I had expected to make a quick trip. This trip turned out to be anything but that. However during many unexpected delays and frustrations, I experienced portage. Traveling south from Idaho to Utah, the van's gas gauge registered empty. The next exit sign pointed to Portage, Utah. The blue and white interstate sign also read "gas." This seemed like an unlikely spot in the high mountain desert for portage to occur and for a service station to exist. However, I had no idea how far I'd have to travel before I would see again the comforting word "gas." Besides, the name Portage fascinated me enough to risk exploring this unknown place on my business trip. When I turned west off I-15 toward Portage, all I saw was a small, old white wooden station with two outdate rusty gas pumps in front. Stacked in front of the door were old wooden boxes with an assortment of glass soda bottles inserted in their slots. An old metal Coca-Cola sign hung on the side of the old building. From the van I couldn't tell whether the station was open. I still couldn't tell if anyone was around, so I went inside the dark store. Behind an old soda fountain, next to a far wall, a man was talking hurriedly on the wall telephone. He obviously had a lot to do and a lot more on his mind. The man shook his untrimmed long, reddish brown hair and beard in an impatient "no" as he emphatically told the caller that he had to go. This thin, ageless man approached the opposite side of the soda fountain. He stared at me with brilliant, glassy blue eyes. Then in a rushed greeting, he touched his blue and white cap. Mechanics' grease stained the cap and completely obliterated the name of the advertiser. < previous - next >