Where is the Center of North America?

Photo by James Jordan

North Dakota is not among most people’s favorite vacation spots. It is the least visited state in the contiguous 48 states in America, according to government statistics.

So why am I taking a week or so to explore this remote state? Because it is there? Maybe.

After a couple of weeks exploring the Dakotas, there will be only eight states left for me to visit.

Admittedly, it does not have much that would make people want to visit. There are only eight cities with over 10,000 people, and the biggest city is Fargo, at 137,000. There are a lot of tiny towns in remote areas. Most of the state is flat farmland. There are the badlands in the west that have some cool scenery.

One cool thing I found was the small town of Rugby, which claims to be the geographical center of the Americas — which includes Canada and Mexico.

In 1931, the town claimed the title and erected the marker pictured above to commemorate the fact. It was based on looking at a map.

Since then, there has been some debate on where the geographical center really is, but everyone agrees it is in North Dakota.

Some time after that, the owner of a bar in Robinson, N.D. decided it was the actual center. It’s about 100 miles southwest of Rugby. The bar owner admitted to having some help from “a few beers.” But they did manage to get the title trademarked, so they did legally own the title.

Even later on, a college professor took a crack at finding the center, using a fancy algorithm he had created. He also took into consideration the curvature of the Earth, which the other two did not. His calculations declared the center to be in a town called Center, also in North Dakota.

The bar in Robinson gave the title back to Rugby, and no one it seemed, really cared about the one in Center. All is right with the world, the geographical center is back in Rugby where it claims to be.

Rugby has 2,500 people, and the other two have 500 or fewer so Rugby may be the best place for the marker.

Magic Sauce on the Inca Trail

Seeing Machu Picchu from this angle, in the afternoon sun made it all worthwhile

Nothing really prepares you for the Andes Mountains, where flat is still uphill

I worked hard getting ready for my trip to Peru. I was as prepared as any human could reasonably be.

For months, I walked four or five miles a day, hiking all kinds of terrain with two gallons of water in my backpack — more weight than I’d carry on any trail in Peru. I started my anti-altitude pills three days before landing in Cusco. I stayed in the city at 11,000 feet for four full days before attempting any serious hiking. I drank coca tea and chewed coca leaves like it was my full-time religion.

I really thought I was ready for the Inca Trail — the famous 26-mile, four-day trek that ends at Machu Picchu. It’s considered one of the world’s great hikes… and also one of the hardest for a reason.

The Andes Mountains smiled — the way a mother smiles at her toddler who thinks he is helping mamma out in the kitchen. I could almost hear the spirits of the Incas sighing, “Hold my coca tea.”

Because the Andes don’t care how hard you prepared or how good of shape you think you’re in.

They took one look at me, paused for half a second… and then absolutely lost it laughing.

They laughed so hard they stole my breath on day one. They laughed so hard my balance went completely offline, and I started wobbling like a drunk toddler on the Inca Trail. They laughed so hard that even when I was gasping and stumbling, my guide felt the need to crack jokes just to keep me calm.

After one especially graceful near-miss on a narrow section, he grinned and said, “Careful, man — if you fall, you’re gonna reach the bottom of the Sacred Valley faster than anyone else!”

I couldn’t even argue. The mountains had made their point.

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The steps seemed endless along the trail. Photos by James Jordan

I’m in good condition for a 69-year-old guy. Most of the people in our group were young, strong veteran trekkers who made it look easy. They were cool about it and never made me feel left behind. The Andes, however, were not as gracious. The Spanish may have conquered the Inca Empire, but even they played by the rules the mountains made.

Nothing truly prepares you for this kind of hiking. The mountains are steep beyond anything you can imagine. The air is so thin that you’re breathing in the same volume but getting almost no oxygen. It feels exactly like breathing through a straw. My guide kept reminding me to take slow, deep breaths instead of the short, panicked ones my body wanted.

I thought my legs were strong. Back in Kansas, I could walk ten miles with short breaks. I often did four miles in an hour without a break. But Dorothy was right — I wasn’t in Kansas anymore.

Still, I marveled at everything. The trail is paved with stones that have been there for over 500 years — massive staircases carved into the mountainside. I kept picturing Inca warriors running these same paths in simple sandals or barefoot, carrying fresh fish from the coast to Cusco, while I struggled in my $400 high-tech boots.

Every climb seemed endless. You’d grind out a hundred stone steps, turn a corner, and find another hundred waiting. The Peruvians even have a joking term for the rare gentler sections: “Inca flat” — meaning “still uphill, just not quite as evil as everything else.”

The downhills were almost worse — treacherous for my shaky balance and brutal on the knees.

I was really grateful for my guide. This trip would have been much tougher alone. His gentle reminders to breathe slowly, his little jokes about me falling off the mountain — they kept me grounded and smiling through the struggle.

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Another view of Machu Picchu. Photos by James Jordan

And then there was his supply of “magic sauce.”

That’s what he called it. When I was leaning hard on my trekking poles, gasping, he came alongside me with a grin. “Time for some magic sauce.”

He pulled out a small plastic bottle, rubbed the liquid between his hands, and held them up to his face, demonstrating how to use it.

