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“First, we are northwest across the crumbly red and dusty gray that is west Texas. The dirt flapjack of the Panhandle creases and falls away into the stony gash of Palo Duro Canyon. We sail past pocked oil fields dotted with towering flocks of huge wind turbines all pointing into the wind, their white blades spinning slowly, pointing our way west where the relentless gusts never cease.”
