A Life Wasted

On The Road Again

The gas station I walked to was a local deal with an extensive convenient store and snack bar. There were several vehicles in front of the store, but one of them was an old two-tone Ford F-150 pickup truck with the motor running and no one in it. I walked straight to the truck, got in, reversed it then pealed out of the parking lot. Unknown to me, the County Sherriff had left that location about a minute earlier. After spending all night out on the road looking for me he had met his dad at the store for coffee. The Sherriff's dad was sitting at a table inside the store just on the other side of the window when I walked by. He'd already hit the speed dial on his phone to call his son the Sherriff before I stole the F-150. His son answered on the first ring so his dad gave him a blow by blow account as I drove out of the lot. Thirty seconds after I stole that old truck an all-points bulletin (APB) went out on it and the County Sheriff, who was only two blocks away, was now hot on my trail.

I didn't know any of this until I read about it in a newspaper article a week later. The article summed it up something like this: "With every police car in central Illinois looking for one pickup truck you would think they could find it. It boggles the mind that they couldn't find him in that truck."

I have to agree with that assessment. Given that they immediately knew that it was me that stole that truck there could be little doubt that they would have an immediate and total search for that truck. That area of the country is flat and open. Very little woods. All open farm land with straight roads in every direction. They should have been able to catch me. I still can't believe I got away that day.

As I drove away from that store in the freshly stolen Ford I thought it was a stupid thing to do, but I also realized I had little choice. I knew it would be called in and the cops would be after me. I figured the Sheriff's Deputy from the Wal-Mart had already called in my sighting so I knew the hunt for the truck would be intense. My first thought was to find a place to hide the truck and get out of it, but I immediately discounted this idea. I could barely walk. The thought of having to go it on foot again was such a horrible thought I decided that no matter what happened I would stay with the truck.

The gas station was on the same four lane road that had blocked my path the night I escaped so in a matter of seconds I crossed those same railroad tracks. I was headed north as fast as the old truck would carry me. The first cross road I crossed was a left turn, so I turned on it and drove west. I took the next crossroad with a right turn, going north now. I made several turns like this but always pointing away from the town I'd started in going west and north, but more west than anything else. I watched my rear view mirror close and never saw a police car.

The heat had already been on full and the cabin was warm, so for the first time I could feel something besides cold. Ironically it was too hot for me so I turned the heat down. When I did that I checked the gas gage. I swore when I looked at it. The gage read a hair above empty. Looking around the dash I spotted a fuel selection gage, so I flipped it. When I did the gage dove below empty. The second tank held less gas than the first. I flipped it back to the first tank and the gage went back to the same sad spot just above empty. For the first time I felt bad about stealing the truck. The guy had to be broke to have two empty tanks while sitting in a gas station. It was a surprise he left it running. This made me think that perhaps the truck had a battery or starter problem.

None of this was good, but at least I was moving. As long as I had wheels I had a chance.