HOUSTON - As Hurricane Rita approached, treacherous winds whipping before it Friday afternoon, Selvyn Lucas, his wife and their parakeets could not get out of its way.

They were 35 miles north of downtown Houston - in the kingdom of gasoline - and had been stranded almost two days for want of a few gallons of gas.

"You panic," said Lucas, as a gathering wind tugged at his clothing. "You don't know what to do. No food, no rest rooms, no place to go."

As Hurricane Rita barreled toward land Friday, thousands of motorists were still stalled by the side of roadways, having run out of gasoline after idling in traffic jams scores of miles long.

At the urging of government officials, many of them had evacuated Houston on Wednesday. But almost immediately, motorists on highways leading north or west of the city had run into a wall of traffic and were unable to move.

Lucas had left his home in Alvin, near Houston, at 6 p.m. Wednesday, having

packed his car with a few belongings. A cage containing pet birds sat on the backseat, wedged beside a cooler that had held bottled water until it ran out. They were bound for Dallas and safety.

But after inching north along a jammed Interstate 45, they had gone only 35 miles by 7 the next morning.

They ran out of gas across from a Citgo service station, one of many stations along evacuation routes that had run dry.

A search for fuel proved futile. So, surrounded by motorists in similar straits, they hunkered down together.

The interstate leading north of Houston was littered with the detritus of escapes fallen short.

A hitchhiker, his bags clutched around him, sitting by the side of the road.

A child seat discarded on the highway's shoulder, perhaps too large to fit in a car crowded with evacuees.

A lone filling station still in operation, besieged by lines of cars that stretched hundreds of yards toward the horizon.

Mile after mile of abandoned cars by the roadside, their engines dead for lack of fuel.

At least one elected official expressed disappointment that, with more than 1 million people trying to flee the storm, evacuation plans apparently had not made provisions for ensuring that gasoline was available.

"The plan that should have been implemented by state authorities acting with federal authorities probably wasn't accurate," Rep. Sheila Jackson Lee, D-Texas, said in a broadcast interview.

But a sense of community developed among many of the stranded. People shared water and food and encouragement.

Jose Joya, 46, joined one of the communities of the roadside stranded when he found himself stalled in his '93 Tercel with his six teenage children.

Hours of idling in temperatures that reached 100 degrees had rendered his fan belt useless. His children had slept where they could Thursday night. His 15-year-old son, Roberto, spread a blanket on the highway shoulder. Another son had spent a few sleepless hours on the roof of the car.

On Friday morning, Lucas, socket wrench in hand, went over to see if he could do anything about Joya's fan belt.

He couldn't. A new belt was needed. Auto supply shops along the highway were closed, their windows guarded by sheets of plywood.

Help finally arrived shortly after noon Friday.

The state Transportation Department on Thursday began sending pickup trucks with fuel tanks to rescue motorists.

One by one, hour after hour, emergency workers funneled gasoline into dry tanks, after first checking to make sure motorists were not hoarding.

Traffic officials also opened inbound lanes to outbound traffic.

City buses were dispatched along the highways to carry motorists whose cars could not be started to shelters.

The gridlock that had snared motorists began to move.

By noon Friday, an emergency fuel truck had reached the Lucases' car. At about the same time, someone said they had been able to contact someone in a neighborhood near the highway who could provide a spare fan belt for Joya's car.

Cars rumbled to life.

People who had hunkered together for two nights said brief goodbyes, roaring off toward uncertain futures.