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Smith Center to Champagne

Sunday, April 30

When we arose in the morning, there were fields reaching to the horizon. None showed that they would be sprouting corn noon. Just thousands of acres of tilled ground waiting for the magic of spring to get back to work.

We shared the city park with a fifth wheeler that looked more like permanent resident than overnight guest. A John Deere dealer was to our west, an International dealer to the south. The park had a few picnic tables, large trees and some lawn. A u-shaped driveway made it easy for us to get in and out. Across the road and to the east was a cluster of homes including the Sunrise RV Park. It was one of those picnic table, a barbecue, and a tree kind of parks. Not every spot had its own tree.

We had breakfast with the grizzled customers of Paul’s Cafe. It was a very Middle America meal heavy on the output of the local industry.

About 30 miles south of Smith Center, Carl’s map says, is the geodetic center of the coterminous 48 states. I’m sure there is some subtle differentiation between the rival claims of centeredness, which, in the good old days of knights and fair maidens, would have been sufficient to start an internecine intercity war. There are no obvious signs of such a contest, but we may not have known what clues to seek.

I’m sure “contiguous” vs. “coterminous,” and “geographic” vs. “geodetic” play roles in the dispute if there is one.

As we drove by on Highway 36, we looked north at the American nexus and saluted, but did not stop. We wanted to, Lord knows, but there was a difference of opinion on which was the proper road. You don’t just whip a u-ee and run back a quarter mile in one of these things.

Highway 36 is a two-lane road running on a berm so you can peer out over the vast fields and few homes as you drive. There are very modest shoulders, sodden with rain, into which our 18 wheels would disappear up to the rim if we tried to turn this thing around.

We’ll look for national bellybutton lint some other time.

We saw many abandoned homes along the way. Each home was a two-story, square building, often with a front porch, uniformly rundown. Some with autos and trucks equally abandoned. Some showed signs of having been painted once, but time and nature have had their way.

The Wheels Unlimited car lot had maybe 15 cars. That makes about 60 wheels, but I guess “60 Wheels” doesn’t make much of an impact namewise.

We passed numerous cemeteries beside the road. “Prarie Home Cemetery.” I swear I saw it. Garrison Keillor would be proud although I think the Prarie Home for which his radio show is named is farther north. We saw Catholic Cemetery. It was just down the road from Lutheran Cemetery. I was hoping to see the Jewish Cemetery and the Cemetery of Islam, but they weren’t there. Mount Hope was, though.

Another roadside attraction was a series of old grain harvesters, parked on the edges of the fields they once gleaned, derelect now. The fields are huge; the harvesters are small. It is hard to imagine gathering in the sheaves one narrow strip of grain at a time with that old harvester. Better, I’d suppose, than cutting it by hand.

The highway sign says K-199. I keep thinking, what a funny name for a town. It’s not on the map. I checked. Eventually, it comes to me, K-199, Kansas route 199. Doh!

A roadside sign proclaims “gunsavelives.com.” That’s all. Later, in Illinois, we see that it’s part of a Burma Shave-style campaign pushing the Web-site. The lead-in signs were missing.

We crossed the Missouri River at St. Joseph and suddenly we were in Missouri. The terrain begins to lump up a little with the hills rolling closer together. Water begins to pop up in ponds and streams a little more often. The grass is greener.

About two hours later, we cross the Mississippi River at Hannibel and, suddenly, we’re in Illinois. We failed to check in on the old Clements digs, but Sam’s been gone a long time now and he probably doesn’t mind that we missed the “birth place” of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. He wouldn’t say so if he was bothered by it.

Highway 36 has an elevated status through Illinois and, as long as it’s freeway, we stick to it. When it goes back to two lanes at Decatur, we turn off and head north for Champagne.

Carl has called ahead and has a reservation for the night at the dock in the spot closest to the trash commpactor. It’s a good spot. There is a water retention basin just off the western edge of the parking area. A goose is nesting just inside the fence surrounding the half-acre pond. In the morning, we’ll see her hubby chase off an egret. Otherwise, all is quiet. No trash is being compacted.

We dropped the trailer and scooted down to Ruby Tuesday’s for dinner, contemplated going to the movies, but walked over to see one of those huge everything-under-one-roof stores. We walked farther inside the building than we did outside.

Champagne to Morton