I didn’t ask any questions. I was desperate and would have done anything for some relief.

It was a powerful mix of eucalyptus, muña, and other herbs. My first inhale made me cough violently, but then… relief. My chest loosened, my head cleared, and I could actually breathe again.

About a mile later, I asked for another dose. He gave it with a knowing smile.

The magic sauce was indeed magic. It opened my airways like a cool mountain breeze and let me flow back into the trail.

It was about then that we reached the Sun Gate. From there, it was mostly downhill, and the combination of the magic sauce and the thrill of knowing we were so close gave me new energy. When I rounded the last corner and finally saw Machu Picchu spread out below me, the exhaustion vanished.

I was awestruck. Gobsmacked. A wave of pure wonder washed over me.

I had not conquered the Andes. No one does. I had surrendered to them long ago. And in return, the mountains granted me passage.

That was more than enough.

Mysterious South American Mutts

This dog was king of the street in Cusco. All photos by james jordan

What makes them so much different than our dogs?

I was sitting with our guide and a few fellow travelers in Lima, sipping cold beers after a long day on the trail. It seemed like an innocent question to me.

“So… who do all these dogs actually belong to?”

Our guide looked at me like I’d asked why water is wet. He shrugged.

“Some of them have owners… maybe?”

Then he told us about his neighbor’s dog — a scruffy, medium-sized mutt with one floppy ear. Every so often, this dog shows up at his door, scratching and whining. “I let him in and give him something to eat,” he said, completely matter-of-fact.

I joked, “So the dog is basically choosing where he wants to eat that night, just like we do?”

The guide grinned and replied, “Yeah… probably,” as if that should have been obvious too.

To South Americans, the whole situation was so normal that it was almost impossible for them to explain. They genuinely struggled to understand why I was even asking the question. It was like trying to explain air to a fish.

That one casual exchange clicked everything into place for me.

A Different Kind of Dog

I noticed it on my very first day in Buenos Aires. I stepped out of the hotel and immediately saw them — confident, streetwise dogs of every shape and size. Some were sleek and well-groomed, trotting beside their owners with perfect heel position and no leash. Others looked like classic mutts: wiry coats, battle-scarred ears, moving through the city like they had important business to attend to.

But even with dogs everywhere, not a single one seemed to notice me or anyone else.

Back home in Kansas, if a loose dog walks toward me, I feel that little spike of anxiety — Friendly? Sketchy? About to jump? In Buenos Aires, the dogs barely registered my existence. They walked around me, past me, or right beside me as though I were just another moving piece of the urban landscape. No sniffing, no tail wag, no drama. Just calm indifference.

Some dogs were clearly on their own, scavenging scraps near outdoor cafés or napping in patches of shade. Others wore collars but still wandered freely. And then there were the magic ones — dogs that walked perfectly at their person’s side with no leash, no invisible fence, nothing. I actually wondered if they had some secret high-tech collar. Turns out, no. Many porteños raise incredibly well-mannered dogs.

The street intelligence was next-level. I watched dogs walk up to a corner, pause, look both ways, and cross when it was clear. One afternoon, I saw a dog casually join a group of strangers waiting at a light. When the group stepped off the curb, so did he — using random people as his personal crossing guards. It was impressive… and a little humbling.

This is even more impressive when you realize many drivers see rules of the road as mere suggestions — not requirements. It can be tough for a human to navigate the streets.

The Wild Side in Patagonia

In Patagonia, the dogs felt a bit wilder. In El Calafate, I saw a pack of five dogs explode into chaos, chasing a female in heat through the streets. It was the only time I heard a lot of barking. Even in full frenzy mode, they still dodged cars like professionals. One moment raw instinct, the next moment street-smart calm. The female seemed to have made her choice, and the other dogs dispersed.

There were also the pregnant ones — big-bellied females strolling around like it was no big deal. I saw very few puppies, though. Nature takes care of population control the hard way here.

Peru’s Fashionable Dogs

Peru had its own flavor. Many dogs wore clothes — bright little sweaters and jackets to protect them from the cold Andean nights. You’d see a tough-looking street dog rocking a red coat like it was high fashion. One afternoon, while our group stood chatting in the blazing sun, a medium-sized brown mutt casually walked into the middle of our circle, flopped down in our shade, and let out a deep, satisfied sigh. He stayed for ten minutes like we were his personal umbrella, then wandered off without a backward glance.

The Middle Ground

These dogs live in a fascinating middle ground. They’re not pampered American pets who need constant attention and emotional support. But they’re also not completely wild. They’re street-smart, self-sufficient, and surprisingly comfortable sharing the world with humans — on their own terms.

In the U.S., we pour enormous love and money into our dogs. We treat them like family members. In South America, many dogs have more freedom and fewer expectations. They decide which human’s house to visit for dinner. They use people for shade. They cross busy streets like seasoned pros. They live their lives with a kind of quiet independence that I started to envy after a while.

There are downsides, of course: overpopulation, parasites, shorter lifespans. But watching a dog confidently choose his dinner plans for the night, or casually join strangers for shade, made me smile.

