"It's like cycling on the moon, but everything is covered in wheat." - Owen Jones. That more or less summed up this morning. We imagined that we were in something akin to the Truman Show, and we were cycling along a treadmill as the scenery did not change. Faint mountains in the distance lingered static for hours as we rode towards them. The road was straight for 40 miles, with rolling hills. We were surrounded by wheat fields, barley, peas and lentils. A couple birds of prey broke the boredom.
We stopped for lunch in Havre, and ran into a tourer we had leapfrogged the other day. We rode with him for a while in the afternoon. His name was Renee (I am not 100% on the spelling), he was a German teacher on a gap year cycling alone. He was faster than us and soon pulled away. We would pass him later where he waited by the roadside to say goodbye as he was stopping early.
We rode on, with Jakes' music on to break the monotony. We dropped down along Milk River, and the scenery became marginally less boring, but emphasis on marginally. By 1830 we made the campground, free of charge outside the town hall, and with a swimming baths next door that allowed us to use their showers.
We are sat here now chatting to an inquisitive young man named Robin, 8 years old, who is local to the area and very curious about our camping stuff and how we say things differently in the UK. He also had many suggestions for road games to keep entertained.
The mosquitoes are getting overbearing so I think it is time to retreat to the bar.
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