4,943 miles (9.3 gallons @ $2.899)
So the Hess station just off the highway really kind of sucks anyway; not just because it only has one diesel pump—that’s predictably taken either by a non-diesel car or by a large truck, and that has no card swiper on it thereby requiring two separate trips all the way into the store in order to buy fuel from it—but also because it is pretty much impossible to get in and out of at rush hour. I pulled in because I was running early and had noticed that the fuel was slightly cheaper than usual, and after filling my two-thirds empty tank I hopped in and pulled out. So far, so (surprisingly) good. Then a van pulled in just in front of me and stopped, blocking the entrance; and a guy very, slowly, got, out, of, the side door, clearly being dropped off (for work? nearby?), and then the van very, slowly, drove into a position that somehow not only blocked the other cars waiting to get out of the Hess lot, but also blocked the van from moving forward; and clearly this van wasn’t about to move backward quickly, nor predictably, so I waited a minute. After about a minute and a half the driver of the parked car that had been blocking the van from driving further forward returned from within the store and pulled out, thereby freeing the van to creep, forward, a little—and just like that, I was free. My zen-like patience and the beautiful weather had saved the day once again and I soon arrived at work, mysteriously not the slightest bit frustrated.
The weather has been so beautiful that I’ve taken to rolling down all the windows and opening the sunroof whenever I go anywhere, which has the added benefit of preventing me from leaving anything in the car lest it blow out. It’s so clean, in fact, that I drove four of us to lunch today. Brazilian takeout. Only one of us spoke conversational Brazilian Portuguese, but his was the order that nearly got messed up. Alas. Then we drove back to the office and ate waaaay too much meat. Good times.
I took the car in for its three-month courtesy check this afternoon. Despite it having been driven about five thousand miles they (and the owner’s manual) insist that the oil is only halfway to needing to be changed. I waited fifteen minutes—coding and listening to the dealers in hushed tones telling one another party and woman stories— they inflated my tires and inspected the car well enough to print a document saying they had done so; not a negative word to report.
The stink described earlier this summer has dissipated. Hopefully it won’t return when closed-window driving season returns this winter.