Page 18 - I have lost my sense of time

The sun is sinking below the horizon. No real land marks to guide me. So, to look at the chart is almost useless. To turn right or left is almost as useless. I continue north by northeast. Getting home has taken over me. The light colored grasses are changing to dark colored grasses. The blue gray sage brush has changed to an even darker gray. There are no more shadows. The sun is down below the horizon now. The sun, like the compass, is like a light house that helps the ship's captains guide the ship from the shallows. I am for sure out of landmarks even though this country is more familiar than where I have been. I haven't considered time as measured by a clock. I guess I only considered time by the shades of sunlight from dawn to sunset. Now, there is no more daylight. I have lost my sense of time. The only landmark that will let me know that I am in Montana is Highway 212, a two lane highway that runs from Belle Fourche to Miles City. I can hardly see the compass, but I can still see the landscape below the airplane. If a dirt road would show up, I think I could still see it. Visibility to where I am going is narrowing fast, colors from day into night have changed as though controlled by a rheostat. Still, there is almost enough light that if I can get to the highway I would see it. There is just enough contrasting color to tell me if I am turning left or right. There is a dim light ahead, probably a radio tower. I will head for it as it is not too far to the right of my course. It is my guiding light. I think to myself that if something should happen and I accidentally wreck this airplane that someday when this light goes out that whoever should be the one to replace the light might accidentally find my airplane. Now, I see a car light. The angle I see it from the nose of the plane lets me think it could by Highway 212. If I can only get to it before complete darkness sets in...