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  • Before editing pages make sure you have thBefore editing pages make sure you have the necessary Editor rights.</br> </br> Texts </br> How to create new Category:Texts pages and annotate paragraphs.</br> </br> Enter the name of the page. The name is relevant for searching and should be the same as the title of the text. </br> </br> </br> </br> Metadata </br> Insert a <meta> section.</br> Note: Attributes like genre are case sensitive!</br> </br> <meta</br> author="Dreiser, Theodore;Sandburg, Carl;Sinclair, Lewis"</br> additional_information="Info text here.."</br> genre="Novel,Thriller"</br> journal="Journal1, Journal2"</br> publisher="Publisher1, Publisher2"</br> year_of_publication="2000,2001"</br> page_range="1-10"</br>/></br> </br> The author attribute can have multiple values separated by a ";" semicolon. </br> The attributes genre, journal, publisher, year_of_publication can have multiple values separated by a "," comma. </br> Attributes can be omitted completely and are shown as "-" in the Bibliographic Information section on the text page. </br> Annotations </br> Its best to look at already annotated pages to get a feeling for how the markup works.</br> </br> Put all annotations inside <annotations>...</annotations> elements. </br> Define paragraphs via <paragraph keywords="keyword1,keyword2">paragraph text</paragraph> </br> The keywords attribute can have multiple values separated by a "," comma. </br> There can be multiple paragraphs. </br> Use <pagenr>(1)</pagenr> elements to display page number information inside paragraphs. </br> Use <poem>...</poem> inside paragraphs to keep formatting exactly like in the editor. See Extension:Poem for further formatting instructions. </br> Use wikitext like == CHAPTER I == between paragraphs for headlines and other wiki markup for styling. See Help:Formatting for information on formatting syntax. </br> Authors </br> How to create new Category:Authors pages.</br> </br> Enter the name of the author. This should always follow the same naming convention throughout the wiki e.g. Frost, Robert . </br> </br> </br> </br> Insert an author infobox and related texts section with the following wikitext: </br> {{Infobox Author</br>| gender = Male</br>| ethnicity = African, American</br>| nationality = African</br>| life span = quite long</br>}}</br> </br> The ethnicity parameter can have multiple values separated by a "," comma. </br> Attributes can be omitted completely and are shown as "-" in the Bibliographic Information section on the author page. </br> nationality and life span are not used for searching and can therefore contain any text. </br> Examples </br> Click on Actions->Edit on an existing page like Off_the_Highway or Frost, Robert to see examples of working edits.</br> </br> Special Pages </br> Use Mediawiki:Sidebar to edit the navigation bar items. </br> Edit MediaWiki:Common.css to change the styling of the wiki. Scroll down to /* OFFTHEROAD CUSTOM CSS SECTION */ to find custom styling for the offroad wiki. </br> Edit MediaWiki:Text Template to change the preloaded text for new Category:Texts pages. </br> Edit MediaWiki:Author Template to change the preloaded text for new Category:Authors pages. </br> Extensions </br> See Special:Version for details.</br> </br> Composer </br> SemanticBundle </br> Extension Directory </br> OffTheRoad </br> WikiSearch </br> WikiSearchFront </br> YouTube </br> WSSemanticParsedText </br> ArrayFunctions (at least version 1.42 for the caseinsensitive option) </br> SemanticBundle </br> SemanticMediaWiki </br> PageForms </br> Other </br> These come bundled with the above setup.</br> </br> PdfHandler </br> ParserFunctions </br> Poem </br> InputBox </br> TemplateDataThese come bundled with the above setup. PdfHandler ParserFunctions Poem InputBox TemplateData  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Aldington, Richard </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> Some Imagist Poets: An Anthology </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> Houghton Mifflin Company </br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1915 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 10-11</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> tree </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Why do you always stand there shivering </br>Between the white stream and the road?</br> </br> </br> </br> river roadside temperature </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The people pass through the dust </br>On bicycles, in carts, in motor-cars; </br>The waggoners go by at dawn; </br>The lovers walk on the grass path at night.</br> </br> </br> </br> dust bicycle car road scenery </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Stir from your roots, walk, poplar! </br>You are more beautiful than they are.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> I know that the white wind loves you, </br>Is always kissing you and turning up </br>The white lining of your green petticoat. </br>The sky darts through you like blue rain, </br>And the grey rain drips on your flanks </br>And loves you. </br>And I have seen the moon </br>Slip his silver penny into your pocket </br>As you straightened your hair; </br>And the white mist curling and hesitating </br>Like a bashful lover about your knees.</br> </br> </br> </br> tree </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> I know you, poplar; </br>I have watched you since I was ten. </br>But if you had a little real love, </br>A little strength, </br>You would leave your nonchalant idle lovers </br>And go walking down the white road </br>Behind the waggoners.</br> </br> </br> </br> tree anthropomorphism road pedestrian </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> There are beautiful beeches down beyond the hill. </br>Will you always stand there shivering?l. Will you always stand there shivering?  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Auden, Wystan Hugh </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> W. H. Auden Poems </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> Faber and Faber </br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1930 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 65-68</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Get there if you can and see the land you once were proud to own </br>Though the roads have almost vanished and the expresses never run:</br> </br> </br> </br> nostalgia road </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Smokeless chimneys, damaged bridges, rotting wharves and choked canals, </br>Tramlines buckled, smashed trucks lying on their side across the rails;</br> </br> </br> </br> infrastructure bridge truck </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Power-stations locked, deserted, since they drew the boiler fires; </br>Pylons fallen or subsiding, trailing dead high-tension wires;</br> </br> </br> </br> infrastructure </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Head-gears gaunt on grass-grown pit-banks, seams abandoned years ago; </br>Drop a stone and listen for its splash in flooded dark below.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Squeeze into the works through broken windows or through damp-sprung doors; </br>See the rotted shafting, see holes gaping in the upper floors;</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Where the Sunday lads come talking motor bicycle and girl, </br>Smoking cigarettes in chains until their heads are in a whirl.</br> </br> </br> </br> motorcycle </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Far from there we spent the money, thinking we could well afford, </br>While they quietly undersold us with their cheaper trade abroad;</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> At the theatre, playing tennis, driving motor cars we had, </br>In our continental villas, mixing cocktails for a cad.</br> </br> </br> </br> driving </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> These were boon companions who devised the legends for our tombs, </br>These who have betrayed us nicely while we took them to our rooms.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Newman, Ciddy, Plato, Fronny, Pascal, Bowdler, Baudelaire, </br>Doctor Frommer, Mrs Allom, Freud, the Baron, and Flaubert.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Lured with their compelling logic, charmed with beauty of their verse, </br>With their loaded sideboards whispered ‘Better join us, life is worse.’</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Taught us at the annual camps arranged by the big business men </br>‘Sunbathe, pretty till you’re twenty. You shall be our servants then.’</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Perfect pater. Marvellous mater. Knock the critic down who dares — </br>Very well, believe it, copy; till your hair is white as theirs.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Yours you say were parents to avoid, avoid then if you please </br>Do the reverse on all occasion till you catch the same disease.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> When we asked the way to Heaven, these directed us ahead </br>To the padded room, the clinic and the hangman’s little shed.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Intimate as war-time prisoners in an isolation camp, </br>Living month by month together, nervy, famished, lousy, damp.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> On the sopping esplanade or from our dingy lodgings we </br>Stare out dully at the rain which falls for miles into the sea.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Lawrence, Blake and Homer Lane, once healers in our English land; </br>These are dead as iron for ever; these can never hold our hand.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Lawrence was brought down by smut-hounds, Blake went dotty as he sang, </br>Homer Lane was killed in action by the Twickenham Baptist gang.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Have things gone too far already? Are we done for? Must we wait </br>Hearing doom’s approaching footsteps regular down miles of straight;</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Run the whole night through in gumboots, stumble on and gasp for breath, </br>Terrors drawing close and closer, winter landscape, fox’s death;</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Or, in friendly fireside circle, sit and listen for the crash </br>Meaning that the mob has realized something’s up, and start to smash;</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Engine-drivers with their oil-cans, factory girls in overalls </br>Blowing sky-high monster stores, destroying intellectuals?</br> </br> </br> </br> resources oil engine driver sky pollution metaphor </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Hope and fear are neck and neck: which is it near the course’s end </br>Crashes, having lost his nerve; is overtaken on the bend?</br> </br> </br> </br> crash </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Shut up talking, charming in the best suits to be had in town, </br>Lecturing on navigation while the ship is going down.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Drop those priggish ways for ever, stop behaving like a stone: </br>Throw the bath-chairs right away, and learn to leave ourselves alone.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> If we really want to live, we’d better start at once to try; </br>If we don’t, it doesn’t matter, but we’d better start to die.  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Carman, Bliss </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> April Airs: A Book of New England Lyrics </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> Snall , Maynard and Company </br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1920 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 29-30</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> The poem was originally published in 1914.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> road </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> For the birthday of James Whitcomb Riley, October 7, 1914.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Lockerbie Street is a little street, </br>Just one block long; </br>But the days go there with a magical air, </br>The whole year long. </br>The sun in his journey across the sky </br>Slows his car as he passes by; </br>The sighing wind and the grieving rain </br>Change their tune and cease to complain; </br>And the birds have a wonderful call that seems </br>Like a street-cry out of the land of dreams; </br>For there the real and the make-believe meet. </br>Time does not hurry in Lockerbie Street.</br> </br> </br> </br> magic sky slowness wind rain sound animal metaphor driving sunshine </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Lockerbie Street is a little street, </br>Only one block long; </br>But the moonlight there is strange and fair </br>All the year long, </br>As ever it was in old romance, </br>When fairies would sing and fauns would dance, </br>Proving this earth is subject still </br>To a blithesome wonder-working Will, </br>Spreading beauty over the land, </br>That every beholder may understand </br>How glory shines round the Mercy-seat. </br>That is the gospel of Lockerbie Street.</br> </br> </br> </br> moonlight nostalgia driving affect </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Lockerbie Street is a little street, </br>Only one block long, </br>A little apart, yet near the heart </br>Of the city's throng. </br>If you are a stranger looking to find </br>Respite and cheer for soul and mind, </br>And have lost your way, and would inquire </br>For a street that will lead to Heart's Desire,— </br>To a place where the spirit is never old, </br>And gladness and love are worth more than gold, — </br>Ask the first boy or girl you meet! </br>Everyone knows where is Lockerbie Street.</br> </br> </br> </br> urban affect navigation pleasure </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Lockerbie Street is a little street, </br>Only one block long; </br>But never a street in all the world, </br>In story or song, </br>Is better beloved by old and young; </br>For there a poet has lived and sung, </br>Wise as an angel, glad as a bird, </br>Fearless and fond in every word, </br>Many a year. And if you would know </br>The secret of joy and the cure of woe,— </br>How to be gentle and brave and sweet,— </br>Ask your way to Lockerbie Street.</br> </br> </br> </br> road road  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Crane, Hart </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> April Airs: The Collected Poems of Hart Crane </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> Liveright Publishing Corporation </br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1926 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 73-74</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We make our meek adjustments, </br>Contented with such random consolations </br>As the wind deposits </br>In slithered and too ample pockets.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> For we can still love the world, who find </br>A famished kitten on the step, and know </br>Recesses for it from the fury of the street, </br>Or warm torn elbow coverts.</br> </br> </br> </br> animal road traffic </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We will sidestep, and to the final smirk </br>Dally the doom of that inevitable thumb </br>That slowly chafes its puckered index toward us, </br>Facing the dull squint with what innocence </br>And what surprise!</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> And yet these fine collapses are not lies </br>More than the pirouettes of any pliant cane; </br>Our obsequies are, in a way, no enterprise. </br>We can evade you, and all else but the heart: </br>What blame to us if the heart live on.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The game enforces smirks; but we have seen </br>The moon in lonely alleys make </br>A grail of laughter of an empty ash can, </br>And through all sound of gaiety and quest </br>Have heard a kitten in the wilderness.st Have heard a kitten in the wilderness.  