trip to another fuel station (an open one this time), to pick up a tin of fuel, and I'm saved. I open the tank to pour the magical liquid in.

"Huh! There looks like there's still a lot of fuel in there." I say to my brother.

"You mean to tell me that you didn't check?"

"Umm .... Umm ... I assumed the fuel gauge was broken."

It turns out that the scooter was just overheated, and if I had moved to the nearest shady spot and stayed there a while, it would have been good to go.

So the scooter can start again, and everything is fine. I thank everybody and wave goodbye.

"You could have just called someone too."

"Umm ... Okay."

So, the adventure was over. I certainly got my exercise for the day. And of course what story would be complete without some morals.

1. Never give up
2. Don't underestimate the importance of family
3. Check your fuel, and maybe call someone. But where would be the adventure in that?