So maybe we are cheating a little. Residents all over the Gulf Coast must wait in long lines to get gas. We have Bob. Everybody should have a Bob.
The Tribune’s famed sports reporter has joined our journey to serve as gas gopher and general errand runner. We give him high marks. While I spent the day repairing a flat tire and writing a story, Bob was out scheming to get us gas, braving long lines and fighting $20 gas rations.

Here is Bob Bellone’s account, in his own words, of his adventure in search of gas, at whatever price:

Paying outrageous fuel prices has been the least concern of our gang of five covering the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina.

Three, four, five dollars a gallon ... bring it.

Please, bring it!

We left Tampa a few days ago for the battered Mississippi Gulf Coast in a recreational vehicle and a pair of sport utility vehicles. The latter came with a warning: Return them with full tanks of gas or pay six-plus dollars a gallon for your laziness.

If these are one-way rentals, we lunge at that offer. Tracking down stories of hardship has been a cinch on this trip. Instead, we have exhausted ourselves in pursuit of service station owners willing to reach deep enough into our company coffers.

Saturday was a roller coaster ride. In the wee hours, we filled the tank of one SUV and a half-dozen large gas containers with liquid gold the company had delivered to Media General partner WKRG Television in Mobile, Ala.

Not a dollar was removed from our bulging pockets. Same deal for the other SUV—fresh off its journey through the former beach towns to the west—when the sun came up (we told you it would).

By mid-afternoon, the RV rolled in just as our luck ran out. Time to spread the wealth to other news teams.

Fair enough. We hit the road. As had been the case for days, operating fuel pumps were few and far between. Finally, I came upon one station with a short, fast-moving line. A $20 limit at these prices tends to do that.

My turn comes and the schmoozing begins. I greet them with an appreciative smile, call them heroes for being there for us and explain I’m with the media. All that was good for an extra $10 worth of regular unleaded.

Plan B: I return to the station, transfer six empty gas containers to an SUV and hand the keys to photographer Crystal Lauderdale. We’ll outsmart them with a fresh face and a different ride.

We return to the scene of the grime ... I jump out at a nearby motel and wait for the getaway car full of fresh gas. God doesn’t like sneaks ... the station attendants shut down the line as our gal pulls in.

Next stop, a station down the road also is moving things along for 40 cents more a gallon. Not our money ... we plead for 30 gallons and get the nod.

Eighty-seven dollars. Freedom isn’t free.

-- Bob Bellone