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Crane, Hart </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> The Collected Poems of Hart Crane </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> Liveright Publishing Corporation </br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1933 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 31-39</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> animal East </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The seas all crossed, </br> weathered the capes, the voyage done... </br> —WALT WHITMAN </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Imponderable the dinosaur </br> sinks slow, </br> the mammoth saurian </br> ghoul, the eastern </br> Cape.. </br> </br> </br> </br> animal East </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> While rises in the west the coastwise range, </br> slowly the hushed land— </br>Combustion at the astral core—the dorsal change </br>Of energy—convulsive shift of sand... </br>But we, who round the capes, the promontories </br>Where strange tongues vary messages of surf </br>Below grey citadels, repeating to the stars </br>The ancient names—return home to our own </br>Hearths, there to eat an apple and recall </br>The songs that gypsies dealt us at Marseille </br>Or how the priests walked—slowly through Bombay— </br>Or to read you, Walt,—knowing us in thrall</br> </br> </br> </br> West engine metaphor coast intertext </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> To that deep wonderment, our native clay </br>Whose depth of red, eternal flesh of Pocahontus— </br>Those continental folded aeons, surcharged </br>With sweetness below derricks, chimneys, tunnels— </br>Is veined by all that time has really pledged us... </br>And from above, thin squeaks of radio static, </br>The captured fume of space foams in our ears— </br>What whisperings of far watches on the main </br>Relapsing into silence, while time clears </br>Our lenses, lifts a focus, resurrects </br>A periscope to glimpse what joys or pain </br>Our eyes can share or answer—then deflects </br>Us, shunting to a labyrinth submersed </br>Where each sees only his dim past reversed...</br> </br> </br> </br> Native American infrastructure oil technology sound </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> But that star-glistered salver of infinity, </br>The circle, blind crucible of endless space, </br>Is sliced by motion,—subjugated never. </br>Adam and Adam's answer in the forest </br>Left Hesperus mirrored in the lucid pool. </br>Now the eagle dominates our days, is jurist </br>Of the ambiguous cloud. We know the strident rule </br>Of wings imperious... Space, instantaneous, </br>Flickers a moment, consumes us in its smile: </br>A flash over the horizon—shifting gears— </br>And we have laughter, or more sudden tears. </br>Dream cancels dream in this new realm of fact </br>From which we wake into the dream of act; </br>Seeing himself an atom in a shroud— </br>Man hears himself an engine in a cloud!</br> </br> </br> </br> night animal car part stars engine metaphor driving </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> "—Recorders ages hence"—ah, syllables of faith! </br>Walt, tell me, Walt Whitman, if infinity </br>Be still the same as when you walked the beach </br>Near Paumanok—your lone patrol—and heard the wraith </br>Through surf, its bird note there a long time falling... </br>For you, the panoramas and this breed of towers, </br>Of you—the theme that's statured in the cliff, </br>O Saunterer on free ways still ahead! </br>Not this our empire yet, but labyrinth </br>Wherein your eyes, like the Great Navigator's without ship, </br>Gleam from the great stones of each prison crypt </br>Of canyoned traffic... Confronting the Exchange, </br>Surviving in a world of stocks,—they also range </br>Across the hills where second timber strays </br>Back over Connecticut farms, abandoned pastures,— </br>Sea eyes and tidal, undenying, bright with myth!</br> </br> </br> </br> intertext traffic metaphor agriculture animal </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The nasal whine of power whips a new universe... </br>Where spouting pillars spoor the evening sky, </br>Under the looming stacks of the gigantic power house </br>Stars prick the eyes with sharp ammoniac proverbs, </br>New verities, new inklings in the velvet hummed </br>Of dynamos, where hearing's leash is strummed... </br>Power's script,—wound, bobbin-bound, refined— </br>Is stropped to the slap of belts on booming spools, spurred </br>Into the bulging bouillon, harnessed jelly of the stars. </br>Towards what? The forked crash of split thunder parts </br>Our hearing momentwise; but fast in whirling armatures, </br>As bright as frogs' eyes, giggling in the girth </br>Of steely gizzards—axle-bound, confined </br>In coiled precision, bunched in mutual glee </br>The bearings glint,—O murmurless and shined </br>In oilrinsed circles of blind ecstasy!</br> </br> </br> </br> sound pollution infrastructure oil car part thunder animal </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Stars scribble on our eyes the frosty sagas, </br>The gleaming cantos of unvanquished space... </br>O sinewy silver biplane, nudging the wind's withers! </br>There, from Kill Devils Hill at Kitty Hawk </br>Two brothers in their twinship left the dune; </br>Warping the gale, the Wright windwrestlers veered </br>Capeward, then blading the wind's flank, banked and spun </br>What ciphers risen from prophetic script, </br>What marathons new-set between the stars! </br>The soul, by naphtha fledged into new reaches </br>Already knows the closer clasp of Mars,— </br>New latitudes, unknotting, soon give place </br>To what fierce schedules, rife of doom apace!</br> </br> </br> </br> night stars wind speed plane </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Behold the dragon's covey—amphibian, ubiquitous </br>To hedge the seaboard, wrap the headland, ride </br>The blue's cloud-templed districts unto ether... </br>While Iliads glimmer through eyes raised in pride </br>Hell's belt springs wider into heaven's plumed side. </br>O bright circumferences, heights employed to fly </br>War's fiery kennel masked in downy offings,— </br>This tournament of space, the threshed and chiselled height, </br>Is baited by marauding circles, bludgeon flail </br>Of rancorous grenades whose screaming petals carve us </br>Wounds that we wrap with theorems sharp as hail!</br> </br> </br> </br> intertext </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Wheeled swiftly, wings emerge from larval-silver hangars. </br>Taut motors surge, space-gnawing, into flight; </br>Through sparkling visibility, outspread, unsleeping, </br>Wings clip the last peripheries of light... </br>Tellurian wind-sleuths on dawn patrol, </br>Each plane a hurtling javelin of winged ordnance, </br>Bristle the heights above a screeching gale to hover; </br>Surely no eye that Sunward Escadrille can cover! </br>There, meaningful, fledged as the Pleiades </br>With razor sheen they zoom each rapid helix! </br>Up-chartered choristers of their own speeding </br>They, cavalcade on escapade, shear Cumulus— </br>Lay siege and hurdle Cirrus down the skies! </br>While Cetus-like, O thou Dirigible, enormous Lounger </br>Of pendulous auroral beaches,—satellited wide </br>By convoy planes, moonferrets that rejoin thee </br>On fleeing balconies as thou dost glide, </br>—Hast splintered space!</br> </br> </br> </br> metaphor car speed visibility driving wind car part weapon intertext technology </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Low, shadowed of the Cape, </br>Regard the moving turrets! From grey decks </br>See scouting griffons rise through gaseous crepe </br>Hung low... until a conch of thunder answers </br>Cloud-belfries, banging, while searchlights, like fencers, </br>Slit the sky's pancreas of foaming anthracite </br>Toward thee, O Corsair of the typhoon,—pilot, hear! </br>Thine eyes bicarbonated white by speed, O Skygak, see </br>How from thy path above the levin's lance </br>Thou sowest doom thou hast nor time nor chance </br>To reckon—as thy stilly eyes partake </br>What alcohol of space...! Remember, Falcon-Ace, </br>Thou hast there in thy wrist a Sanskrit charge </br>To conjugate infinity's dim marge— </br>Anew...!</br> </br> </br> </br> plane </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> But first, here at this height receive </br>The benediction of the shell's deep, sure reprieve! </br>Lead-perforated fuselage, escutcheoned wings </br>Lift agonized quittance, tilting from the invisible brink </br>Now eagle-bright, now </br> quarry-hid, twist- </br> -ing, sink with </br>Enormous repercussive list- </br> -ings down </br>Giddily spiralled </br> gauntlets, upturned, unlooping </br>In guerrilla sleights, trapped in combustion gyr- </br>Ing, dance the curdled depth </br> down whizzing </br>Zodiacs, dashed </br> (now nearing fast the Cape!) </br> down gravitation's </br> vortex into crashed </br>...dispersion...into mashed and shapeless débris.... </br>By Hatteras bunched the beached heap of high bravery!</br> </br> </br> </br> plane </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The stars have grooved our eyes with old persuasions </br>Of love and hatred, birth,—surcease of nations... </br>But who has held the heights more sure than thou, </br>O Walt!—Ascensions of thee hover in me now </br>As thou at junctions elegiac, there, of speed </br>With vast eternity, dost wield the rebound seed! </br>The competent loam, the probable grass,—travail </br>Of tides awash the pedestal of Everest, fail </br>Not less than thou in pure impulse inbred </br>To answer deepest soundings! O, upward from the dead </br>Thou bringest tally, and a pact, new bound, </br>Of living brotherhood!</br> </br> </br> </br> intertext </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Thou, there beyond— </br>Glacial sierras and the flight of ravens, </br>Hermetically past condor zones, through zenith havens </br>Past where the albatross has offered up </br>His last wing-pulse, and downcast as a cup </br>That's drained, is shivered back to earth—thy wand </br>Has beat a song, O Walt,—there and beyond! </br>And this, thine other hand, upon my heart </br>Is plummet ushered of those tears that start </br>What memories of vigils, bloody, by that Cape,— </br>Ghoul-mound of man's perversity at balk </br>And fraternal massacre! Thou, pallid there as chalk, </br>Hast kept of wounds, O Mourner, all that sum </br>That then from Appomattox stretched to Somme!</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Cowslip and shad-blow, flaked like tethered foam </br>Around bared teeth of stallions, bloomed that spring </br>When first I read thy lines, rife as the loam </br>Of prairies, yet like breakers cliffward leaping! </br>O, early following thee, I searched the hill </br>Blue-writ and odor-firm with violets, 'til </br>With June the mountain laurel broke through green </br>And filled the forest with what clustrous sheen! </br>Potomac lilies, — then the Pontiac rose, </br>And Klondike edelweiss of occult snows! </br>White banks of moonlight came descending valleys— </br>How speechful on oak-vizored palisades, </br>As vibrantly I following down Sequoia alleys </br>Heard thunder's eloquence through green arcades </br>Set trumpets breathing in each clump and grass tuft—'til </br>Gold autumn, captured, crowned the trembling hill!</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Panis Angelicus! Eyes tranquil with the blaze </br>Of love's own diametric gaze, of love's amaze! </br>Not greatest, thou,—not first, nor last,—but near </br>And onward yielding past my utmost year. </br>Familiar, thou, as mendicants in public places; </br>Evasive—too—as dayspring's spreading arc to trace is:— </br>Our Meistersinger, thou set breath in steel; </br>And it was thou who on the boldest heel </br>Stood up and flung the span on even wing </br>Of that great Bridge, our Myth, whereof I sing!</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Years of the Modern! Propulsions toward what capes? </br>But thou, Panis Angelicus, hast thou not seen </br>And passed that Barrier that none escapes— </br>But knows it leastwise as death-strife?—O, something green, </br>Beyond all sesames of science was thy choice </br>Wherewith to bind us throbbing with one voice, </br>New integers of Roman, Viking, Celt— </br>Thou, Vedic Caesar, to the greensward knelt!</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> And now, as launched in abysmal cupolas of space, </br>Toward endless terminals, Easters of speeding light— </br>Vast engines outward veering with seraphic grace </br>On clarion cylinders pass out of sight </br>To course that span of consciousness thou'st named </br>The Open Road—thy vision is reclaimed! </br>What heritage thou'st signalled to our hands!</br> </br> </br> </br> infrastructure road engine car part vision </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> And see! the rainbow's arch—how shimmeringly stands </br>Above the Cape's ghoul-mound, O joyous seer! </br>Recorders ages hence, yes, they shall hear </br>In their own veins uncancelled thy sure tread </br>And read thee by the aureole 'round thy head </br>Of pasture-shine, Panis Angelicus! </br> Yes, Walt, </br>Afoot again, and onward without halt,— </br>Not soon, nor suddenly,—No, never to let go </br> My hand </br> in yours, </br> Walt Whitman— </br> so— </br> </br> </br> </br> road rainbow intertext  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Crane, Hart </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> The Faber Book of Modern Verse </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> Faber and Faber </br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1923 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 211-213</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> III </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Capped arbiter of beauty in this street </br>That narrows darkly into motor dawn,— </br>You, here beside me, delicate ambassador </br>Of intricate slain numbers that arise </br>In whispers, naked of steel; </br> religious gunman! </br>Who faithfully, yourself, will fall too soon, </br>And in other ways than as the wind settles </br>On the sixteen thrifty bridges of the city: </br>Let us unbind our throats of fear and pity. </br> We even, </br>Who drove speediest destruction </br>In corymbulous formations of mechanics,— </br>Who hurried the hill breezes, spouting malice </br>Plangent over meadows, and looked down </br>On rifts of torn and empty houses </br>Like old women with teeth unjubilant </br>That waited faintly, briefly and in vain:</br> </br> </br> </br> metaphor dawn car night urban infrastructure driving speed mechanic weapon </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We know, eternal gunman, our flesh remembers </br>The tensile boughs, the nimble blue plateaus, </br>The mounted, yielding cities of the air! </br>That saddled sky that shook down vertical </br>Repeated play of fire—no hypogeum </br>Of wave or rock was good against one hour. </br>We did not ask for that, but have survived, </br>And will persist to speak again before </br>All stubble streets that have not curved </br>To memory, or known the ominous lifted arm </br>That lowers down the arc of Helen’s brow </br>To saturate with blessing and dismay.</br> </br> </br> </br> weapon haptic city road metaphor intertext </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> A goose, tobacco and cologne— </br>Three winged and gold-shod prophecies of heaven, </br>The lavish heart shall always have to leaven </br>And spread with bells and voices, and atone </br>The abating shadows of our conscript dust.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Anchises’ navel, dripping of the sea,— </br>The hands Erasmus dipped in gleaming tides, </br>Gathered the voltage of blown blood and vine; </br>Delve upward for the new and scattered wine, </br>O brother-thief of time, that we recall. </br>Laugh out the meagre penance of their days </br>Who dare not share with us the breath released, </br>The substance drilled and spent beyond repair </br>For golden, or the shadow of gold hair. </br>Distinctly praise the years, whose volatile </br>Blamed bleeding hands extend and thresh the height </br>The imagination spans beyond despair, </br>Outpacing bargain, vocable and prayer.  