By the end of the trip, I had grown fond of them. Not because they loved me back — they mostly didn’t care — but because they seemed so at peace with their place in the world. They weren’t waiting for someone to complete them. They were just living.

I finally understood what our guide meant. Some dogs may have owners, but many have a much less defined role. They belong to themselves more and have some friends who happen to be humans.

Screw it … Do it anyway

Llamas graze peacefully with Machu Picchu in the background. My battle with depression ended here at the end of the Inca Trail.

Getting ready for the Inca Trail at age 69 was my key to keeping depression under control

I have a sign on my desk that says “Do it Anyway.”

It has become my motto and battle cry since retirement, and it has worked very well.

I have struggled with depression for years, and maybe even more in retirement. It’s not the debilitating kind. Most people around me don’t even know about the struggle. Even so, it often takes a lot of effort to get up in the morning or off the couch in the afternoon.

Having said that, there’s nothing I hate more than platitude nonsense people throw at you. Easy answers that show nothing more than their ignorance.

You know the drill:

Think positive thoughts

Find a hobby

Pray harder, or more

Quit being lazy

Take this pill

Get exercise.

Any of those things can help, but none is the magic cure-all people think.

I’m not going to add to the list, but here is what happened to me when I decided to do it anyway, no matter how bad I felt.

A little more than a year ago, I decided to get serious about a bucket list trip to South America. I started out planning a hiking trip to Patagonia and ended up adding a hike up the Inca Trail in Peru.

I was going to have to do a lot of preparation. I needed to be in good physical condition. I am in good shape compared to a lot of 69-year-old men, but this was going to require much more than that.

The clouds rolled back just in time to catch the evening sun on Machu Picchu

I started preparing in earnest. I went from a leisurely stroll of about two miles almost every day to about five miles a day without a day off. I worked on walking faster and started walking with a backpack of 20–30 pounds.

There are not many hills in Kansas, so I went to the local fitness center and set the treadmill on the steepest setting I could find. I got some side-eyes when I walked on the steep treadmill with a backpack of weights strapped to my back. I shrugged that off and turned the speed up.

I hiked on rough terrain when I could find it. I made two weekend trips to the Ozark Mountains in Arkansas, which offered a nice challenge.

Depression did rear its head now and then. There were days when the last thing I wanted to do was walk in cold wind with a weighted backpack on. Hell, there were days I didn’t want to even get out of bed.

But one day, something occurred to me. I am going to feel like crap today, whether I go or not. If I stay in bed, I’m not going to feel better, and if I go, I’m not going to feel worse.

So I said, screw it, do it anyway. Might as well feel bad at the gym.

It worked. There were days when I went to the gym, or on a local trail, almost crying, I felt so bad. Even so, I realized I would be feeling the same way if I were at home suffering in silence. So do it anyway, I thought.

There were also days that I felt better once I got outside. I kept going on days it didn’t, too, because … why the hell not? Not doing something isn’t going to help either.

A curmudgeon doesn’t need hope, just odds.

The thought of going to South America, and knowing I needed to be prepared, was a great incentive. But so was simply saying, do it anyway.

I did struggle a lot with depression in November and December. The return of cold weather always sends me into a tailspin that can get really dark in the middle of winter. But a strange thing happened.

I was working hard. Pushing myself relentlessly. Walking in cold wind would be good practice for Patagonia, I told myself. As I did, I noticed I felt good in the morning, which was something I didn’t even remember was possible.

By the time January rolled around, I felt like a different person. Usually, that time of year, I’m doubling up on anti-depressants, and just getting out of bed is a victory. But this time I actually had energy all day long. I was almost starting to get sociable.

By February, I was moving four or five hours a day, often with a backpack. I also started weight training — I was at the gym on the treadmill anyway.

Also in February, I realized I was not taking my pills anymore. It was not intentional, but days went by, and not taking them didn’t make much of a difference.

I went to see my doctor for a physical before my trip started, and I mentioned not taking my antidepressants lately. He shrugged and said it was fine if I didn’t feel like I needed them.

You could argue that I felt better because I had this amazing trip coming up, and that is partly right. That had a lot to do with it. But the extreme workouts were what put me over the edge. I could feel the difference when I took a day or two off. When I had even two days of not working out, I could see those dark clouds forming on the edges of my world.

By the time I was flying to Buenos Aires, I was in as good physical condition as anyone could be at my age.

The hiking was great. Even with my improved conditioning, I still went to my limits on the long hikes. The Andes mountains in Peru kicked my butt hard. I did every precaution in existence and still struggled with altitude.

I got through it, though, just out of stubbornness if nothing else.

When I got home, the depression did not return, as it often does after a big event like this. I kept working out just as hard when I got home, and I don’t see much of those clouds of darkness anymore.

This is what worked for me. There are lots of things that “can” work to get depression under control, or off your back entirely. I’m not going to offer this as a discovery that will change your world as it did mine.

This is what worked for me. Many angles and possibilities come with depression, and what works for one person may not work for another. Keep trying to find what works for you.

What do you think would happen if you just … did it anyway?