Almost ran out of gas in Oregon

A friend and I rented a car for a coastal trip and planned to return to our hotel after dark. I knew we needed fuel, so I planned to stop at the next station. We followed the GPS onto a dark, winding road surrounded by trees and eventually reached what the map identified as a gas station. It was completely dark and empty.

The car showed that we had only a short driving range left, while the nearest confirmed station appeared much farther away. As we sat trying to decide what to do, another car pulled in. A middle aged man and his wife were inside. He asked whether we needed fuel, where we had come from, and where we were going. He said he owned the closed station and directed us to another station a few miles away. He gave us his telephone number and said to call if we did not make it, offering to rescue us.

We thanked him and drove away. At the next station, a young attendant came out to help. He told us there were many weirdos around that night, then described a dispute involving his brother and a drug dealer hiding nearby. We tipped him, said goodbye, and continued toward the highway. My friend called the first man to say we had reached the station.

A short time later, while we were driving toward the hotel, the man called back. He asked where we were from and when we were leaving. He also said his name was Sam and that he had written a book about being wrongly accused of a notorious murder. My friend looked up the book and became visibly ill. The author had once been identified by a victim as a possible suspect in a serial murder case, although another person was later convicted using DNA evidence. Around the same period, the man had been convicted of abducting and assaulting a young woman in the area.

We spent the next couple of days unsettled, wondering what might have happened if we had accepted his offer to rescue us. Nothing more came of the encounter, but I still think about how fortunate we were to reach the next station before needing help.