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Cummings, Edward Estline </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> E.E. Cummings: Complete Poems 1904-1962 </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> Liveright </br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1926 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 246</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> technology pleasure gender </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> she being Brand</br> </br> </br> </br> personification gender </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> -new;and you </br>know consequently a </br>little stiff i was </br>careful of her and(having</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> thoroughly oiled the universal </br>joint tested my gas felt of </br>her radiator made sure her springs were O.</br> </br> </br> </br> car part haptic gender maintenance </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> K.)i went right to it flooded-the-carburetor cranked her</br> </br> </br> </br> driving car part metaphor </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> up,slipped the </br>clutch(and then somehow got into reverse she </br>kicked what </br>the hell)next </br>minute i was back in neutral tried and</br> </br> </br> </br> driving car part gender haptic agency personification </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> again slo-wly;bare,ly nudg. ing(my</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> lev-er Right- </br>oh and her gears being in </br>A 1 shape passed </br>from low through </br>second-in-to-high like </br>greasedlightning)just as we turned the corner of Divinity</br> </br> </br> </br> car part gender metaphor haptic driving pleasure </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> avenue i touched the accelerator and give</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> her the juice,good</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> (it </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> was the first ride and believe i we was </br>happy to see how nice she acted right up to </br>the last minute coming back down by the Public </br>Gardens i slammed on</br> </br> </br> </br> driving gender haptic </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> the </br>internalexpanding </br>& </br>externalcontracting </br>brakes Bothatonce and</br> </br> </br> </br> car part personification </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> brought allofher tremB </br>-ling </br>to a:dead.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> stand- </br>;-Still)</br> </br> </br> </br> slowness stop stand- ;-Still) slowness stop  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Delany, Philip </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Non-Fiction </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> Outing </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1903 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 131-136</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> pioneer </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Romance is fast being crowded out of the life of the pioneer; once he depended upon his own sturdy legs, or those of his broncho or burronow he may, if he like, ride in an automobile, the latest pathfinder of the plains. The machine has its thrilling side, too.</br> </br> </br> </br> affect car pleasure technology pioneer </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> To climb mountain passes with a thirty-per-cent grade, to coast down rocky roads with only a few feet from wheels to the edge of an abyss of picturesque wonders, to swing along southern paths made famous by the Indians and pony express riders of only a few years ago, and along which a motor-car had never before been seen, this is an automobile trip that has exploring and sight seeing, and excitement enough to suit the most adventurous spirit. Such a journey I took this spring with Mr. W. W. Price, who has, with an automobile, re-discovered many a Western cañon, pass and desert.</br> </br> </br> </br> car road condition car part desert mountain Native American passenger scenery topography </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> It took us two hours to run from Colorado Springs—our starting point—to Pueblo, past Pike's Peak and Cheyenne Mountain, most of the way over hot alkali plains, furrowed deep by cloud-burst and spring freshets. From Pueblo, taking supplies for the machine, we struck south across country. We were soon out of the world, drifting across a roadless land made more weird by the light which the moon threw over it. We were trying to locate the main highway to Walsenburg. For a time we crawled along where lines showed teams had once gone, until we came to a Mexican ranch of adobe houses; but the three big headlights on the machine discovered no one and we crept slowly away from the corral, the machine thudding sullenly under us. Then suddenly we blundered into the roadway and away we went at a rate of thirty miles an hour, transfixing with wonder a few Mexicans who were camping near by.</br> </br> </br> </br> adobe car part driving mountain engine highway infrastructure metaphor Midwest night passenger road side rural slowness sound Spring </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> South from Walsenburg, the next day we swung past the Spanish Peaks, snow-white above the evergreens. Mountains were everywhere. They leaned in to- ward us threateningly through the clear air from all sides. Then down through Trinidad, toward Raton, New Mexico, the way wound around foothills, black with outcroppings of coal. From Raton we left the railroad lines, which had paralleled us, and pushed across the level plains, where cattle turned and ran in herds at the sight of a motor on the old Mexican land grant and the machine slowed down, necessarily, and followed the burro pace-maker. After a night in an old adobe house in Cimarron we went down through the cañon, its rocky walls echoing in hollow calls the throbbing of the machine. As we hurried along, a fuzzy-coated burro walked out placidly before the car and nonchalantly jogged along, and the machine slowed down, necessarily, and followed the burro pace-maker. And so we were led into Elizabethtown, whose placer diggings were the scene of a wild scramble in '68.</br> </br> </br> </br> adobe air affect animal car driving risk engine scenery Southwest </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Having come in to Elizabethtown through a hole we went out over a cloud. There are no other ways. The mountains surround it. The Indians call this pass “arrow stick in pole," it is so steep. Once at the summit, twisting and bending like a floundering whale, the car coasted down to the irrigated plain of Taos, where Indians, resting on their hoes, eyed us silently, and Mexicans saluted gracefully. Three miles beyond we swooped suddenly down upon the settlement of five-story, terraced houses of the Red Willow Indians. In their gaudy blankets they swarmed to the earthen housetops and watched us silently. But when, after much coaxing, we crowded the car with redskins and sent it dashing up and down at breakneck speed there were such war-whoops as city dwellers never hear.</br> </br> </br> </br> car road condition driving risk infrastructure mountain Native American </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> These Indians believe that the Great Spirit has guided them to this promised land. They wandered here from the north, and we listened, standing with bare heads in an underground council chamber, to the recital in Spanish of the story of their faith. They are a fine example of the early American aristocracy at its best. They have some lessons for modern American society. In Taos, too, lived and lies Kit Carson, the hunter and trapper, scout and soldier.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> From Taos we pushed through sand for many miles. The only living thing we saw was a gray coyote. But the desert is clean and sunny, which is something. At last we reached harder soil and green things growing. Indians greeted us on the way, and finally we came to the cliff dwellings of Pajorito Park, one of the many ruins of the great centuries-ago cities of the Southwest. One of the localities showed that 250,000 people lived there in houses, some of them five stories, or about seventy-five feet high. Irrigation, agriculture, industries and arts were all parts of their daily life.</br> </br> </br> </br> desert driving road surface animal scenery Native American Southwest agriculture </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Running in to Santa Fé we passed wagons crowded with Indians, gorgeous in color, from bullet-headed papoose to squaw and buck. They all watched us stolidly, while the bronchos reeled and jumped with fright until we were out of sight. Then the bronchos probably received some attention.</br> </br> </br> </br> affect driving Native American Southwest </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Santa Fé is rich with history, and the road on to Las Vegas is rich with color and beautiful landscape. The wild green on every side is cut with clean white streams full of trout for the angler. The little Mexican adobe village of San José, which has scarcely changed in a century, nestles in the heart of this country.</br> </br> </br> </br> adobe driving road road side scenery rural Southwest </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> When we went through San José I began to understand over again and in a new way Mark Twain's "Adventures of a Connecticut Yankee." The whole of King Arthur's court on bicycles could not have started the stir we created in that single automobile. We went through the place like the wind, the machine snorting, whistle tooting, while the poor inhabitants huddled into frightened groups out of reach. We were a kind of first thunderstorm to them.</br> </br> </br> </br> affect car intertext car metaphor personification </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We had a plunge in the Las Vegas Hot Springs and started north again along the old Santa Fé trail, meeting few people and seeing little that was new. One begrizzled old man, at an isolated shack, watched us so wistfully as he brought us some water that we half wanted to take him into the car and drive him into civilization, but he is probably happier as he is. From Raton it is back, over the same way we came, to Colorado Springs and home.</br> </br> </br> </br> driving rural Midwest Southwest </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> And so the machine is conquering the old frontier, carrying the thudding of modern mechanics into the land of romance. There are many pleasures in such a journey; you bring a new thing to an old people and they re-teach you old things that should never be forgotten. You see, perhaps, the wildest and most natural places on the continent; and there's a touch of adventure, for such a trip cannot be taken without some danger. We crowded what used to take months to do in nine days-nine hundred miles up mountain and down valley. The trails of Kit Carson and Boone and Crockett, and the rest of the early frontiersmen, stretch out before the adventurous automobilist. And when he is tired of the old, there are new paths to be made. He has no beaten track to follow, no schedule to meet, no other train to consider; but he can go with the speed of an express straight into the heart of an unknown land. And he isn't in much greater danger than the man who pilots his machine between the trucks and carriages of a crowded city street. It is only the beginning of automobile exploring and frontiering in the old West.</br> </br> </br> </br> car metaphor pioneer pleasure scenery sublime technology urban  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Fraser, Vonard </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> Motor Land </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1922 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 16</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Through the forest aisles to the silver sea, </br>To the crest of the sun-kissed hills, </br>As the motor sings on the Open Road </br>And the heart of all nature thrills.</br> </br> </br> </br> forest ocean topography music sound personification road scenery </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> There’s a subtle lure in the summer air, </br>Wherever the road may lead, </br>And a power that throbs with the pulsing gears— </br>What a joy in the Age of Speed!</br> </br> </br> </br> car part power speed pleasure road personification haptic summer </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> There’s a pleasure here that our fathers knew </br>At the pull of the dappled greys, </br>Or the Roman lord with his Arab steed </br>As he basked in the public gaze.</br> </br> </br> </br> animal </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> From the snow-clad peaks of the Siskiyous </br>To the warmth of the southern sun, </br>Over roads that wind through the marts of trade, </br>Does the traffic of pleasure run.</br> </br> </br> </br> snow sunshine driving mountain scenery traffic pleasure </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> And we laugh at Time as the tardy Hours </br>In their gallop from Day’s red dawn </br>Are outdistanced far in the swift-sped race </br>By this product of brain and brawn.</br> </br> </br> </br> animal metaphor technology car speed </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> lt’s the key to health and a newer life, </br>Where the treasures of Nature lie, </br>As the seasons pass from the Spring’s sweet breath </br>To the chill of the Winter's sigh.</br> </br> </br> </br> health spring winter </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> And the dream of man is a broader dream </br>With the span of his life’s increase, </br>And the throbbing pulse of the motor car </br>Bears him nearer the haunts of Peace.</br> </br> </br> </br> health agency haptic car </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> And the country calls to the city-bred, </br>"Come away from the fields of strife, </br>For a breath of air from the snow-clad peaks </br>In the traffic of Joy is Life.”</br> </br> </br> </br> rural urban traffic  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Fraser, Vonard </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> Motor Land </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1922 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 24</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> There's a strident call in the Open Road </br>Where the Spring's glad message lies, </br>And the motor sings me a joyous song </br>With a lilt of the azure skies.</br> </br> </br> </br> car sound music personification pleasure road sky spring </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> O’er the ribboned line of the Great Highway, </br>Where the wildflower carpet's laid, </br>Where the poppy opens her golden cup </br>As a symbol of Spring arrayed.</br> </br> </br> </br> highway plant metaphor road spring </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Through the forests, born in an ancient day, </br>With their banks of moss and bloom, </br>And the bordered aisles of the canyons dim </br>Where the giant Redwoods loom.</br> </br> </br> </br> forest tree plant </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Then o'er hill and dale to the realm of snow, </br>To the mirrored lakes and rills, </br>While the skylark's call from the meadows green </br>Can be heard on a thousand hills.</br> </br> </br> </br> snow lake animal sound </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> For the feverish press in this Game of Life </br>What a balm does Nature bear! </br>What a draught of health in the new-turned earth, </br>What a change from the realm of Care!</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> O, the key to much that the world loves best </br>Can be found beside the way, </br>If your motor sings you a joyous song </br>At the dawn of a bright spring day.</br> </br> </br> </br> car personification pleasure music sound springtion pleasure music sound spring  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Frost, Robert </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> New Hampshire. A Poem with Notes and Grace Notes </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> Henry Holt </br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1923 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 109</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> (To hear us talk)</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The tree the tempest with a crash of wood </br>Throws down in front of us is not to bar </br>Our passage to our journey's end for good, </br>But just to ask us who we think we are</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Insisting always on our own way so. </br>She likes to halt us in our runner tracks, </br>And make us get down in a foot of snow </br>Debating what to do without an axe.