Land of a thousand lakes

Today I crossed the whole of Minnesota. The nickname is right. Nothing but lakes and forest. You often don’t know where the lake begins and where the forest ends. The whole landscape reminds me a lot of Finland. Only much further. At some point there was ice here. And the water just stayed there. The roads are infinitely long and infinitely straight.

I’m travelling at my usual 70 miles when I suddenly notice something very ominous on the horizon: The road doesn’t just disappear into the sky. It seems to disappear sideways. The unfamiliar sight makes my hands clasped comfortably behind my neck start to sweat. What is that?
I rub my eyes. I try to hold on tightly, grabbing the first object I can in panic (a round thing between me and the speedometer). My heart starts to race. What should I do?

The situation seems completely hopeless and increasingly threatening. The thing gets closer and closer. Sheer horror. Just before I leave the road, a flash of inspiration saves me: this thing coming towards me has a similar shape to the thing I’m clinging to desperately. I move the thing in my hands and am amazed to realise that you can apparently use it to influence the direction of travel. At the last second, I steer my vehicle in the right direction.

The road is the destination. There are no waterfalls in International Falls on the Canadian border. No forks for pizza in Big Forks. In Sunny Bay, a huge storm front is approaching from the north. The roads are steaming. After 8 hours I arrive in Bemidji. A thousand lakes and no wind. After an hour I find a motel for $50 – the cheapest today. As I write, I wonder about the people who suddenly invade the car park like locusts. Solution: The Independence Day fireworks are taking place right under my nose.

To fall asleep, “Shooting USA” is on TV. Sponsored by Smith and Wesson. A narrator like a fairy-tale uncle. Very soporific voice, slow and clearly articulated. So that even the most stupid gun freak gets it. Well then: good night!