no landing marks with which to identify my location. So I decided to follow the same course that I had held over my last-known location, a little south of west.
Somewhat to the north, a highway with many busy cars soon became visible. I turned to fly beside that road. So many cars must be going somewhere, and I felt I would like to go there, too. In all the vast rolling country below, those automobiles were the only signs of life except an occasional ranch house or oil derrick at intervals of many miles. I chased that highway across the state into New Mexico, passing only a few unnamed towns, and then, with misgivings, I watched the cars scatter for their homes. The road and its traveling population simply oozed away, and I was left lonely and lost.
The sun began to sink. The purple haze of the dry countries rose on the horizon. I desired food. My plane desired gas, or would shortly. I wanted very much to get somewhere before dark.
A small cluster of houses grouped around an oil well, swam into the darkening landscape below me. Cautiously I circled low to see the condition of the ground, and the single wide flat thoroughfare of the little community. Convinced that Main Street was the best visible place to land, I sat down at one end. At high altitudes where the air is thin, it is necessary to make a pretty fast landing, so I am afraid I broke speed ordinances as the Avro Avian rolled smartly through the heart of the city.
