No man's land

Sept. 28, Meade-Beaver, 48 miles, NE-SW breeze, 68/45—The High Plains began a few days back in Dodge City, and now the landscape is changing faster than it has all trip, taking turns flattening out and then becoming rough and sagebrushy. Oil wells are multiplying, the pump generators chuck-chucking away. Signs at road entrances list exact locations of all oil company leases on that property.

The weather is also in flux, and I can't figure out which way the wind is coming from. It appears to be shifting from north to southwest, though a small whirlwind rolls into me from the east. Unfortunately the first armadillo of my trip is roadkill.

I cross the beautiful and inviting Cimarron River, which is all fenced off. In a better world public access here and at other rivers would give people a chance to enjoy the clear water and bordering willows. A little farther on is the Oklahoma border (trip miles: 1450), with a marker announcing No Man's Land. For decades, in a strange twist of history, the entire Oklahoma panhandle belonged to no territory and no state.

From 1850, when a slavery compromise in Congress limited the northern reach of Texas to latitude 36°30', until 1890, when it became part of Oklahoma Territory, this was the Neutral Strip, popularly No Man's Land. It couldn't even be officially settled: under the Homestead Act settled land had to be surveyed first, and the neutral strip wasn't.

Beaver is a friendly town with a busy main street. It also has a resident bicyclist, John, who I meet in the library next morning, his Kestrel leaning against the wall outside. I'd seen him the evening before riding on the highway past the state park where I camped, Beaver Dunes. At the library he's wearing cowboy boots, and tells me a lot about biking around here. He rides just about every day and assures me the roads will be better once I'm in Texas.