We’ve all been there, haven’t we? That moment when you know you’re pushing your luck with the fuel gauge, but you keep going anyway, convinced you’ll make it. Well, this is the story of the time I didn’t make it.
It’s a tale of poor planning, bad decisions, and some of the best laughs of my life. It’s a reminder that no matter how prepared you think you are, sometimes life has other plans.
And those plans might involve a muddy ditch.
It was around 2006, and I had just made a deal on a single digit kilometre 2008 Jeep Grand Cherokee 5.9 Limited with the big 29U package (deep slate for you car junkies). It was an SUV that, at the time, was a serious piece of machinery – low production numbers, insane power and, to top it off, terrible fuel economy. I was so happy to have found it.
The day I picked it up, I had an old friend with me—let’s call him “Kinger”—and our plan was simple: buy the Jeep, go visit another buddy of his, hang out for a bit, and then head home. We noticed the fuel gauge was teetering on empty, but we were in high spirits so we decided to push it and refuel later.
Mistake number one.
Hours passed by as we sat by our friend’s pool, chatting, laughing, and reminiscing like high school buddies do. Time flew and before we knew it it was 2 A.M. We got back in the Jeep and hit the expressway to head home. The roads were dead—nothing but us, the highway and, of course, the empty fuel tank.
Sure enough, halfway home the fuel warning light seemed to glow a little hotter, probably from me staring at it. Now, any reasonable person would think, “Alright, let’s find the nearest gas station.” But not us. No, we laughed it off and decided to push on, convinced we could make it home. After all, if you’re not living on the edge you’re taking up too much space, right?
Mistake number two.
About 20 minutes later, on the top of an overpass in the middle of nowhere, the Jeep sputtered and died. We were out of gas. I shouldn’t have been surprised—this thing got a whopping 19.6 liters per 100 kilometers. There we were, stranded in the dead of night with nothing but our bad decisions and each other.
We called roadside assistance, only to be told they’d be at least an hour. It was too late to call anyone we knew for help, and neither of us wanted to wake up friends or family to admit to our stupidity. So, in true genius fashion we decided to walk.
Mistake number three.
We hopped over the guardrail and started making our way down the overgrown grassy hill to the side road below, aiming for a gas station we remembered seeing about 1.6 kilometres away. Now, this wasn’t just any hill. It was a treacherous, rocky mess, hidden by tall weeds and covered in debris. Every step was a gamble—would it be a rock, a bottle or something worse?
And naturally, we were laughing the whole time, like a couple of high schoolers sneaking out past curfew. It wasn’t long before we realized the hill was turning into a soggy mess, and soon enough we were waist-deep in weeds. Then I spotted it: “Look out! POSSUM,” I yelled.
Kinger jumped forward in a panic, only to land right in a water-filled ditch. The next thing I knew, I was in the ditch too, laughing so hard I could barely breathe. There we were, two grown men lying in the mud in the middle of the night, soaked, laughing like maniacs.
Eventually, we dragged ourselves out of the ditch, through the weeds and made it to the side road, only to be greeted by a 2.3 metre fence. No doubt it was there to prevent idiots like us from falling into the ditch in the first place. We climbed over it, looking like swamp zombies, phones ruined, soaked and head to toe in mud. When we finally slugged our way to the gas station, our victory was short-lived—they had no gas cans.
Fantastic.
Out of options, I used their phone and called the one person I knew I could rely on at that hour—my younger brother. He showed up not long after, only to find us grooming the mud and sticks out of each other’s hair, looking like extras from “Gorillas in the Mist.”
He brought the gas can, and after what felt like a lifetime of laughter we made the ride of shame back to the Jeep, fueled up and headed home.
The moral of the story? Don’t run out of gas. But if you do, make sure you have a good friend with you, because sometimes the best memories are made in the mud.
Bob Manor is Co-Founder of Auto Auction Review and Founder of Can-Am Dealer Services. His website is BobManor.com.
