Fuel is like food. It nourishes the airplane's ability to accomplish the magnificence for which it was designed. Take, for instance, the feeling you get when your car has a full tank. Multiply that by a thousand and you have an idea of how that feels in your airplane. In our Cheyenne, which holds 366 gallons, you're talking about a house payment's worth of liquid sloshing around out there. On the long trek from Tampa, Florida, to Lebanon, New Hampshire, I keep a gimlet eye on the fuel gauges, the fuel totalizer and my ego. Those fltplan.com numbers better be close. The fuel gauge on the left seems to descend more than the one on the right for the first 600 pounds, but the needles catch up and line up when we get down toward empty; that is to say down where it really matters. I sometimes think of the airplane as getting hungry. By then, I am too.