We pick the boys up, they look brand new, we give the livery owner a spare bottle of bust head as a thank you wave goodbye and head East. We stay out of sight of the tracks cause we don’t want to see it go by. It’s hot even this early in the year rolling hills are to our South mostly barren covered with brown sand to the left you can see forever flat dimpled sand hills where a cactus or scrub Bush took hold and kept the wind from flattening the mound down. The ground is 4 to 6 inch sand fine grain over caliche a hard packed dry white clay like substance sometimes you cant dig it with a shovel. After a while we dismount water the boys then ourselves and just stand there in the ‘middr ale of gosh darn nowhere’ taking it all in In a word its wonderful the whole deal. Too bad in 150 years most people would think its crap if they ever even saw it. We pull into gage before the sun sets and gather a few old friends around a fire eat a few plate full of beans and tortillas a few pulls of bust head and spend the night in a line shack shared with the boys all of us on the bare floor with two feet of hay, Perfect.
At dawn, Rob, Steve Petey and Sheba get out of the line shack at Gage we all walk over to the trading post for coffee and vittles. Gage is on the Continental Divide. In the eastern part of New Mexico. The trading post building water supply tank is supposed to flow to the East on one end and the other end it flows Westward we never saw it for ourselves. There is a 30 foot high tank fed by a windmill to supply water for the locomotives. One stock tank is on the ground that is where all living things around got water including us four.
The town is dusty all structures Adobe flat roofs one or two rooms each scattered about. Some are plastered most bare outside and plastered inside. A small platform no depot. Looks to us just like rural hamlets over in Mexico.
Kenny Hampton runs the trading post we have known him for many years and see him whenever we get out this way. We ate breakfast with Kenny in 2019. I ask him how Randolph Hearst is doing in the Last Chance mine in Chance City about 5 miles South behind a small range of hills. “I go over there every few days bringing the camp water they have none all they do is mine all day and walk around thick tongued all night. I charge them a penny a gallon I guarantee one day soon they will all be broke and i won’t be bringing no dang water to the roundabouts there.” Your right Kenny, you always are. See you next trip and we point the boys South on the well worn trail to Chance.
