Custer again

Sept. 30, Darrouzett-Arnett, 55 miles, NW-SW breeze, 90/65; Oct. 1, Arnett-Black Kettle National Grassland, 55 miles, SW-S wind, 92/65—My main impression of the Texas panhandle is oil and gas wells. Todd and Josh told me yesterday there's such a boom that work goes on day and night.

Riding down a Farm Road (an actual road designation in Texas) on the way back into Oklahoma, I see a tarantula on the move in front of me. In Shattuck I find the best cafe of my whole trip: good food, a railroader's collection for decoration, friendly staff and customers, and iced tea in jars refilled as much as a thirsty biker needs. Though the Shattuck depot is no more, the Santa Fe railroad recently rebuilt its tracks through town on a main line from Kansas City to the Southwest.

At the edge of Shattuck is a windmill museum and park, still adding old windmills, with most donated by landowners wanting to save some history. The park has just acquired an adjacent piece of land for expansion, and will host an international windmillers' gathering in a few years.

In Arnett I sit in the shade on the courthouse steps, snacking on pineapple slices mailed by a friend, and debate whether to go another 25-30 miles to the Black Kettle National Grassland. Tomorrow a strong south wind is scheduled, and I'd rather cover the ground today. Instead the bike gods spring into action with a practical joke. I start feeling faint and buzzy and believe the heat must be affecting me. Though a hot day it doesn't seem possible, since riding offers a natural cooling breeze, and the heat hasn't bothered me once all trip.

But there's no denying the feeling, now getting worse, so I get a motel room, crank up the air conditioner, and try to ease the stress on what I think is my overheated body. I can't figure out how the humid Missouri summer didn't prepare for this until I finally get it: a sugar high from the pineapple (and lunchtime papaya)!

Next day I ride fast to the Antelope Hills and Canadian River. Like most big west-to-east Plains rivers I've seen, it's nearly dry. The sandy riverbed has lots of tracks from ATVs and other vehicles. Windspeed builds around noon when the temperature rises, but it's a fight only the last two miles into Cheyenne.

The Washita Battlefield National Historic Site is my prime destination in Oklahoma, and one of the most important battles in the southern Plains Indian War. Washita is also the sequel to Sand Creek Massacre (here and here), an encounter argued about since the day it happened, and now a national historic site under development.

The Washita battle pitted Custer's 7th Cavalry against a Cheyenne village led by Chief Black Kettle. Gen. Phil Sheridan had ordered a winter campaign against the southern tribes (Cheyenne, Arapaho, Kiowa, Plains Apache) using surprise to strike decisively. First Sheridan arranged to bring Custer back early from a one-year suspension after his court martial because he knew Custer was an aggressive commander. He instructed Custer to attack and destroy any village he found, kill as many warriors as possible, capture women and children, and slaughter Indian horses to take away mobility.

Custer and his Osage scouts carry out this plan to near perfection on Nov. 27, 1868, in a pre-sunrise attack prepared in near silence after a night of snowfall. After taking and burning Black Kettle's village, Custer realizes there are many more Indian reinforcements nearby than he thought—around 6,000, versus his 800 troops—so he feints toward the villages the warriors have just left, then returns quickly to Camp Supply, his base to the north. One thing Custer doesn't do is confirm the fate of Major Elliott and almost 20 of his men, all killed during a sweep several miles to the east. (Sheridan and Custer return the next month and find the bodies of Elliott and his men.) This single incident causes dissension in Custer's officer ranks that never healed.

The battlefield site is a beautiful slope of grass running down toward the trees marking the Washita River. An abandoned railroad right of way, also lined with trees, cuts across the scene. High mesas rise beyond the river. You can even see the small knoll where Custer and his staff watched the troops overrun Black Kettle's village.

This area later became reservation land of the Southern Cheyenne and Arapaho. Now their tribal headquarters lie to the east in Concho, but many Cheyennes and Arapahos live in the nearby towns of Hammon and Weatherford.

I stay later at the battlefield than I should because I think the campground at Skipout Lake, in the Black Kettle National Grassland, is 6 miles away instead of 12. I ride nearly as fast as I can to beat darkness, and kick Osage-orange balls aside to pitch my tent near the lake.