Running Out of Gas in a Reykjavik Snowstorm

After Fabiola and Queenie moved from Njarðvík to Kópavogur (Reykjavík), Michelle and I would take turns picking them up on Saturdays. The teens would spend the night with us and attend church with us on Sundays, before we brought them home on Sunday evenings. Our children, younger than the teenage girls, loved having them over on Saturday nights in the guest room. The girls always showed incredible kindness to our family.

One cold Sunday night, I drove them home in our blue 2005 Subaru Forester. That week, our other vehicle, a nine-passenger Toyota HiAce, was in the shop for repairs. As I passed the exit to Grindavík, about a third of the way to their house, I noticed the gas light come on in the car.

I thought that since the girls lived in town, near a gas station, I would drop them off first, then fill the tank. There would be plenty of gas to get me there.

After dropping them off at their house, I drove onto the main road heading toward the gas station. A snowstorm had started, naturally, a blizzard. Right around a half mile before the gas station, our trusty Subi died. I tried several times to get it started. I called Patrick, who was home, forty-five miles away, with no van to help me. There was nothing he could do, but he needed to know I might be a bit late.

After sitting there for a few minutes, I decided to try to get the car to roll. Alone, I could not push it from behind. In my long jean skirt, on the side of the road, I put the car in neutral, opened the driver’s door, and stuck my left leg outside. With my face snow-blasted and my right hand on the steering wheel, I started pushing with my left leg. I imagine it would look like a skateboarder pushing off, just in a Subaru. The road was flat for about a hundred yards before it began to decline, ending at a gas station just after the exit. If I could get it rolling just a little, I figured gravity would take care of the rest.

I pushed and pushed with my left leg, desperately trying to get some movement. A budge, a rock, and a little roll led to motion. My left leg kept pumping. Once I hit the decline, I jerked my leg back into the car and shut the door. Gravity had worked. The car started rolling toward the gas station. Success!

Except, I hadn’t calculated that the rolling would get faster and faster as I went downhill. Did you know that brakes don’t work on modern cars if the engine isn’t running? Until that moment, I didn’t. Formally, I could not get the car to roll, now I could not get it to slow down. As I barreled toward the gas station in my car, which was essentially a projectile, I mashed the brake pedal with both feet.

About the time I reached the level gas station parking lot at the bottom of the hill, I thought of pulling the emergency brake. By some miracle, no doubt causing my guardian angels a bit of grief, I drifted into the gas station, missing the cars and the pumps. My sweet Subi landed softly right next to a pump, on the right side to pump gas.

I don’t think the other gas station customers knew how close they had all come to their demise in a flaming blaze of glory that snowy night. I took some deep breaths, walked shakily to the pump, filled the tank, and drove home.