The Loneliest Highway in the World, they say. I don't know that it's lonely, but it's something. Something that goes on for a long, long time, graced on either side by shades of blue-grey and distant purple and hopeful bits of green; hawks and the occasional scattering of cows. M likes the desert colors, but they're not my favorite.
Halfway between Almost-Somewhere and Somewhere Else, which is a very great distance of sage and heat, is the town of Austin. It's not much of a town as towns go, but like you don't criticize the hygiene of the Eskimo who pulls you off the iceberg, you don't look Austin in the teeth. It's actually charming in just the sort of way I like - old buildings full of history but not yet renovated, or being renovated, or simply derelict. I was glad to see Austin and get coffee there, and to walk the single downtown street with M, and admire the general weirdness of the place. Oases are whatever you need, when you need it; I didn't know it, but I needed a vanilla soft-serve, so bless Austin and its hard-bitten inhabitants.
(waiting for my coffee in the restaurant) "Do you live here?"
"I sure do."
"If you live here, you just kind of stay here, right? Because it's so far from anything?"
"Well, Austin doesn't have a grocery store."
"You're kidding."
"No, we have to go to Fallon, 120 miles each way."
"Bet you don't eat a lot of salad, then."
"Nope."