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> And yet she knows obstruction is in vain: </br>We will not be put off the final goal </br>We have it hidden in us to attain, </br>Not though we have to seize earth by the pole</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> And, tired of aimless circling in one place, </br>Steer straight off after something into space.</br> </br> </br> </br> agency something into space. agency  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Hersey, Marie Louise </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> Modern Verse: British and American </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> Henry Holt and Company </br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1921 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 159-161</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> All summer in the close-locked streets the crowd </br>Elbows its way past glittering shops to strains </br>Of noisy rag-time, men and girls, dark skinned,— </br>From warmer foreign waters they have come </br>To our New England. Purring like sleek cats </br>The cushioned motors of the rich crawl through </br>While black-haired babies scurry to the curb: </br>Pedro, Maria, little Gabriel </br>Whose red bandana mothers selling fruit </br>Have this in common with the fresh white caps </br>Of those first immigrants—courage to leave </br>Familiar hearths and build new memories.</br> </br> </br> </br> summer city zoomorphism sound east road </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Blood of their blood who shaped these sloping roofs </br>And low arched doorways, laid the cobble stones </br>Not meant for motors,—you and I rejoice </br>When roof and spire sink deep into the night </br>And all the little streets reach out their arms </br>To be received into the salt-drenched dark. </br>Then Provincetown comes to her own again, </br>Draws round her like a cloak that shelters her </br>From too swift changes of the passing years </br>The dunes, the sea, the silent hilltop grounds </br>Where solemn groups of leaning headstones hold </br>Perpetual reunion of her dead.</br> </br> </br> </br> road surface cobblestone city personification road law </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> At dusk we feel our way along the wharf </br>That juts into the harbor: anchored ships </br>With lifting prow and slowly rocking mast </br>Ink out their profiles; fishing dories scull </br>With muffled lamps that glimmer through the spray; </br>We hear the water plash among the piers </br>Rotted with moss, long after sunset stay </br>To watch the dim sky-changes ripple down </br>The length of quiet ocean to our feet </br>Till on the sea rim rising like a world </br>Bigger than ours, and laying bare the ships </br>In shadowy stillness, swells the yellow moon.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Between this blue intensity of sea </br>And rolling dunes of white-hot sand that burn </br>All day across a clean salt wilderness </br>On shores grown sacred as a place of prayer, </br>Shine bright invisible footsteps of a band </br>Of firm-lipped men and women who endured </br>Partings from kindred, hardship, famine, death, </br>And won for us three hundred years ago </br>A reverent proud freedom of the soul.oud freedom of the soul.  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Hughes, Langston </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> Langston Hughes: Poems </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> Alfred A. Knopf Inc. </br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1927 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 84</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> infrastructure class </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Hey, Buddy! </br>Look at me!</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> I'm makin' a road </br>For the cars to fly by on, </br>Makin' a road </br>Through the palmetto thicket </br>For light and civilization </br>To travel on.</br> </br> </br> </br> construction road speed metaphor </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> I'm makin' a road </br>For the rich to sweep over </br>In their big cars </br>And leave me standin' here.</br> </br> </br> </br> construction car road </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Sure, </br>A road helps everybody. </br>Rich folks ride — </br>And I get to see 'em ride. </br>I ain't never seen nobody </br>Ride so fine before.</br> </br> </br> </br> driving road </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Hey, Buddy, look! </br>I'm makin' a road!ey, Buddy, look! I'm makin' a road!  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Jones, Joshua Henry </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> Poems of the Four Seas </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> Books for Libraries Press </br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1921 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 3</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> There are hill roads and dale roads, </br> And roads that bind and twist; </br>Some wide roads and cramped roads </br> Which many souls have missed. </br>There are blind roads and night roads </br> That lead to where we fall. </br>The long road's a hard road </br> But the best road after all. </br> </br> </br> </br> road road condition metaphor </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Some good roads, some bad roads </br> Are roads of dust and grime; </br>Some rest roads and toil roads, </br> Then some that lead to crime. </br>The best road's the west road </br> Which becks with quiet call. </br>The straight road, though hard road, </br> Is the best road after all. </br> </br> </br> </br> road condition metaphor dust West affect </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> There's a love road and a hate road; </br> And this last road trails to hell. </br>There's a cool road; a clean road </br> That leads by friendship's well. </br>But the best road is the west road </br> That calls us one and all. </br>'Tis a bright road—a right road </br> And—the one road after all. </br> </br> </br> </br> road condition metaphor affect Westdition metaphor affect West  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Josephson, Matthew </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> Merz Verlag </br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1923 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 62</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> The poem was simultaneously published in a German and an American journal.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> With the brain at the wheel </br>The eye on the road </br>And the hand to the left </br>Pleasant be your progress </br>Explorer producer stoic after your fashion </br>Change </br>Change to </br>To what speed to what underwear </br>Here is a town here a mill </br>Nothing surprizes you old horseface </br>Guzzle guzzle goes the siren </br>And the world will learn to admire and applaud your concern </br>with the parts your firmness with employees and your justice to your friends. </br>Your pride will not be overridden </br>Your faith will go unmortified.</br> </br> </br> </br> car part vision haptic sound metaphor driving vision haptic sound metaphor driving  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Kilmer, Joyce </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> Main Street and Other Poems </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> George H. Doran Company </br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1917 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 13-15</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> I like to look at the blossomy track of the moon upon the sea, </br>But it isn't half so fine a sight as Main Street used to be </br>When it all was covered over with a couple of feet of snow, </br>And over the crisp and radiant road the ringing sleighs would go.</br> </br> </br> </br> road snow </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Now, Main Street bordered with autumn leaves, it was a pleasant thing, </br>And its gutters were gay with dandelions early in the Spring; </br>I like to think of it white with frost or dusty in the heat, </br>Because I think it is humaner than any other street.</br> </br> </br> </br> fall plant road spring anthropomorphism </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> A city street that is busy and wide is ground by a thousand wheels, </br>And a burden of traffic on its breast is all it ever feels: </br>It is dully conscious of weight and speed and of work that never ends, </br>But it cannot be human like Main Street, and recognise its friends.</br> </br> </br> </br> urban traffic anthropomorphism haptic road </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> There were only about a hundred teams on Main Street in a day, </br>And twenty or thirty people, I guess, and some children out to play. </br>And there wasn't a wagon or buggy, or a man or a girl or a boy </br>That Main Street didn't remember, and somehow seem to enjoy.</br> </br> </br> </br> anthropomorphism road </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The truck and the motor and trolley car and the elevated train </br>They make the weary city street reverberate with pain: </br>But there is yet an echo left deep down within my heart </br>Of the music the Main Street cobblestones made beneath a butcher's cart.</br> </br> </br> </br> urban affect road anthropomorphism music cobblestone road surface </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> God be thanked for the Milky Way that runs across the sky, </br>That's the path that my feet would tread whenever I have to die. </br>Some folks call it a Silver Sword, and some a Pearly Crown, </br>But the only thing I think it is, is Main Street, Heaventown.</br> </br> </br> </br> road sublimetown. road sublime  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Lavell, Edith </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Fiction </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> The Girl Scouts‘ Motor Trip </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> A. L. Burt Company </br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1924 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> Chapters 1-3</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> Chapter 1 - A Challenge [ edit ] </br> </br> </br> Marjorie Wilkinson and Lily Andrews sauntered down the hall of the dormitory towards their rooms, humming tunes and dragging their hockey sticks along the floor behind them. They were enjoying a particularly jubilant mood, for their team had just been victorious; the sophomores of Turner College had succeeded in defeating the juniors in a closely contested game of hockey. And Marjorie and Lily both played on the team. </br>As they paused at the door of their sitting-room, Florence Evans, a member of the old senior patrol of Pansy Troop of Girls Scouts, and now a freshman at college, came out to meet them. She had run in for news of the game, and finding the girls away, had decided to await their return. </br>“Who won?” she demanded, without any ceremony. </br>“We did!” announced Lily, triumphantly. “Naturally—with such a captain!” She nodded proudly towards Marjorie. </br>“Congratulations!” cried Florence, seizing both girls by the hands and leading them back to the room. “Now—tell me all about it!” </br>Marjorie had scarcely begun her account of the thrilling match when she was interrupted by the abrupt entrance of Alice Endicott, another freshman who had been a Girl Scout of the same troop, looking as if she carried the most startling news in the world. Naturally vivacious, her cheeks glowed and her eyes shone with even greater brilliancy than usual. The girls stopped talking instantly, aware that her excitement was not due to any event so ordinary as a hockey game.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> “Girls!” she flung out. “Guess what?” </br>“What?” they all demanded at once. </br>Alice waved an open letter before their eyes. </br>“The most magnificent thing has happened—” </br>“To you?” interrupted Florence, who always wanted to be explicit. </br>“To us —all of us—of the senior patrol. A plan for this summer!” </br>“The scouts aren’t to get together again, are they?” cried Marjorie, jumping up and going over towards Alice, as if she wanted at a single glance to learn the contents of that mysterious letter. </br>“Have you found a baby, or only a boot-legger?” asked Lily, laughingly. “Because it’s too late to get our tea-house back again, after the money’s all spent!” </br>“Neither of those things,” replied Alice. “Only a rich relation.” </br>“Why the ‘only’?” inquired Florence. “I think that’s almost enough. But tell us about it. How does it concern us?” </br>“Just wait till you hear!” laughed Alice, turning to her letter again. </br>“Well, do let us hear!” begged Lily, impatiently. “We’re waiting.” </br>Alice seated herself upon the couch and paused a moment before she started upon her explanation, as if to make the situation more dramatic. At last she began.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> “Of course you know our family are all in modest circumstances, but it seems that there is this one wealthy relative—an elderly, maiden aunt on my father’s side. I have never seen her, because she has lived in California during all of my life, but naturally I had heard of her before. She never took any interest in us, however, and always said she was going to leave all of her money to her two nephews whom she is raising. </br>“Well, I hardly thought she knew of my existence, when suddenly, out of a clear sky, I got this letter from her with its thrilling proposition. She must have learned somewhere of the work we did last summer, and of our reason for doing it, and she was impressed. She evidently never knew any Girl Scouts before, or in fact any girls who were interested in anything so worth while as a sick mother or a tea-house. So, lo and behold, she writes to me and tells me she wants to make my acquaintance—and not only mine, but that of the whole patrol!” </br>“But we can’t go out west, Alice!” interrupted Marjorie, jumping at her meaning. “We couldn’t possibly afford it.” </br>“No,” added Florence, “I was thinking of looking for a job for the summer.” </br>“Wait till you hear the rest of it!” said Alice. “We won’t need any money. Aunt Emeline is offering to pay all our expenses, if we motor to California !” </br>“Motor!” repeated Marjorie. “We girls? By ourselves—?”</br> </br> </br> </br> driving West </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> “No; we may, in fact, we must have a chaperone.” </br>“It would be a wonderful thing to do!” exclaimed Florence, contrasting the pleasures of such a delightful excursion with the routine duties of an office position, such as she had planned for herself. “But is it possible?” </br>“Why not?” demanded Alice. “Lots of girls have done it before—I’ve even read accounts of their trips in the magazines, telling all about what to take, and how much it costs.” </br>“But they are always older girls than we are!” objected Lily. </br>“Girl Scouts can do anything any other girls can do!” asserted Marjorie with pride. “I’m sure we could make the trip. Now, tell me again, please, Alice: just which of us are invited?” </br>“All the girls who took part in last summer’s work at the tea-house,” replied Alice. “That means us four, Daisy Gravers, Ethel Todd, Marie Louise Harris—and—Doris and Mae if they want to.” </br>“‘If they want to’ is good!” laughed Marjorie. “Imagine those two brides leaving their husbands for a two months’ trip!” </br>“Of course you could hardly expect Mae to,” admitted Alice; “she’s quite too recent a bride. But Doris will have been married a year.” </br>“But she and Roger are just as spoony as ever!” interrupted Lily. “No, I’m afraid we can’t count on them. But the other three girls probably will.”