All things considered, I may not be in the middle of nowhere quite yet. But I am in the Geographical Centre of North America: Rugby, North Dakota. One for the Pub Quiz enthusiasts amongst us. Doesn't look particularly central to me, but I won't argue with the U.S. Department of the Interior. And they have gone to the trouble of building a nice cairn.
Since Fargo, North Dakota has grown on me, just a bit. At first it was too flat with nothing to look at, and then (to contradict what I'd written) for the past two days I've been cycling up a seemingly continual incline into a side-wind that likes to act like a head-wind. Not fun. Plus the food hasn't been too great. But I've resigned myself to the wind, slowed my pace, and started looking around with a bit more interest. The landscape is green and gold: endless fields of grass and recently cropped wheat. A few abandoned farms, a few working farms. A few small lakes populated by ducks and surrounded by bullrushes. A few trees. And everywhere, the sound of crickets. Wildflowers grow beside the road, and hundreds of small white butterflies flutter amongst them. Today I passed an enormous, beautiful field full of cornflowers with a single huge oak tree in the centre. If I'd have painted it, you'd have thought I'd made it up.
A couple of days ago I overtook a tractor. I don't get to overtake things very often, so I wanted to mention it... It was old and red like a die-cast Dinky toy, and looked splendid. As I cycled past, I wanted to shout "nice tractor!" but I was worried the driver would think I was taking the Mickey or, even worse, challenging him to a race.
