Rubber duck

 I know this is not true, but it has acquired urban myth status. The NHS and Indian Railways are two of the world’s biggest employers. The third big one is, er, whatchamacallit, you know, ugh, dammit, tip of my tongue, so nearly there. Nope. Lost it. Well we met a fair proportion of the third one on the motorway heading in our direction. You know when a freight train goes through a station and you think, after twenty-five bogeys have gone past, must be nearly there now and you continue to count and count, you look up the line and it’s forever, trundling past, clickety-clack, clickety-clack, clickety-clack, well, that’s what we experienced today. The longest, um, can’t use the word, so you’ll have to guess, we’ve ever seen:

Ah, breaker one-nine, this here’s the Rubber Duck

You got a copy on me, Pig Pen, c’mon?

Other news. We had intended to add an extension to our trip and travel through the mountains to our destination. In accordance with regulations our travel company passed this idea up the chain but for reasons we can only guess the plan didn’t get approval. So, we set off expecting a dull featureless drive through grey, stony, desert on an excellently smooth tarmac dual carriageway. The latter was true, once again, (we are enjoying the belt and road investment) but it was no longer grey. The place opened up into green, cultivated land with chillies, cotton, corn, Chinese cabbage and cassava (I made the last one up; alliteration being too tempting). There was water, in contrast to the multiple dry river beds of the first few days in China; there were villages and towns of a normal size, which appeared to have grown organically rather than being contrived on a planner’s easel and built for millions. It felt normal. But then after a few hours we came across an incomprehensible number of pylons again. There must be enough steel cables in these parts to run a line from here to Beijing and back (no exaggeration). And, whoa, once again into a moonscape. This place is fantastic for the eyes but there’s so much scenery we have become blasé about it. Shame on us. Sadly photos do not tell the story as well.

We enjoyed a mountain climb up and down with absolutely no sign of the other carriageway. Look at the scale on this clip of a map, showing the split. Must be a record.

At the bottom of the hill we all gathered to learn that the Rolls does go at 70 mph when driven by David. So sorry, Chris. I hope the bustles straighten out and the old girl recovers from the fright.

We also came across a contender for a book we are running for the least helpful person we’ve met on the trip; it will be known as the Sharp Object Book (which is a darn sight better than the Lady Garden Book—in its raw form).

Rest day tomorrow. Wind tasting apparently.