First night in town I think I was a bit stunned. The camper was a lot more basic than I thought it would be.

After settling in a bit, Greg (my boss) took us out for dinner. British Steve, another guy on the crew, was having a birthday and Greg was shouting us all dinner. We were taken down to the only bar in town, the Plum Thicket Inn.

Walking into the place, several of the stereotypes that had been embarrassingly debunked on my arrival in Wichita, suddenly seemed plausible again.

The bar is quite dark - there are no windows. There is a duke box in the corner playing country music. Two TVs above the bar screen different sporting fixtures. In between them, above the spirit shelf is a neon Budweiser sign and a placard that says "Free Beer.....tomorrow". Most people are congregated in booths that run around the outside of the room but there are a few dusty looking men drinking alone atop a 30 foot long, solid timber bar.

As we enter, everyone looks up from their beer. It’s a Wednesday night and everyone in the place is quite clearly local. At first glace, the faces do not appear friendly. The first person I make eye contact with is a heavy-set man behind the bar, about 6-2, wearing a white cowboy hat. All I could manage was “hi” and a nod. I got nothing back. Greg enters about 30 seconds after us. When he walks in, faces light up; those that stone-walled us eagerly vie for his attention. He is quite clearly well respected. Greg sits down at our table. Everything is OK.

We order beers – two bucks a pop for a pint – and a steak.

Throughout dinner there is a lot of talk about agriculture and machinery. I’ve got nothing to offer. I go back to the camper wondering if I’ve bitten off a bit too much.