This falls into the, “I should have made a better decision”, bin. Yes, I was young and didn’t know how tenacious water can be in finding low ground, but those are excuses. This then is the second story in which I describe how I unwittingly “screwed” my brother.

I was driving an old telephone van purchased at roadside dealer selling used cars and trucks—four and two wheeled machines of all kinds. This predated the days when vehicles were categorized as “preowned”.   The van burned oil, though got me to and from.

Somewhere along that line, gas cap went missing.

Lord knows why I didn’t purchase replacement post haste, but I didn’t, and elected to stuff rag in tube thinking that would get me by. As sun gave way to clouds on hot southern days, rain would fall and a small amount of water made way to tank contaminating van’s fuel. I did finally buy another cap; however, the damage was done. I considered removing the tank to empty the watery petrol, but didn’t until much later. This required a careful monitoring of the level of gasoline I maintained. If I let it get too low moisture would be pulled into the engines cylinders and a jerking hesitation would follow.

I was living hand to mouth in this phase of life and my folks asked if I wanted to move home and start at university. This generous offer was gratefully accepted and called for two trips south to north and visa-versa. On the first, I packed up wolfhound and belongings and drove the thirteen hours and got her settled. On the second trip I was running low on cash and was too proud to ask parents for further assistance. As a result, three miles from home, with my gage dangerously low, the vehicle faltered and I pulled roadside. It was cold and I hadn’t prepared for a three mile jaunt. When I touched family’s front door my lungs burned and I required a moment of recovery before I was able to explain to father I would need his help fetching ailing van. He grabbed empty can from garage and was happy to convey me and empty can, first to fueling station, and then to disabled lorry. After a healthy high-octane drink, she started and ran like a top—we made it home with no further issue.

To prevent a repeat father suggested tank be removed and purged. I agreed and several old containers were used to house the tainted fluid. What does one do with bad gas? I didn’t know and slid storage vessels against wall. With fresh clean petroleum, old van had new lease on life and never looked back.

Unfortunately, my brother knew of none of these events and running low one day, decided to tap those same cans I had set aside. It wasn’t long before my sibling had pulled over when his sedan refused to run. One tow to repair shop later, my brother approached me and asked if I was aware of polluted gasoline stored so tidily in father’s garage. Sure I said, and explained history before posing question: You didn’t?…yes he answered before I completed question. “Bummer”, I responded in return.

We agreed if situation arose again, that said containers would be clearly marked.