We started off pretty much on time this morning, not more than 15 minutes off schedule. I congratulated myself as we drove off until I realized that I'd taken the wrong direction. The mapping program had indicated it was shorter and faster to take the back way out of Ojai via the 150 rather than traverse the 33 to the 101. I was still close enough to turn around and correct the mistake without losing more than a few miles, but I decided it was providence that I'd headed in this direction, given the twisting, climbing nature of the 150 and the absolute absence of light at 4:00 AM. So we kept on our path.
Perhaps that was the first of my errors in timing. Add 15 minutes for the late departure, add 15 more for the alternate route.
As you know, I'd replaced my tires not too long ago in preparation for this trip. Out of all the things I research before deciding or purchasing, I left this one to experience. I wanted 80,000 mile tires, and that was that. Had I but read a few forums on the Prius, I might have discovered how much the mileage dropped depending on the tires. Well, apparently the superior tread of my tire generates an equally superior amount of traction, and thus friction, causing my vehicle to strain that much harder to pull itself. My mileage plummeted from an average of 50 mpg to 46 mpg. Given that I still haven't' gotten over my disappointment with the discrepancy between the promised 55 – 65 mpg for the Prius, and that I had factored my gas savings in to how much I could afford to pay on a car, this new low was aggravating.Still, I'd driven cross country before and made incredible mileage in my old Honda Civic DX. That great little car had even gotten 450 miles on one tank of gas on one segment of the trip. It never lived up to that achievement again, but I certainly expected my Prius to equally ascend. Imagine my shock when instead the first leg of our trip resulted in 43 mpg! I comforted myself, mentally trying to calculate how much more the trip was costing me as a result, and kept on trucking. With much relief, but still disappointment, the next time I fueled up, Blohm managed 47 mpg.
Ah, yes. I am hereby referring to my Prius as Blohm. Blohm, meet my friends and blog readers. Friends and blog readers, meet Blohm.
On to the riveting tale of gas mileage. It turns to horror. Poor Blohm has never been required to perform more than the 25 mile commute to and from work, with rare exceptions to Los Angeles and San Diego. He has handled those challenges like a champ, without complaint. But this trip utterly confused him. We kept going, and going, and going. And what's worse, we were running the AC on a high setting! What were we doing to him?
When I tried to feed him, he wouldn't take it. I shoved the nozzle in the mouth of his tank, and it clicked off as though Blohm were full. I pulled it out a little, with the same result. So I perched it just inside the opening of the tank, and Blohm drank his fill. Then rebellion set in.
When I removed the fuel pump, Blohm spat the gas back out at me. I rushed around trying to wipe the vomit from his body, and to wash it from my hands, worrying that he might explode in his condition. He didn't. Instead he descended to even greater depths of rebellion. He gave me 35 mpg. 35 mpg! My Honda had pulled that without blinking. At $4 a gallon in Needles, I was in agony. If it hadn't been for the mighty fine fella at the Jack-in-the-Box there (begging pardon to my dear, male friends reading this – I wouldn't look, much less comment, if I weren't single,) the town would have left a more than bitter taste in my mouth.
I drove with cruise control on, pondering what this meant. Was my car mechanically failing – perhaps a form of young Alzheimer? I began to realize that Blohm sounded like he was really struggling, so I turned cruise control off and manually negotiated the speed, responding with human intellect to the demands of the terrain.
And Blohm recovered.
That darned cruise control was at fault. Perhaps forums would have told me this as well, or perhaps it is just Blohm's weakness that he cannot work under such a task master. Once I turned off cruise control, our mileage returned to an average of 47 mpg, and even hit 50 mpg one on segment of the trip!
It seemed Blohm had fully recovered. However, he did suffer a brief relapse the next day. I stopped to fuel my tank, and upon departing, found that my gauge read the same level of gas as before I had refueled – 3 bars short of full – roughly 150 miles traveled. I worried that I had deluded myself and only thought I refueled when perhaps someone was stealing my gas. Yet I hadn't left Blohm's side. I grew anxious that perhaps the gas was nothing more than vapors given the 102 degrees of heat, and that it did nothing to sate my car's appetite. Finally, I decided that Blohm was once again confused and failing to register the fuel level on his gauge.
The fuel level did not rise or fall for the next two refuelings. I began to scheme. Perhaps the gauge is a device inside the tank, and perhaps it had become fluid logged with that regurgitation episode. Maybe, if I allowed the tank to nearly empty, the gauge would dry out and recover.
So I drove, passing gas station after gas station and fretting that I might be consigning myself and my children to an extended stay in the wilderness. But sure enough, once we passed 175 miles on the one tank, the gauge began to fall. And when I refueled after 250 miles, Blohm registered a full tummy. We were back in good standing with each other. He had adjusted to the trip, just as my children had.
