It was an unsettled time of life for him, a time for discovery. He had earned a college degree, served his stint in the U.S. Army and had a steady job. The man lived in a comfortable room at the home of an aged widow who rented her three upstairs rooms to young men. As a new hire, he had much to learn in his job. He nevertheless felt secure in his employment, but he was far from his familiar environment. He sorely missed the mountains where he grew up. He would settle for some fair-sized hills. He longed for the company and companionship of a woman, her comforting touch.

The man had courted a vivacious, blue-eyed girl with silken blond hair as fine as the web of a spider while at the University and had corresponded with her ever since. He secretly hoped to marry her one day, but hadn’t felt ready to make the commitment. He knew he faced the military draft and couldn’t face the possibility of leaving behind a young widow. Besides, the girl’s stepmother didn’t approve of the girl’s association with a common hillbilly. No doubt she had some other bum in mind for her. The man had another even greater obstacle; two hundred miles separated the pair. In the days before the Eisenhower Administration and interstate highways the trip took seven hours or more on two-lane roads. The trips were too infrequent to suit either of them.

One of these trips seemed to be inspired by the fine fall weather and a good forecast for the weekend. The aroma of wood smoke in the cool air from someone’s fireplace, a yellow leaf on the sidewalk, the sound of boys playing touch football, and a taste of cider all conspired to urge him to travel. The journey was pleasant, if long. Broad fields of golden soybeans lay by the northwest Ohio roadside as well as cornfields being harvested. Moving south through towns and villages into a terrain of rolling hills where Jack Frost had been with his brush, leaving his unfinished work among the trees, then on to the almost never-ending streets of Cincinnati he traveled. Once over the Ohio River he was again among the foothills where Jack Frost had just barely begun his work. He wanted to stop and find a trail through the woods but he resisted and went on and soon came to rolling pastures with white rail fences and thoroughbred horses beyond.

Lexington at last! He and his girl dined and danced the evening away. They went for a drive in the country the next day, viewing the horse farms and small towns around Lexington. Late in the afternoon they headed back to her home. They were still a long walk from town when his car ran out of gas. 

“Out of gas in broad daylight,” she said, “Poor planning. Fortunately there’s a farmhouse right over there. There’s a tractor near the barn; maybe they will sell you some gas.” 

“It’s surely worth a try,” he said, and went to inquire. The farmer was very kind and supplied a gallon or two of fuel. The pair thanked the farmer and went on their way. After a snack the man delivered his girl home, bid her adieu, bought gas and headed back to Ohio.

All went well on his trip back until he passed Dayton and he noticed his gas gauge that registered nearly empty. He began watching for an open service station. It was late and most stations were closed. He drove through Troy and around town burning his gas without finding one. The next town was Piqua ten miles up the road. The gauge showed empty but he drove on ever hopeful of finding gas. He drove into town on fumes. He was sure that he would spend the rest of the night parked on the street when he spied a sign against the night sky that looked like GULF. He approached and—eureka the place was open. He dragged in home at about two o’clock in the morning. He was not discouraged, just glad that he made it home, but still unsettled.