Practically in as many days, I have moved 3 time zones - Pacific to Mountain, now in Central time.
I am driving across the Great Plains, where a huge proportion of the food is produced. It is wheat and cattle country. More or less completely flat as far as the eye can see, with the landscape dotted with grain elevators, and then there is the all pervading smell of... errr... cows.
Now I know what the cruise control is for. I have been on Highway 50 the whole day. The concept of miles now seems pointless. I have also given up on the map more or less, and am now navigating by the sun. It is behind me so I must be heading east.
When I eventually hit Dodge City, I am expecting a big place full of cowpokes. It is a smallish place desperately trying to turn itself into a theme park. I halt and meet Betty in the Boot Hill Information centre who patiently answers my questions and asks where I am from. I am then requested to push a pin into the european map she has set up. Every time you undertake a transaction in Boot Hill they ask where you are from. I have a load of pamphlets thrust into my hand and am asked to return early tomorrow for a guided tour round town. Everything seems to have a wild west twist; then again, this is/was the wild west. Not sure it is that wild now. However, everyone is terribly friendly and I am also beginning to experience a certain curiosity from the natives. This never happened on the west coast. Takes time to get to my motel as due to roadworks, traffic is moving slowly on Wyatt Earp.
As I check in I notice all the pictures are paintings or photos of cowboys and there is a tv in the lobby showing old cowboy movies or episodes of "Gunsmoke". Think it's time to freshen up a little then I guess I'll mosey into town...