In the last post, I didn’t really get as far as the northwest corner of the treaty boundary, despite what the subject line says. First I had to cross the county line into Randolph County, and get around the place on the map called Ridgeville. I had a small gap in my maps. Maybe that got me mixed up. I was a bit disoriented when I got to Ridgeville. It seemed I had stumbled on a little town in the middle of nowhere. I think it seemed odd mostly because I had guessed my way on backroads to get there, not sure when I was going to find myself on my maps again.

Ridgeville made a better impression on me as I left town, when I crossed this pretty little bridge over the Mississinewa River. They don’t make ‘em like that any more, and I’ll bet they didn’t make too many quite like this one back in its time, either. It was built in honor of some Nobel prize winner — Dr. Wendell M. Stanley it said on a plaque.

A little ways southwest of town is where the treaty line corner was, according to my maps. But I didn’t see any sign of it. At one house very near where a map showed it to be, I saw a big rock and some other concrete object embedded in the front yard — was that it? I stopped and asked. The young people outside didn’t know, they went to ask the older folks. I got the impression that they were watching me from inside, waiting for me to go away. But I didn’t, and a man and woman came to the door and talked. But they didn’t know anything about the treaty line corner. So I rode on. I suspect I really was pretty close to the right spot.

Now the riding was mostly south on section-line roads, with an occasional jog to the west to stay as close as possible to the treaty line — not that there was any visible sign of it in the way the farm fields were laid out.

At one of these jogs to the west to stay close to the line I came to a road sign that said “Quaker Hill” and this church, the Bear Creek Friends Church. It looks like it’s right on the treaty boundary. Does its origin have anything to do with Indians and the treaty line? There are such churches that had such beginnings. But I don’t know in this case. It’s on the ceded side of the line, it looks like.

South of here there are places where the east-west roads have an inflection point pretty close to where the treaty line should have been — as if the two sides were surveyed separately and the lines didn’t meet exactly.

The treaty line is not the only possible explanation for such things, but just in case that turned out to be the reason, I turned at places like Lickskillet to go look at those points.

Here’s an example, a short distance from Lickskillet.

Finally, I came to a place where a road turns to follows the actual boundary again. And the country is starting to lose its flatness here, and becomes just a bit rolling.

It’s interesting that the road is called Indian Trail, both as shown here and on the official road signs. This was not an Indian trail used by Indians. In a way it symbolizes what the treaty brought - an obliteration of a way of life. Indian trails generally went where they did because of natural features on the landscape. This cession line is as far from that as you can get. It’s an arbitrary line that runs across the land without any regard whatsoever for natural features.

At the south end of the county the terrain was getting even more rolling. I rode a little further to where the treaty line road ended, which got me to an even 70 miles on the odometer for the day’s ride. Then I waited at an old cemetery right on the county line and took in the view while waiting for Myra to come and pick me up. We got a bite to eat at Winchester. There was still enough daylight left to let us enjoy the drive back to the campground.