I’ve been getting up astoundingly early to go for hikes because 5AM is the only time I don’t resent being outside in the Phoenix heat, and they keep telling me vitamin D is really important. Also, I don’t think my body ever really transitioned out of the sleep schedule of a newborn.
A couple of days ago, I had only gotten about three hours of sleep but decided to still go hike because it was a new trail with a couple of new hiking pals and, frankly, I was excited. It was one of those mornings where my alarm woke me up from what felt like actual hibernation.
The trail was indeed a spectacular one. I’m feeling pretty glad we made it there since I definitely did not pay attention to traffic signals and tried to take the crosswalk during a red light.
It started off fairly level, and I was feeling pretty good. Halfway through, the elevation gain began along with my disorientation. I was having some kind of out of body experience – I think due to lack of sleep – but I kept up with the pals even whilst brief bouts of dizziness abounded.
A few minutes from the top, I saw a slab of rock and laid down, quietly. I melodramatically told the fellas to go on without me. One graciously remarked, “The summit is like 50 feet away….”. I looked up from my stupor. Sure enough. I pulled myself from the rock and took the remaining 50 feet to the summit, accomplishing the morning’s task.
Wish I could say the melodramatic rock sprawl was the most eventful part of the morning, but it just wasn’t. The denouement of the morning happened at a gas station, the most normal of all the normal places in the land.
I’d let my tank get to E, so I explained that I had to fill up, but by fill up, I meant put $10 in and call it a morning. Budget stuff and all. They heckled me big about why I wouldn’t just fill up now and adjust my September budget so I didn’t have to come back in three days. It’s a Jeep thing. After bantering back and forth a bit, I realized that actually made sense, but I still only upped it to twenty.
The thing is, my car has been having some mad gas pump struggs. It pops off every 15 seconds like a chihuahua claiming it’s territory. Honestly, it’s infuriating, but I digress.
My friend came out to see what the problem was and observed a perfectly timed mishap. As I pulled the gas lever, my car rejected the gasoline, spraying fuel on my friend, myself, and the ground. (I was peeved by this, but more annoyed about the dollar of gasoline I’d never get back.) The thing is, my friend is a really good dude and just glanced my way briefly, asking quietly, “What just happened?” I chuckled in embarrassment, uttering some what the “hecks” under my breath and pretending this was not a “me” problem and completely a gas station problem. I knew it wasn’t. So did he. I knew he knew.
My comrade still in the vehicle came out to see what the debacle was about and completed the gas pumping endeavor since I can’t have nice things. We drove away into the distance, the smell of gasoline lingering in the air. (And on our clothes. And skin. And my car.)
Schraaawkward 