Stopping for gas in Minnesota

The mini gets such great gas mileage, that I have stopped bothering to check the gas gauge when I stop for bathroom breaks. This can get me into a little bit of trouble when I'm in the middle of no where. This morning, shortly after stopping to use the bathroom, the mini gave it's low gas warning.  It then helpfully tells me that I have 75 miles left before an empty tank. Since I had just stopped, I drove blissfully past the proffered gas stations. I figured I would stop when I got my second warning, figuring that by then I could probably use the bathroom again. Well, the second bing went off and I was told I had 27 miles to go. By this point, I had already been looking for somewhere to stop. I was in southern Minnesota farm country, and the exits were becoming few and far between.  And most of those exits did not look like they would lead to any type of civilization.  When I hit 23 miles, I panicked and asked Vicki to find 'Fuel.' No problem, get off at the next exit and travel 5 miles to a BP. Great, because now I was down to 20 miles left. I got off the exit, traveled a mile and hit a detour -- in the middle of no where.  I turned as instructed and Vicki adjusted.  No problem, take the next right.  Well, the next right was a dirt road traveling between two farms.  18 miles.  I hesitantly turned.  This was a long dirt road. 17 miles.  "Where the FUCK am I?" I shouted at Vicki.  She was quite. 16 miles. "Fuuuuuuccccckkkk!" 15 miles. Wait, civilization -- sort of, anyway.  There was a train crossing ahead, a couple of buildings and most importantly, pavement! Well, I found a gas station that may be technically a BP, but is really what I like to call "Bob's Gas." And let me tell you, if the New York plates didn't call enough attention to me, the mini sure does.  Here in pickup country, there are not a lot of fuel efficient cars (ironic given the subject of this anecdote, I know). The other customer, filling up his tractor, was chuckling at me as I washed the dirt road off my back window, and of course used Bob's bathroom.

The best part of the story is that on my way back to the highway, Vicki told me to turn left past the railroad crossing onto Minnesota Route 6, where 5 minutes later I passed three enormous gas stations right before the highway entrance. I think Vicki likes to punish me.