</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> “To continue,” said Alice: “you know that I told you my aunt is queer—a little ‘off’ we always considered her. Well, she goes on to add that we must make the trip inside of six weeks, follow the Lincoln Highway, not spend more than a certain sum of money she is depositing in my name, and—the last is worst of all—” </br>“What?” demanded two or three of the scouts at once. </br>“We are not to accept help of any men along the way!” </br>The girls all burst out laughing immediately at the absurdity of such a suggestion. Yet there was not one among them who doubted that she could fulfill the conditions. </br>“And what happens if we do take assistance?” asked Florence, when the merriment had subsided. “Do we have to pay for our own trip?” </br>“No, but the guilty girls have to go home,” replied Alice. </br>“Can’t you just see us dropping one by one ‘by the wayside’” remarked Lily, “because we accept masculine chivalry. Really, it will be hard—” </br>“Oh, we can do it!” said Marjorie, with her usual assurance. She put down her hockey stick and went over to the tea-table to make tea. The subject was too interesting to allow her guests to depart.</br> </br> </br> </br> highway infrastructure </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> “Tell us more,” urged Florence. </br>“The best is yet to come,” said Alice, her eyes sparkling with pleasure, because of the further revelation she was about to make. “There is a reward at the end!” </br>“A reward!” repeated Marjorie. “As if the trip itself weren’t enough—” </br>“Yes, this is the marvelous part. If we fulfill all the conditions, and reach Aunt Emeline’s house by midnight of August first, each girl is to receive a brand-new runabout, for her very own!” </br>“What? What?” demanded all the girls at the same time, unable to believe their ears. </br>“Shall we accept the offer?” continued Alice. </br>“Shall we?” cried Florence. “As if there were any doubt!” She jumped up and gave Alice an ecstatic little squeeze.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The other girls were just as enthusiastic, and they discussed the affair from every angle, while they drank Marjorie’s tea and nibbled at some nabiscoes which Lily produced from her cake box. When they came to the selection of a chaperone, they were all unanimous in their desire to have Mrs. Remington. </br>“But would she leave her husband for such a long time?” asked Lily, doubtfully. </br>“It wouldn’t be a question of leaving him,” answered Marjorie. “Because he has to go to some sort of Boy Scout camp this summer for the months of July and August—she told me about it in her last letter. So she might be very glad of the invitation.” </br>“Then that settles that,” said Alice. “Marj, will you write immediately?” </br>“I certainly will, and I’ll write home for permission for myself at the same time.” </br>“Marj!” exclaimed Lily, suddenly. “What about the Hadleys? Didn’t you promise that you’d go to the seashore—?”</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Marjorie blushed, remembering the time she had told John Hadley that she would spend her vacation with him and his mother, and had disappointed him to go on the ranch. Luckily, however, no definite plans had been agreed upon as yet for this summer. </br>“No, thank goodness I didn’t promise,” she replied. “But,” she added teasingly, “how can you ever exist all that time without seeing Dick Roberts?” </br>Her room-mate only laughed good-naturedly at the thrust; she was used to being taunted about the frequency of this young man’s visits. </br>“I can get along very well without any young man,” she replied, boastfully. “I’m not Doris—or Mae Van Horn!” </br>“Mae Melville, you mean,” corrected Alice, for they all had difficulty in calling the girl by her new name, of which she had been in possession only a month. “Wasn’t it funny,” she added, “that Mae caught Doris’s bouquet at the wedding, and sure enough was the first to get married! Just as if there were something to the old superstition after all!” </br>“It was, and it wasn’t, odd,” reasoned Marjorie; “because after all it was very natural for Doris and Mae to be the first girls married from our patrol. They didn’t have so much to keep them occupied as we college girls have—and they had more time to think about such things.” </br>“Implying,” remarked Florence, “that if you weren’t busy here, you’d be marrying John Hadley, and Lily, Dick Roberts, and—” </br>“That will do, Flos!” remonstrated Marjorie. “You don’t have to apply every generalization personally. But, seriously, it is a fact that college girls usually marry later in life than those who just stay at home like Doris.” </br>“But Mae didn’t stay home! She had a job.”</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> “Now don’t let’s have an argument on a college girl’s chances versus those of a business woman!” protested Lily. “And by the way, wasn’t it too bad that we couldn’t any of us be at Mae’s wedding to see who would catch the bride’s bouquet! We won’t know who will be the next victim!” </br>“Maybe we’ll all be old maids,” laughed Marjorie. “At any rate, I don’t think any of us will be running off soon, since we’re all six in college. And that reminds me, haven’t we four been mean to go on talking about this marvelous proposition, and not make any attempt to go get Daisy—” </br>“I’ll go for her this instant!” volunteered Alice, jumping immediately to her feet. “It is a shame—” </br>She was off in a moment, skipping down the hall like a happy child. </br>It was not long before she returned with Daisy Gravers, another Girl Scout of the patrol, and the subject was discussed all over again with a thoroughness that omitted no details. The girls’ only regret was that Ethel Todd, a junior at Bryn Mawr, could not be present to hear all about it. </br>“I’ll write to her,” said Alice. “Then, if we can all six go—and Mrs. Remington—” </br>“And maybe Marie Louise,” put in Daisy.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> “We’ll need several cars,” concluded Lily, who always did things sumptuously. </br>“Two ought to be enough,” said Florence. “But say, girls, why couldn’t we leave our planning until Doris’s house-party? Then we’ll all be together, and will know definitely whether or not we can go.” </br>“But the boys will be such an interruption!” sighed Lily. “You can’t get a thing done with them around.” </br>“Oh, we’ll shut them out of our conferences,” announced Marjorie, coolly. “We must accustom ourselves to getting along without the opposite sex if we are to make a success of our trip.” </br>“And yet it is a pity,” remarked Alice, “after all they did for us last summer at the tea-house!” </br>“Yes, maybe if it weren’t for them we wouldn’t have become famous and received this scrumptious invitation,” surmised Daisy.</br> </br> </br> </br> car </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> “What I can’t understand,” mused Florence, who had been carefully considering every aspect of the offer, “is why your aunt should want us to make the trip independent of all masculine assistance. Especially when, as you say, Alice, she shows such preference for her two nephews.” </br>“Oh, it’s just an idea of hers—a notion that she’s taken, I suppose,” replied Alice. “When you’re awfully rich and awfully old, you sometimes do crazy things just for the novelty of it.” </br>“My, what a philosopher you are!” joked Florence. “You sound as if you had been both old and rich!” </br>“My theory,” put in Marjorie, “is that it has something to do with the nephews. She has probably boasted of our work last summer, and perhaps the boys belittled it. So I think this might be a kind of wager.” </br>“That sounds plausible!” exclaimed Lily. “Well, let’s do all in our power to make the old lady win.” </br>“And yet,” interposed Florence, “she may be on the other side, hoping we don’t live up to the conditions. It would certainly be cheaper for her if we fell down—” </br>“Girls, I think you’re all wrong,” said Daisy. “I think she is just a lovely old lady, who has read about our work, and wants to reward us. But she thinks we’ll appreciate our cars more if we earn them, and that’s the reason she put on all these conditions.” </br>“Come, we’re not getting anywhere!” interrupted Florence, “and the time’s passing.” A glance at her watch assured her that the supper hour was imminent. </br>“Meet here day after tomorrow,” suggested Marjorie, as the girls rose to take their leave; “and try to have your parents’ permission by then.” </br>“We’ll have it!” cried two or three of the girls. “We wouldn’t miss this chance for the world!”</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Chapter 2 - Together Again [ edit ] </br> </br> </br> Two weeks after Alice Endicott had received her startling invitation to visit her aunt at the latter’s expense, Doris Harris sat in the living-room of her cozy little Philadelphia house, awaiting the arrival of all the girls concerned. The party was to be a week-end one, half of the girls staying at her house, and half at the home of her sister-in-law, Marie Louise Harris, with whom they had lived during the preceding summer while conducting the tea-room. </br>Doris looked about the attractively furnished room, with its shining white paint and snowy curtains, its delft blue hangings and upholstery, and smiled contentedly to herself. It would have been pleasant, she thought, to go to college, along with the majority of the girls of the senior patrol; but it could not have been nearly so wonderful as to be married to the best man in the world, and to possess such a dear little home of her own. And, after all, there would always be occasions like this when she could manage to be with the girls again. </br>She heard a light step on the porch but she did not put down her fancy work to go to the door, for she recognized it as belonging to her sister-in-law. The girls were so intimate that neither considered stopping to ring the bell at the other’s home. A moment later Marie Louise opened the door.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> “Anybody here yet?” she asked, crossing the room to give Doris her customary kiss. </br>“No, not yet,” replied her hostess. “I sort of expect that the five girls from Turner College will come together. But Ethel Todd will come by herself.” </br>Marie Louise disappeared into the dining-room for a minute and returned carrying a vase of roses, which she had arranged most artistically in a wide blue china bowl. She set it down upon the table, hardly listening to Doris’s thanks for the flowers, so eager was she to talk of the latest development. </br>“Tell me more about this new idea—is it Alice’s or Marjorie’s?—I haven’t got the gist of it yet. Ethel Todd called me up on the telephone, but the connection was so poor—” </br>“I really don’t know myself,” replied Doris; “except that it is a trip of some sort, and Alice’s aunt is paying the expenses. None of the girls wrote to me in detail, because they all assumed that I couldn’t go.” </br>“Well, you wouldn’t, would you?” </br>“No, of course not,” replied Doris, laughingly. “I’d be too homesick. But how about you, Marie Louise?” </br>“Unfortunately I’ve arranged to go on studying all summer. You know I spoke of some such plan—well, I had already made my arrangements before Ethel called me up. But I am crazy to see the girls and hear all about it.” </br>She seated herself upon the wide window-sill so that she might catch the first sight of her friends when they arrived. But she did not have long to wait; in less than ten minutes Ethel Todd put in an appearance. Both girls jumped up joyfully and hurried to the door. </br>“Aren’t the others here yet?” asked Ethel, as soon as the greetings had subsided. </br>“No, not yet,” replied Doris. “But they won’t be long and they’re all coming together. Now—come on upstairs, Ethel, and put your hat and coat away, for I want you to stay here. You know,” she explained laughingly, “I have only room enough to put up three of the girls, so three will have to stay at Marie Louise’s.”</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> She led the way up the mahogany and white staircase to the dainty little guest room at the rear of the second story, a boudoir such as any girl would love, furnished in cream-colored painted furniture, with pink floral decorations and pink and cream curtains at the windows. Ethel admired it profusely. </br>“And did you work that bed-spread yourself?” she asked, examining closely the applique work in a flower design, upon unbleached muslin. “It’s simply too pretty to sleep on.” </br>“Oh, it will wash!” laughed Doris. “Yes, I did make it myself. I love to do fancy-work.” Then, in the same breath, “Now tell us all about the trip. I’m tremendously interested.” </br>“I’m afraid I don’t know a whole lot myself—just the bare facts that you know. But wait till Marj and Alice get here—they’ll tell us everything. By the way, is everybody coming?” </br>“Everybody but Mae,” replied Doris. “You could hardly expect so recent a bride. In fact,” she added, “I didn’t even invite her. I knew it would be of no use.” </br>“And she’s too far away-way out there in Ohio,” said Ethel. “I’m afraid we won’t see much of her any more.” </br>They descended the staircase just in time to see, through the glass door, a taxi stop in front of the house. A moment later five merry, laughing girls jumped out of the machine and skipped up the porch steps. Marjorie Wilkinson, the last to enter the house on account of the delay in paying the driver, decided to make up for lost time, and seized Ethel, Doris, and Marie Louise all at once in one inclusive hug.</br> </br> </br> </br> taxi </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> “We’re all here!” she cried, joyfully. “Together now—and together all summer! Isn’t it marvelous?” </br>“Yes, if only Mae were here,” said Lily, who never could forget the absent members. </br>“And if Doris and I could go with you,” sighed Marie Louise. </br>“You can’t go?” asked Alice, her face clouding. “Oh, why not, Marie Louise? Are you going to get married too?” </br>“No, indeed,” replied the other girl, laughingly. “But I am keeping on at art school this summer.” </br>“What a shame!” cried several of the others at once. They were all genuinely fond of this girl who was the latest addition to their number. </br>Without even removing their hats, the girls all dropped into chairs in the living-room and continued to talk fast and furiously about their proposed trip. It seemed that all of the college girls were planning to go; and Marjorie’s announcement of Mrs. Remington’s acceptance added another cause for rejoicing. Their only regret was that their two hostesses and Mae Melville could not go. </br>“I honestly feel sorry for you married people!” teased Florence. “To think that you have to miss all the fun—” </br>“But there are compensations,” Doris reminded her. “Maybe we feel sorry for you!” </br>“Now Doris, we won’t stand for that!” retorted Alice. “And anyhow—” </br>“Anyhow what?” demanded the other, as Alice paused in the middle of her remark. </br>“Anyhow some of us may have gone over to your side by the time we come back. I expect some of the girls to fall for my cousins—” </br>But Marjorie put an end to their bantering by a call to the practical.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> “That makes seven of us to go,” she said, using her fingers for the calculation. “I should think that two machines would really be enough.” </br>“Yes,” answered Alice, “because we are to travel light. I forgot to tell you that one of my aunt’s stipulations is that we wear our Girl Scout uniforms all the time. We can express our trunks ahead, packed with the clothing we want to wear after we get to California.” </br>“Then everybody will know we’re scouts?” asked Florence. </br>“Yes; you don’t mind, do you?” </br>“I’m proud of it!” replied the other, loyally. </br>“If you take a big seven-passenger car,” said Lily, “wouldn’t it be possible to take my Rolls as a second? It really runs wonderfully.” </br>“It would do beautifully,” answered Marjorie; and all the others approved her decision. </br>“Do we camp along the way, or do we expect to stop at inns and hotels?” asked Ethel. </br>“Both,” replied Alice. “You see we have to be a little bit economical because Aunt Emeline is only allowing us a certain amount for our trip; and if we spend any more, even though it is our own money, we forfeit our reward. So we must be rather thrifty.”