For the first fourteen years of my life, my dad drug us back and fourth across the country about a million times. We traveled so much It seemed like it took days between gas ups and rest stops. I suppose with out realizing it, I managed to see many roadside novelties that were the last of their kind.
Once when we ran out of gas on the plains, we sat on that stretch of highway for six hours before the next car came by. It was a man and his wife in a 1955 T-Bird. They gave me a ride to the next gas station about sixty miles ahead. The gas station was just about big enough for a folding chair and a small table. There were two small racks containing road maps and cans of oil. If you needed something more than that you were stuck.
There was actually quite a lot of these all over the country. Some were stucco like this one and others were metal, small enough to be put on a flat bead truck and delivered where ever you want. Today, I know of two that still stand near where I live. One sits in a remote canyon that is seldom traveled. It has sat there closed for at least 55 years. On occasion, I’ll cruise through that canyon in one of my hot rods and stop there. To this day, I find it hard to believe that such a small gas station actually once operated. These little station usually were located in bleak locations that seemed more like hell. In this particular case I did some exterior decorating that it desperately needed with plenty of greenery.