Pubs Chairman’s note: The following two articles were written in 1995. We were in MA prior to our move to NC. At the time I was Chairman of the MG T-Party our local T-Series MG club and wrote a monthly column called “Chairman’s Chatter”. There will be a follow up article in a forthcoming issue.

Corky

Chairman’s Wife’s Chatter

By Priscilla Guenther

The Chairman frequently leaves out things when he chatters. This is one of them:

A funny thing happened a few weeks ago as we were coming home from inner at Dave & Kathy Ahrendt’s. Corky uttered those famous words “Don’t worry, we have enough gas.” Then when we were 12 miles from home he said: “I don’t believe it, we’re out of gas!” I’ve heard those words before. In spite of the interruption-free 45 minutes this gave us to sit quietly in the dark and discuss the rest of our lives, it wasn’t “quality time” and I would prefer not to hear those words again.

For those of you who don’t make a habit of having gas delivered to your car at the side of the road but might be interested in trivia, I can tell you that the cost of this convenience has risen from $5.00 a gallon with a 5 gallon minimum to $13.00 a gallon with a 3 gallon minimum.

(Added May, 2014.) It occurred to Corky that the police might stop to see why we were parked on the highway. He didn’t have his billfold so we traded places. When the police came I was in the driver’s seat and got the blame for running out of gas!

The Proper Application of Fossil Fuels to Automobiles

By Corky Guenther

I’ve taken a lot of ribbing this year about running out of gas (petrol to the purists). Not that is hasn’t been deserved. What you need to understand is that I used to be much better at this than I was the last time. I haven’t made a career of this you understand. It’s just that I seemed to have a certain flair for it.

The first time I can recall happened sometime in the Fall of 1971. I know that’s when it was because I was driving a new 1971 MGB purchased in the Spring. Anyway, we were on our way from Baltimore to Rochester to visit a Navy buddy of mine who had moved there after his discharge

He later bought a TD, joined thr T-Register and the Western New York Center of the MG Car Club which is how I got exposed to thse cars, but that’s another story. Anyway, at about 9:00 PM, we were driving along Interstate 81 approaching Harrisburg, PA where I intended to purchase gas. However, my plan went awry when the engine quit. I pulled off of the highway and, since the engine wasn’t making any noise, I heard the now familiar PRRRRRRRRRRRT of the fuel pump attempting to push air through the fuel line.

I made some remark about meaning to stop for gas at the upcoming exit and got out of the car to raise the bonnet, signaling that there was a problem. When I got back in the car, I braced myself for the verbal onslaught I knew was coming. However, as breath was being drawn to start the assault, a fire orange Midget pulled off in front of us. I quickly got out of the car and went forward to greet my savior. He asked what the problem was, I told him and he said: “No Big Deal. I’ve got a gallon can in the trunk and there’s gas at the next exit just a couple of miles up the road”. So we poured the gas, I got in the car, fired up and pulled back on the road. Total down time? Maybe 10 minutes – Tops – including the time spent trying to convince the Good Samaritan that I should pay something for the gas. I should have learned my lesson. Right? Probably, except there wasn’t enough pain involved.

The next happening is a little more vague as to time. Fall, I think. It was in 1977 because I was driving a 1977 Plymouth Volare Station Wagon – another story I won’t bore you with at the moment. At any rate, I had been to Rhode Island with a sales rep from another company. He had driven while I left my car in the parking lot of a hotel. When we returned from the day it was after 11.00: PM and none of the stations within sight of I495 were open. I wasn’t that familiar with the locale so I kept going toward my apartment. The net net of the story is that the engine started sputtering as I turned into the apartment complex and died leaving me just enough momentum to coast into my parking place (engine driven fuel pumps don’t make that familiar sound). The next morning, I called a cab and went to get a can of gas. Now, I have to admit that it took more than 10 minutes. Especially the wait for the cab. But, you have to remember that while I was waiting, I was in my own nice warm apartment drinking coffee. Not exactly deprived.

No pain, no gain.

That brings me to the time that the TC went dry on the way to the GOF in Syracuse. We had driven it about 120 miles after picking it up from Chuck Troast; restoration complete. I hadn’t driven the car in about 15 years and Priscilla’s complete experience was the aforementioned 120 miles. We set out for Syracuse on Thursday morning. Bright, sunny, brand new car in hand; what could go wrong? We stopped for lunch at the “Scottish House of Beef” and before venturing back onto the Thruway, Priscilla asked if we had enough gas to continue. I popped the filler cap, peered into the tank and saw “Plenty” of petrol. So we entered the Thruway and proceeded west. About 10 miles later propulsion ceased. No Pops, Bangs, Vibrations or strange noises of any kind – just quit. As we coasted to a stop I could hear the PRRRRRRRRRRRT.

This one took a little longer. We were a couple of miles from a service area so I started to walk. A State Policeman stopped and talked to Priscilla, then proceeded to pick me up and take me to the service area. Back to the TC with a can of gas (you may have seen the pictures) and off to Syracuse.

Lesson learned this time: The low fuel light works but is not very bright (some would say neither was the diver)) and can not be seen when the sun is shining. Also, we always buy gas at 200 mile intervals.

The last time, in the Van, you’ve already read about under Priscilla’s byline. Well, I’d gone through a progression from ignoring the fuel gages in the “B” and “SW” (Hi Tech but inaccurate on the optimistic side) and the Low Fuel light (Low Tech and invisible) in the TC to ignoring both (the light comes on at about 1/8 full) in the Van.

Lesson learned this time. Probably.

I did hear, with some relief and just the appropriate amount of glee that Bill Burnham had run out of gas in his ‘vette recently. He had his cellular phone with him though and recovered easily. I learned that lesson too.

I haven’t run out in the Tracker, yet---.