</br> </br> </br> </br> car car model West </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> “I think it’s more fun to camp, anyhow,” said Marjorie. “Imagine Girl Scouts running to hotels all along the way! Though it will be nice to stop every once in a while and get a real bath!” </br>“Oh, you’ll have to go to a hotel in the big cities,” put in Doris, who took as much interest in the affair as if she were going herself. </br>“The funniest thing is going to be refusing any help from men we happen to meet along the road,” remarked Daisy. “I’m afraid some of them may think we’re terribly rude.” </br>“And suppose we get in such a tight place we simply can’t get out,” suggested Ethel. “What are we to do?” </br>“Walk miles to a garage, or trust to some women tourists to give us a lift,” answered Marjorie, firmly. </br>“Trust us! Girl Scouts don’t give up easily.” </br>“But remember,” put in Daisy, who was still a little dubious as to the success of the undertaking, “that we always had our own Boy Scouts to help us before. And now we’ll be miles away!” she sighed regretfully. </br>“We wouldn’t call on them if they were right behind us!” asserted Marjorie. “Oh, it’s going to be great fun—so much more than if we were all wealthy, and could just take the trip as we pleased, without any terms being dictated! It means that we’ve got one more chance to show what Girl Scouts can do!”</br> </br> </br> </br> car car model West </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> “Well, your aunt certainly must be a queer one to think up all these conditions,” observed Doris. </br>“Oh, she hasn’t much to do,” said Alice, “except to think about those two nephews who are her heirs. I guess we’ve given her a new interest.” </br>“What does she look like?” asked Florence. </br>“I don’t know; the only picture we have is one of those old-fashioned things in a family album. She was eighteen then, and looked thirty-eight. You know the kind that I mean. But I have always imagined that she resembled that fake lieutenant those boys we met on the train fixed up for our benefit the summer we went on the ranch.” </br>“Speaking of boys,” interrupted Doris, “they will soon be here. And you girls won’t even have your hats off—let alone be dressed. Don’t you think we had better adjourn to our rooms, especially the girls who have to go over to Marie Louise’s?” </br>“Right you are, Doris!” exclaimed all of her guests, hastening to carry out her suggestion.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> But if Doris thought that the presence of the boys at dinner that evening would put a damper upon the discussion of the project, she was mistaken. The boys, among whom were Jack Wilkinson, John Hadley, and Dick Roberts—all intimate friends of the girls—already knew something of the plans and showed their interest by a succession of questions. John and Dick both looked anything but pleased. </br>“Why couldn’t you do something in Philadelphia?” asked Dick, sulkily. “We had such a bully time last summer!” </br>“Why don’t you take a motor trip to the coast?” returned Florence. “Last year we came to you—this year you come with us! Turn about is fair play!” </br>“Don’t suggest it!” protested Alice, alarmed at the very mention of such a thing. “We’d never earn our cars with the boys following in our trail.” </br>“People!” exclaimed Marjorie, suddenly struck by an inspiration. “I know something fine! It has just occurred to me that Mae lives in a town on the Lincoln Highway—the way we will undoubtedly go to the coast. And she has urged us all to visit her—so couldn’t we stop on our way out, and maybe you boys join us for a week-end?” </br>“Where does she live?” asked Jack, doubtfully. He was not sure of being able to get away from the office whenever he desired. </br>“Lima—in Ohio,” replied Doris. “It isn’t awfully far.” </br>“But would it be right for a big crowd like this to descend upon her all at once?” inquired Daisy. </br>“Mae wouldn’t mind,” Doris hastened to assure her. “You know she has a rather large house—and two servants—for Tom Melville has plenty of this world’s goods. In fact, I think she may be a little lonely, and would be overjoyed to see you.” </br>“Then that settles it!” cried Marjorie. “I’ll write tomorrow and invite ourselves.” </br>“But how do you know when to set the date for?” asked Florence. </br>“We’ll have to work it all out by mathematics,” replied the latter. “There’s a lot of planning to be done, and equipment to be bought. We’ll have to name a committee.” </br>“I propose you as chairman,” said Lily, immediately. “Because you’re our lieutenant—and you can pick your own committee.” </br>“I second that motion!” exclaimed Ethel.</br> </br> </br> </br> highway infrastructure West </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Just at this point Marjorie’s brother commenced to chuckle to himself, as if he were enjoying some private joke. </br>“Tell us, Jack, so we can have some fun,” suggested Ethel. </br>“Oh, it’s nothing!” replied Jack. “Only—well, I don’t want to be a kill-joy, or anything like that, you know; but I just couldn’t help but think how funny it would be if somebody were playing a practical joke on you all.” </br>“What do you mean?” demanded Marjorie. </br>“Why, suppose you went ahead and made all your plans and bought a lot of things, and then found out in the end that the letter was all a joke—” </br>“You mean that you don’t believe that I have an Aunt Emeline?” interrupted Alice. </br>“No, not that. With due respect to your aunt, you must admit it’s a mighty unusual proposal for her to make to a bunch of girls she never saw, no matter if she is as rich as all get out. The proposition’s wild enough, but the idea of her giving each girl a runabout as a reward if she wins through—that’s what gets me.” </br>“Anyone rich enough and crazy enough to pay our expenses would be crazy enough to do anything,” said Alice. </br>“And she probably doesn’t expect us to win,” put in Florence. </br>“Well, I’d wait till I saw a check for those expenses, if I were you; then, if it turned out to be a joke, you wouldn’t be so much out of pocket. That’s what I mean!” </br>“Silly! As if we haven’t thought of those things!” exclaimed his sister. “I’ve been pinching myself every day, expecting to wake up from a dream—until Alice wrote a letter saying we could go, and then received that check by return mail. Think up some other excuse to keep us home, Jackie; that one won’t work.” </br>“You needn’t worry about the money, Jack,” explained Alice. “It’s safely deposited in bank to my account!” </br>“Well, anyway,” Jack replied, “I object to this party’s being turned into a business meeting. Let’s forget it—and dance!” </br>“Jack is right,” agreed Doris. Then, turning to her husband, “Put on a record, Roger, and let’s begin.” </br>The remainder of the evening passed entirely to the boys’ satisfaction.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Chapter 3 - Planning The Trip [ edit ] </br> </br> </br> If talking about the summer’s excursion could have hastened the date of the event, the weeks would have passed in rapid succession, for the Girl Scouts never grew tired of discussing its every aspect. Whenever two or three of them were together the conversation drifted inevitably to this one all important topic; at other times, when lessons were put aside for the evening or a Sunday afternoon offered an opportunity for rest, the five scouts would gather together in Marjorie’s sitting-room to talk of their plans. Sometimes they would discuss the country through which they were to motor, and read descriptions from books about the scenery; at other times they would be concerned with the actual problems of the trip; but invariably they would end up with the contemplation of their reward, giving expression to their dreams of owning motor-cars of their own. To the poorer girls the idea was too entrancing ever to lose its novelty; Florence and Daisy would talk for hours of the trips they meant to take, the people they would invite to go riding with them, the pleasure and the service they intended to give. Had it not been for these hours of happy anticipation the time would have seemed to pass slowly; all of the girls—even Marjorie, who was usually too busy to be bored—grew impatient of the months that intervened.</br> </br> </br> </br> car class navigation </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> But at last the college term neared its close, and the scouts began to make definite preparations for their excursion. Marjorie selected her committee and planned to buy the equipment in Philadelphia, a week or so before the time to start. </br>She had commissioned John Hadley to order the other automobile—a seven passenger touring car—and had thereby won an invitation for herself and Alice and Lily (the other two members of her committee) to stay with Mrs. Hadley while they were in Philadelphia. Recalling the pleasure and the convenience of a similar visit the preceding summer, when she was buying equipment for the tea-room, she accepted the invitation gratefully for herself and her companions. </br>“I’m so glad I’m a member of this committee,” remarked Lily as their train pulled into Philadelphia; “so that we will have this week together. For I think it is going to be lots of fun.” </br>“If it’s anything like last year it will,” returned Marjorie. </br>“Ah, but remember that we had the boys then to make things lively,” observed Alice. </br>“Well, we have them now. Aren’t we staying at John’s home—and isn’t my brother Jack working right here in Philadelphia—and ready to help us at any minute? And—” Marjorie glanced slyly at Lily—“I dare say Lil might be able to locate Dick Roberts if we needed him!” </br>“It’s time to get our gloves on!” was all the reply her jest drew from Lily. “We’re slowing up already.”´</br> </br> </br> </br> car </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Five minutes later the girls were seated in John Hadley’s Ford, driving through the city to the suburbs where his mother’s home was located. Marjorie as usual was in high spirits, but again John experienced that intangible sensation of jealousy because her happiness seemed to be caused rather by her bright expectations than by his mere presence. While she was asking him about the new car, he suddenly sighed audibly; somehow he felt that as long as the Girl Scouts continued to plan these novel undertakings, he would never hold anything but second place in Marjorie’s interest. The girl noticed the sigh, and asked him whether she were boring him. </br>“Of course not!” he declared emphatically. “As if you ever could—” </br>“Then what is it?” she asked sympathetically. </br>“Only that I wish that I were a Girl Scout—to merit more of your attention.” </br>Marjorie laughed merrily; she did not believe that the young man was in earnest. </br>“You didn’t answer my question,” she persisted. “Has the car come yet?” </br>“Yes; it’s in our garage.” </br>“Oh, goody! Drive fast then, John. It seems as if I can’t wait a minute to see it!” </br>Obedient to her command he put on all his power, in defiance of the speed laws in the city, and reached home in an incredibly short time for a Ford. Marjorie waited only to pay her respects to Mrs. Hadley; then without even removing her hat, she followed John’s machine out to the garage. There she found the new possession, shining and bright and handsome with its fresh paint and polished metal.</br> </br> </br> </br> affect car car model city driver driving garage law passenger scenery speed </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> “Let’s get in and drive it immediately!” she cried. “I think it’s the most beautiful car I ever saw!” </br>“Not the most beautiful,” corrected Lily. “At least I wouldn’t admit it could compare with my Rolls-Royce—” </br>“Or my Ford!” put in John, and the girls all laughed. </br>“It will be great to drive into town every day to do our shopping,” remarked Alice. “Won’t we feel grand—?” </br>“I’m afraid that won’t be very satisfactory,” said John. “On account of the parking rules. You can’t leave a machine alone, you know; you would have to put it into a garage.” </br>“We can easily do that,” remarked Alice, airily. “Money is scarcely a consideration with us now!” </br>“Doesn’t that sound fine?” laughed Marjorie. “I guess it’s the first time in our lives that we were ever able to say that.” </br>“And probably the last time,” added Lily. “Unless some of us marry those rich heirs of your aunt, Alice!” </br>John glanced up apprehensively at this suggestion. </br>“What’s this about rich heirs?” he asked, with so much concern that all three of the girls burst into laughter. </br>“You’ll probably never see Marjorie again!” teased Alice. “When we meet these two cousins of mine who are destined to inherit all of Aunt Emeline’s money, Marj will just fall for them. And of course they’ll fall for her!” </br>“Oh, of course!” said Marjorie, sarcastically. </br>“Maybe some of us fellows had better take the trip in my tin Lizzie after all,” observed John. </br>“Nothing doing!” protested Marjorie, emphatically. “We’d be sure to break our rule not to accept help from men along the way. And then we’d forfeit our trip, and our reward at the end, too.” </br>“Well, I hope you don’t have any accidents along the way,” said John. “Though I do hate to think of you girls all by yourselves, so far away!” </br>“Oh, you needn’t worry,” Alice reassured him. “Don’t forget we’re not just ordinary girls. We’re Girl Scouts!”</br> </br> </br> </br> affect car car model driving garage law parking </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> By dint of much persuasion, Marjorie was induced to leave the garage and go into the house. Here she found new sources of interest; Mrs. Hadley had collected catalogues of sporting goods and books of advice upon motoring and crossing the country, and had piled them all upon the table in the living-room. The girls literally dived for them as soon as they realized what they were. </br>“Of course we’ll need tents,” said Marjorie, turning immediately to the fascinating displays that were shown by the various dealers represented in the catalogues. </br>“And look at these cunning little folding stoves!” cried Lily, pointing to an illustration that captured her eye. </br>“Don’t forget dishes!” put in Alice. “They ought to be tin or aluminum—” </br>“You better carry a revolver apiece,” cautioned John. </br>“I don’t know about that,” remarked his mother. “The books and articles that I have read on the subject say that it is not necessary to carry that sort of protection. There is usually an unfailing courtesy to be found along the road, particularly in the west.” </br>“But we have to go through the east to get to the west,” sighed Lily; “and it will be just our luck to encounter all sorts of obstacles—ghosts, or bootleggers, or bandits—just because we want so desperately to get there safely.” </br>“But that only makes it so much more fun!” returned Marjorie. </br>“Yes, I know you love danger, Marj. But one day you’ll love it too much. Sometimes it seems as if you almost court difficulties.” </br>“Still, we always gain by them in the end!” she replied, triumphantly. </br>“I’m more concerned about the little troubles—something going wrong with the car, for instance,” said Alice. “And I’m so afraid we’ll some of us be weak, and accept help, and—” </br>“And be sent home like bad children!” supplied Marjorie. </br>“Wouldn’t it be funny,” observed John, “if you would come home one by one until only Alice was left to return the car to her aunt! I’m afraid that I would just have to laugh!” </br>“Well, if you did, you never need come around us again!” snapped Marjorie. “Girl Scouts wouldn’t want to see you—” </br>“Then I promise to shed tears!” interrupted the young man, hastily. </br>“However, nothing like that is going to happen,” said Marjorie, conclusively. “We’re going across the continent with flying colors, as all Girl Scouts could, if they had the chance. It’s the opportunity of a life-time!”