Late in the evening in back-road America, you tend to pick the
motels with a few cars parked in front of the rooms. There's nothing less
appealing than an empty courtyard, with maybe Jeffrey Dahmer or Norman Bates
waiting to greet you in the reception office. The all-night clerk at the
Lincoln motel (three cars out front) in Austin, Nev., who checked me in at
around 11.30 p.m. a few nights ago, told me she was 81 and putting in two
part-time jobs, the other at the library, to help her pay her heating bills,
since she couldn't make it on her Social Security.
She imparted this info without self-pity as she took my $29.50,
saying that business in Austin, Nev., last fall had been brisk and the 57
motel beds available in the old mining town had been filled with crews
laying fiber-optic cable along the side of the road, which, in the case of
Austin, meant putting 20 feet under the graveyard that skirts the road just
west of town.
Earlier that day, driving from Utah through the Great Basin
along U.S.-50, billed as "the loneliest road," I'd seen these cables, blue