A Union Pacific freight train rolls through Clear Lake . These days it is just a gravel road crossing a highway. Brittle hedges define rectangular shaped spaces of past habitation. The structures are gone; tin cans, broken glass, concrete shale and nails are the visual remains of decay. A local museum may display a book or two on the place, but no historical marker describes the lives of the vanished inhabitants.
The road could be a short cut out to US Highway 50 if not for dusty vibrations and scrapes with sage on turns and straight-aways in grey ruts of mud. I know from experience. Acceleration and luck are the only things that kept me from being stuck out in a sea of sage a long way away from any house or highway.
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