</br> </br> </br> </br> car East risk West equipment </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The girls turned again to their catalogues, and made long lists of articles, stopping every few minutes to discuss flash-lights, spare-tires, khaki breeches, in fact anything that came into their minds or to their notice. Alice’s aunt had told them that she would stand the expenditures for the equipment, and they were only afraid that they would buy more than they could comfortably carry. </br>Nor did this danger grow any less during the next few days when they actually beheld the things themselves in the stores. Alice and Lily both wanted to spend lavishly; it was Marjorie who laid the restraining hand upon them. </br>At the end of three days their purchasing was completed; there yet remained the more difficult task of mapping out the trip. Authorities seemed generally to recommend the Lincoln Highway as a good route across the continent, so the girls were glad that their benefactor had stipulated this road. </br>They planned to start from Philadelphia on the fifteenth of June, aiming to reach their destination by the first of August.</br> </br> </br> </br> highway infrastructure navigation </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> “Provided we traveled one hundred miles a day, which really is not a tiring distance, we ought to be able to make the trip in thirty days,” Marjorie estimated. “And that will give us fifteen days surplus.” </br>“We can surely afford three days at Mae’s,” announced Lily. “And perhaps we could visit some other school or college friends along the way.” </br>But Marjorie shook her head decidedly. </br>“No,” she said; “I am willing to visit Mae, but nobody else. We shall need every one of those twelve remaining days. Suppose we have to stop for repairs, or get lost, or are held up by a bad storm—” </br>“That will do, Calamity Jane!” exclaimed Alice, putting her hand over Marjorie’s mouth. “We don’t expect any misfortunes at all!” </br>“No, we don’t expect them, but we don’t want to lose our cars just because we didn’t allow enough time.” </br>“Marj!” exclaimed John, suddenly. “I have it! If you get in trouble, wire for us, and we’ll put on skirts! We used that disguise effectively last year—why not now?” </br>The girl gazed at him mournfully. </br>“Too bad, John, but it couldn’t be done! Unfortunately we’ll be on our honor now, and we’d know you were boys. Unless—” she smiled at the idea—“unless you were clever enough to deceive us!” </br>“Nobody’s clever enough to deceive you, Marjorie! Not that I want to, but—” </br>“Speaking of deception,” interrupted Alice, “I have been wondering how my aunt is going to be sure that we do live up to her conditions. She doesn’t know us, or anything about our characters.” </br>“Maybe she wrote to college for references,” suggested Marjorie. “Or maybe she knows the high standards of all Girl Scouts.” </br>“Let us hope so!” said John. “But perhaps she knows about Alice, and judges you all from her.” </br>“Anyhow,” concluded Marjorie, “we’ll send her a detailed plan of our trip, so she can check us up if she wants to. Then we’ll go ahead, with the motto of ‘do or die’!”</br> </br> </br> </br> car driving  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Lewis, Sinclair </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Fiction </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> Free Air </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1919 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 3-10</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> Currently, this page contains only the first chapter.</br> </br> Chapter I [ edit ] </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> driving risk road condition driving skill </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> MISS BOLTWOOD OF BROOKLYN IS LOST IN THE MUD</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> When the windshield was closed it became so filmed with rain that Claire fancied she was piloting a drowned car in dim spaces under the sea. When it was open, drops jabbed into her eyes and chilled her cheeks. She was excited and thoroughly miserable. She realized that these Minnesota country roads had no respect for her polite experience on Long Island parkways. She felt like a woman, not like a driver.</br> </br> </br> </br> car car metaphor affect car part driving driving skill road driver </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> But the Gomez-Dep roadster had seventy horsepower, and sang songs. Since she had left Minneapolis nothing had passed her. Back yonder a truck had tried to crowd her, and she had dropped into a ditch, climbed a bank, returned to the road, and after that the truck was not. Now she was regarding a view more splendid than mountains above a garden by the sea--a stretch of good road. To her passenger, her father, Claire chanted:</br> </br> </br> </br> car engine road road condition sound mountain </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> "Heavenly! There's some gravel. We can make time. We'll hustle on to the next town and get dry."</br> </br> </br> </br> gravel road condition </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> "Yes. But don't mind me. You're doing very well," her father sighed.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Instantly, the dismay of it rushing at her, she saw the end of the patch of gravel. The road ahead was a wet black smear, criss-crossed with ruts. The car shot into a morass of prairie gumbo--which is mud mixed with tar, fly-paper, fish glue, and well-chewed, chocolate-covered caramels. When cattle get into gumbo, the farmers send for the stump-dynamite and try blasting.</br> </br> </br> </br> gravel car mud road car animal </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> It was her first really bad stretch of road. She was frightened. Then she was too appallingly busy to be frightened, or to be Miss Claire Boltwood, or to comfort her uneasy father. She had to drive. Her frail graceful arms put into it a vicious vigor that was genius.</br> </br> </br> </br> driver road affect safety driving skill road condition </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> When the wheels struck the slime, they slid, they wallowed. The car skidded. It was terrifyingly out of control. It began majestically to turn toward the ditch. She fought the steering wheel as though she were shadow-boxing, but the car kept contemptuously staggering till it was sideways, straight across the road. Somehow, it was back again, eating into a rut, going ahead. She didn't know how she had done it, but she had got it back. She longed to take time to retrace her own cleverness in steering. She didn't. She kept going.</br> </br> </br> </br> car part driving driving skill personification risk </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The car backfired, slowed. She yanked the gear from third into first. She sped up. The motor ran like a terrified pounding heart, while the car crept on by inches through filthy mud that stretched ahead of her without relief.</br> </br> </br> </br> car car part speed engine mud road surface driving </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> She was battling to hold the car in the principal rut. She snatched the windshield open, and concentrated on that left rut. She felt that she was keeping the wheel from climbing those high sides of the rut, those six-inch walls of mud, sparkling with tiny grits. Her mind snarled at her arms, "Let the ruts do the steering. You're just fighting against them." It worked. Once she let the wheels alone they comfortably followed the furrows, and for three seconds she had that delightful belief of every motorist after every mishap, "Now that this particular disagreeableness is over, I'll never, never have any trouble again!"</br> </br> </br> </br> car car metaphor car part road condition affect </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> But suppose the engine overheated, ran out of water? Anxiety twanged at her nerves. And the deep distinctive ruts were changing to a complex pattern, like the rails in a city switchyard. She picked out the track of the one motor car that had been through here recently. It was marked with the swastika tread of the rear tires. That track was her friend; she knew and loved the driver of a car she had never seen in her life.</br> </br> </br> </br> affect driver engine car part road driver </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> She was very tired. She wondered if she might not stop for a moment. Then she came to an upslope. The car faltered; felt indecisive beneath her. She jabbed down the accelerator. Her hands pushed at the steering wheel as though she were pushing the car. The engine picked up, sulkily kept going. To the eye, there was merely a rise in the rolling ground, but to her anxiety it was a mountain up which she--not the engine, but herself--pulled this bulky mass, till she had reached the top, and was safe again--for a second. Still there was no visible end of the mud.</br> </br> </br> </br> driving car car part engine road surface mud mountain </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> In alarm she thought, "How long does it last? I can't keep this up. I--Oh!"</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The guiding tread of the previous car was suddenly lost in a mass of heaving, bubble-scattered mud, like a batter of black dough. She fairly picked up the car, and flung it into that welter, through it, and back into the reappearing swastika-marked trail.</br> </br> </br> </br> car driving mud road condition </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Her father spoke: "You're biting your lips. They'll bleed, if you don't look out. Better stop and rest.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> "Can't! No bottom to this mud. Once stop and lose momentum--stuck for keeps!"</br> </br> </br> </br> driving mud </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> She had ten more minutes of it before she reached a combination of bridge and culvert, with a plank platform above a big tile drain. With this solid plank bottom, she could stop. Silence came roaring down as she turned the switch. The bubbling water in the radiator steamed about the cap. Claire was conscious of tautness of the cords of her neck in front; of a pain at the base of her brain. Her father glanced at her curiously. "I must be a wreck. I'm sure my hair is frightful," she thought, but forgot it as she looked at him. His face was unusually pale. In the tumult of activity he had been betrayed into letting the old despondent look blur his eyes and sag his mouth. "Must get on," she determined.</br> </br> </br> </br> car part infrastructure metaphor </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Claire was dainty of habit. She detested untwisted hair, ripped gloves, muddy shoes. Hesitant as a cat by a puddle, she stepped down on the bridge. Even on these planks, the mud was three inches thick. It squidged about her low, spatted shoes. "Eeh!" she squeaked.</br> </br> </br> </br> infrastructure mud </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> She tiptoed to the tool-box and took out a folding canvas bucket. She edged down to the trickling stream below. She was miserably conscious of a pastoral scene all gone to mildew--cows beneath willows by the creek, milkweeds dripping, dried mullein weed stalks no longer dry. The bank of the stream was so slippery that she shot down two feet, and nearly went sprawling. Her knee did touch the bank, and the skirt of her gray sports-suit showed a smear of yellow earth.</br> </br> </br> </br> equipment river rural scenery </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> In less than two miles the racing motor had used up so much water that she had to make four trips to the creek before she had filled the radiator. When she had climbed back on the running-board she glared down at spats and shoes turned into gray lumps. She was not tearful. She was angry.</br> </br> </br> </br> car part engine affect </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> "Idiot! Ought to have put on my rubbers. Well--too late now," she observed, as she started the engine.</br> </br> </br> </br> engine </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> She again followed the swastika tread. To avoid a hole in the road ahead, the unknown driver had swung over to the side of the road, and taken to the intensely black earth of the edge of an unfenced cornfield. Flashing at Claire came the sight of a deep, water-filled hole, scattered straw and brush, débris of a battlefield, which made her gaspingly realize that her swastikaed leader had been stuck and--</br> </br> </br> </br> road condition agriculture driving road rural </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> And instantly her own car was stuck.</br> </br> </br> </br> car </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> She had had to put the car at that hole. It dropped, far down, and it stayed down. The engine stalled. She started it, but the back wheels spun merrily round and round, without traction. She did not make one inch. When she again killed the blatting motor, she let it stay dead. She peered at her father.</br> </br> </br> </br> accident car engine metaphor personification </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> He was not a father, just now, but a passenger trying not to irritate the driver. He smiled in a waxy way, and said, "Hard luck! Well, you did the best you could. The other hole, there in the road, would have been just as bad. You're a fine driver, dolly."</br> </br> </br> </br> driver passenger road condition driving skill </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Her smile was warm and real. "No. I'm a fool. You told me to put on chains. I didn't. I deserve it."</br> </br> </br> </br> equipment </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> "Well, anyway, most men would be cussing. You acquire merit by not beating me. I believe that's done, in moments like this. If you'd like, I'll get out and crawl around in the mud, and play turtle for you."</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> "No. I'm quite all right. I did feel frightfully strong-minded as long as there was any use of it. It kept me going. But now I might just as well be cheerful, because we're stuck, and we're probably going to stay stuck for the rest of this care-free summer day."</br> </br> </br> </br> equipment </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The weariness of the long strain caught her, all at once. She slipped forward, sat huddled, her knees crossed under the edge of the steering wheel, her hands falling beside her, one of them making a faint brushing sound as it slid down the upholstery. Her eyes closed; as her head drooped farther, she fancied she could hear the vertebrae click in her tense neck.</br> </br> </br> </br> car part sound </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Her father was silent, a misty figure in a lap-robe. The rain streaked the mica lights in the side-curtains. A distant train whistled desolately across the sodden fields. The inside of the car smelled musty. The quiet was like a blanket over the ears. Claire was in a hazy drowse. She felt that she could never drive again.</br> </br> </br> </br> car smell affect drive train car smell affect drive train  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Lindsay, Vachel </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> Selected Poems of Vachel Lindsay </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> Macmillan </br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1916 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 101-102</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Upon Returning to the Country Road</br> </br> </br> </br> rural </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> On the road to nowhere </br>What wild oats did you sow </br>When you left your father's house </br>With your cheeks aglow? </br>Eyes so strained and eager </br>To see what you might see? </br>Were you thief of were you fool </br>Or most nobly free?</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Were the tramp-days knightly, </br>True sowing of wild seed? </br>Did you dare to make the songs </br>Vanquished workmen need? </br>Did you waste much money </br>To deck a leper's feast? </br>Love the truth, defy the crowd </br>Scandalize the priest? </br>On the road to nowhere </br>What wild oats did you sow? </br>Stupids find the nowhere-road </br>Dusty, grim and slow.