Sunday 17th May 2009 – Missing the Train as Usual

Somewhere between Minot and Williston ND, I saw a sign pointing to a place which claimed to be the 'Geographical Center of North America'. I guess what that means is that if you took a perfectly accurate map, on perfectly stiff card, and cut it out perfectly accurately, you could balance it on a pin stuck through that place. Only I can't for the life of me remember the name of the place. And it wouldn't have mattered if I hadn't, later, kept spotting the odd seagull or two. Do small numbers of very adventurous seagulls transit between the Atlantic and the Pacific? What were they doing there, right in the middle of North America?

US 2 is a good, divided-carriageway road all the way across North Dakota. 'Nodding Donkey' oil wells are dotted all along it in Western North Dakota: now there's oil in tham thar hills. As you come out of the hills, with US 2 stretching straight to the horizon, you realise why this part of the world calls itself 'Big Sky' country. You can readily imagine you're seeing the earth's curvature. This is part of the Great Plains, which stretch a thousand miles down to Texas.

As we cross the border into Montana, the road changes abruptly to single-carriageway, and we move to Mountain Time, seven hours behind Greenwich. The first thing I see is a signpost telling me how far it is to Glasgow. I can hardly believe it. In fact it takes me quite a few seconds to realise I ought to go back and take a photo. For those of you interested in these things, here is clear proof that there is a speed limit in Montana.

Finding somewhere safe to park brings me beside one of those enormously long freight trains, and, since the camera is out, I cross the tracks to get a picture of it too. What I don't know is that crossing the tracks is going to cause me to miss something quite significant. The engineers are down on the track. The train is waiting for something. As I pack up the camera, the crossing lights start to flash, and the barriers come down. I hear a train whistle, but I can't see anything because of a row of old railway buildings. Suddenly, from behind the buildings, whistle blowing louder and louder, thunders Amtrak's Empire Builder, the train that brought me from Chicago to Minneapolis, and whose next stop is now Glasgow Montana. I knew from the timetable when it arrived in Glasgow. I should have known it was due. As I rush to get the camera out again, it vanishes behind the freight train. And the barriers stay down. I missed it. Bugger!

Almost all of the rest of the journey is through the Fort Peck Indian Reservation (Assiniboine and Sioux), along the Missouri valley, following the tracks of the Burlington, Northern, and Santa Fe. I am beginning to see names that have existed only on maps for the last year or so. Just beyond Wolfe Point, a sign tells me I'm entering Valley County, whose county seat is Glasgow. If Rocinante had not been on cruise control, I think I would have had to stop to gather breath. I'm almost there: will it be anything like what I was imagining as I confidently studied those maps.