</br> </br> </br> </br> metaphor plant road condition slowness </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Ere their sowing's ended </br>They turn them on their track, </br>Look at the caitiff craven wights </br>Repentant, hurrying back! </br>Grown ashamed of nowhere, </br>Of rags endured for years, </br>Lust for velvet in their hearts, </br>Pierced with Mammon's spears, </br>All but a few fanatics </br>Give up their darling goal, </br>Seek to be as others are, </br>Stultify the soul. </br>Reapings now confront them, </br>Glut them, or destroy. </br>Curious seeds, grain or weeds </br>Sown with awful joy. </br>Hurried is their harvest, </br>They make soft peace with men. </br>Pilgrims pass. They care not, </br>Will not tramp again.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> O nowhere, golden nowhere! </br>Sages and fools go on </br>To your chaotic ocean, </br>To your tremendous dawn. </br>Far in your fair dream-haven, </br>Is nothing or is all... </br>They press on, singing, sowing </br>Wild deeds without recall!inging, sowing Wild deeds without recall!  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Lowell, Amy </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> Ballads for Sale </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> Houghton Mifflin Company </br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1927 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 199-200</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> HUSH, hush, these woods are thick with shapes and </br> voices, </br>They crowd behind, in front, </br>Scarcely can one’s wheels break through them. </br>For God’s sake, drive quickly! </br>There are butchered victims behind those trees, </br>And what you say is moss I know is the dead hair of </br> hanged men. </br>Drive faster, faster. </br>The hair will catch in our wheels and clog them; </br>We are thrown from side to side by the dead bodies in </br> the road, </br>Do you not smell the reek of them, </br>And see the jaundiced film that hides the stars? </br>Stand on the accelerator. I would rather be bumped to </br> a jelly </br>Than caught by clutching hands I cannot see, </br>Than be stifled by the press of mouths I cannot feel. </br>Not in the light glare, you fool, but on either side of it. </br>Curse these swift, running trees, </br>Hurl them aside, leap them, crush them down, </br>Say prayers if you like, </br>Do anything to drown the screaming silence of this </br> forest, </br>To hide the spinning shapes that jam the trees. </br>What mystic adventure is this </br>In which you have engulfed me? </br>What no-world have you shot us into? </br>What Dante dream without a farther edge? </br>Fright kills, they say, and I believe it. </br>If you would not have murder on your conscience, </br>For Heaven’s sake, get on!</br> </br> </br> </br> car part driving forest passenger risk road speed death sound intertext tree sound intertext tree  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> McKay, Claude </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> Constab Ballads </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> Watts & Co. </br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1912 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 59-61</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Batch o' p'licemen, lookin' fine, </br>Tramp away to de car line; </br>No more pólicemen can be </br>Smart as those from Half Way Tree: </br>Happy, all have happy faces, </br>For 'tis Knutsford Park big races.</br> </br> </br> </br> car </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> No room in de tram fe stan': </br>"Oh! de races will be gran',— </br>Wonder ef good luck we'll hab, </br>Get fe win a couple bob!" </br>Joyous, only joyous faces, </br>Goin' to de Knutsford races.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Motor buggy passin' by, </br>Sendin' dus' up to de sky; </br>P'licemen, posted diffran' place, </br>Buy dem ticket on de race: </br>Look now for de anxious faces </br>At de Knutsford Park big races!</br> </br> </br> </br> car exhaust pollution </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Big-tree boys a t'row dem dice: </br>"P'lice te-day no ha' no v'ice,— </br>All like we, so dem caan' mell,— </br>Mek we gamble laka hell”: </br>Rowdy, rowdy-looking faces </br>At de Knutsford Park big races.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Ladies white an' brown an' black, </br>Fine as fine in gala frock, </br>Wid dem race-card in dem han' </br>Pass 'long to de dollar stan': </br>Happy-lookin' lady faces </br>At de Knutsford Park big races.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Ge'men wid dem smart spy-glass, </br>Well equip' fe spot dem harse, </br>Dress' in Yankee-fashion clo'es, </br>Watch de flag as do'n it goes: </br>Oh! de eager, eager faces </br>At de Knutsford Park big races!</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Faces of all types an' kinds, </br>Faces showin' diffran' minds, </br>Faces from de udder seas— </br>Right from de antipodes: </br>Oh! de many various faces </br>Seen at Knutsford Park big races!</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Jockeys lookin' quite dem bes', </br>In deir racin' clo'es all dress' </br>(Judge de feelin's how dem proud) </br>Show de harses to de crowd: </br>Now you'll see de knowin' faces </br>At de Knutsford Park big races.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Soldier ban', formed in a ring, </br>Strike up "God save our king"; </br>Gub'nor come now by God's grace </br>To de Knutsford Park big race: </br>High faces among low faces </br>At de Knutsford Park big races.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Ladies, 'teppin' up quite cool, </br>Buy dem tickets at de pool; </br>Dough 'tis said he's got a jerk, </br>Dere's no harse like Billie Burke: </br>Look roun' at de cock-sure faces </br>At de Knutsford Park big races.</br> </br> </br> </br> animal </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Hey! de flag is gone do'n, oh! </br>Off at grips de harses go! </br>Dainty's leadin' at a boun', </br>Stirrup-cup is gainin' ground': </br>Strainin', eager strainin' faces </br>At de Knutsford Park big races.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Last day o' de race—all's done, </br>An' de course is left alone; </br>Everybody's goin' home, </br>Some more light dan when dey'd come: </br>Oh! de sad, de bitter faces </br>After Knutsford Park big races!es!  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> McKay, Claude </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> Spring in New Hampshire and Other Poems </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> London Grant Richards Ltd </br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1920 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 36-37</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The tired cars go grumbling by, </br> The moaning, groaning cars, </br>And the old milk carts go rumbling by </br> Under the same dull stars. </br>Out of the tenements, cold as stone, </br> Dark figures start for work; </br>I watch them sadly shuffle on, </br> ‘Tis dawn, dawn in New York. </br> </br> </br> </br> car anthropomorphism personification sound sky urban </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> But I would be on the island of the sea, </br>In the heart of the island of the sea, </br>Where the cocks are crowing, crowing, crowing, </br>And the hens are cackling in the rose-apple tree, </br>Where the old draft-horse is neighing, neighing, neighing </br>Out on the brown dew-silvered lawn, </br>And the tethered cow is lowing, lowing, lowing, </br>And dear old Ned is braying, braying, braying, </br>And the shaggy Nannie goat is calling, calling, calling </br>From her little trampled corner of the long wide lea </br>That stretches to the waters of the hill-stream falling </br>Sheer upon the flat rocks joyously! </br>There, oh there! on the island of the sea </br>There I would be at dawn.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The tired cars go grumbling by, </br> The crazy, lazy cars, </br>And the same milk-carts go rumbling by </br> Under the dying stars. </br>A lonely newsboy hurries by, </br>Humming a recent ditty; </br>Red streaks strike through the gray of the sky, </br> The dawn comes to the city. </br> </br> </br> </br> personification sound car urban sky </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> But I would be on the island of the sea, </br>In the heart of the island of the sea, </br>Where the cocks are crowing, crowing, crowing, </br>And the hens are cackling in the rose-apple tree, </br>Where the old draft-horse is neighing, neighing, neighing </br>Out on the brown dew-silvered lawn, </br>And the tethered cow is lowing, lowing, lowing, </br>And dear old Ned is braying, braying, braying, </br>And the shaggy Nannie goat is calling, calling, calling </br>From her little trampled corner of the long wide lea </br>That stretches to the waters of the hill-stream falling </br>Sheer upon the flat rocks joyously! </br>There, oh there! on the island of the sea </br>There I would be at dawn.f the sea There I would be at dawn.  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Naylor, James Ball </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> Collier’s </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1909 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 22</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> I’m the coy and ingenuous toy of the strenuous </br> Era of Civilized Man, </br>I’m the truly respectable, duly delectable </br> Outcome of project and plan; </br>And my gassy and thunderful, massy and wonderful </br> Shape splits the landscape in twain, </br>As I race where the fountain speaks grace to the mountain peaks— </br> Then over valley and plain. </br> </br> </br> </br> driving mountain personification technology sound topography </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Oh! it’s—“honk, honk-honk!”—is the song I sing </br> In the cool of the morning gray, </br> And it’s—“honk, honk-honk!”—is the raucous ring </br> Of my voice at the close of day; </br> And the echoes wake—and the echoes quake, </br> In their sylvan retreats afar; </br> For I am the fizzing, the buzzing, and whizzing, </br> Redoubtable Motor Car! </br> </br> </br> </br> car sound onomatopoeia speed </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> I’m the snappiest, pluckiest, happy-go-luckiest </br> Work of Man’s reckless career— </br>The machine of divinity green asininity </br> Never can conquer or steer; </br>And there’s never a note or bar honked by the Motor Car </br> Rounding an angle or curve, </br>But it cheats the pedestrian—beats the equestrian— </br> Out of his poise and his nerve. </br> </br> </br> </br> car driving sound pedestrian animal </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> For it’s—“honk, honk-honk!”—is the song I sing </br> In the blaze of the noonday bright, </br> And it’s—“honk, honk-honk!”—is the raucous ring </br> Of my voice in the starry night; </br> And the echoes quake and shiver and shake, </br> In their rocky retreats afar; </br> For I am the puffing, the chugging, and chuffing </br> And masterful Motor Car! </br> </br> </br> </br> car sound night </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Through the haze of the dreamiest days of the gleamiest </br> Summers I speed to and fro, </br>In the height of the glorious, mighty, uproarious </br> Tempest I come and I go; </br>I’m the tool and the servant, the cool and observant </br> Rare creature of project and plan, </br>And the coy and ingenuous toy of the strenuous </br> Era of Civilized Man. </br> </br> </br> </br> metaphor summer technology wind personification </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> And it’s—“honk, honk-honk!”—is the song I sing </br> In the cool of the ev'ning’s hush. </br> And it’s—“honk, honk-honk!”—is the raucous ring </br> Of my voice in the morning’s blush; </br> And in the echoes wake—and the echoes shake, </br> In their woody retreats afar; </br> For I am the purring, the whizzing, and whirring </br> And marvelous Motor Car! </br> </br> </br> </br> car sound  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Oppenheim, James </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> Songs for the New Age </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> The Century Co. </br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1914 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 23</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Of old the psalmist said that the morning stars sing together, </br>He said the rocks do sing and that the hills rejoice...</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> There be ten million ears in this little city alone... </br>How many have heard the rocks, the hills and the stars? </br>Not I, not I, as I hurried uptown and downtown! </br>I heard the wheels of the cars, the chatter of many mouths, </br>I was in the opera house when it seemed almost to burst with music, </br>I heard the laughter of children, and the venom of mixed malicious tongues, </br>But neither the stars I heard nor the muted rocks nor the hills!</br> </br> </br> </br> urban car car part sound </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> David, of Asia, I do hear now... </br>I do hear now the music of the spheres— </br>I have stepped one step into the desert of Loneliness, </br>I have turned my ear from the world to my own self... </br>I have paused, stood still, listened. have paused, stood still, listened.  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Oppenheim, James </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> Songs for the New Age </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> The Century Co. </br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1914 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 7-8</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Why did you hate to be by yourself, </br>And why were you sick of your own company?</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Such the question, and this the answer:</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> I feared sublimity: </br>I was a little afraid of God: </br>Silence and space terrified me, bringing the thought of </br> what an irritable clod I was and how soon death </br> would gulp me down... </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> This fear has reared cities: </br>The cowards flock together by the millions lest they </br> should be left alone for a half hour... </br>With church, theater and school, </br>With office, mill and motor, </br>With a thousand cunning devices, and clever calls to </br> each other, </br>They escape from themselves to the crowd...</br> </br> </br> </br> urban car engine technology </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Oh, I have loved it all: </br>Snug rooms, the talk, the pleasant feast, the pictures: </br>The warm bath of humanity in which I relaxed and </br> soaked myself: </br>And never, I hope, shall I be without it—at times...</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> But now myself calls me... </br>The skies demand me, though it is but ten in the </br> morning: </br>The earth has an appointment with me, not to be </br> broken... </br>I must accustom myself to the gaunt face of the Sub- </br> time... </br>I must see what I really am, and what I am for, </br>And what this city is for, and the Earth and the stars </br> in their hurry... </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> To turn out typewriters, </br>To invent a new breakfast food, </br>To devise a dance that was never danced until now, </br>To urge a new sanitation, and a swifter automobile— </br>Have the life-surging heavens no business but this?</br> </br> </br> </br> car technology? car technology  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Oppenheim, James </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> Songs for the New Age </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> The Century Co. </br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1914 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 9-10</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Civilization! </br>Everybody kind and gentle, and men giving up </br>their seats in the car for the women... </br>What an ideal! </br>How bracing!</br> </br> </br> </br> car car part </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Is this what we want? </br>Have so many generations lived and died for this? </br>There have been Crusades, persecutions, wars, and majestic arts, </br>There have been murders and passions and horrors since man was in the jungle... </br>What was this blood-toll for? </br>Just so that everybody could have a full belly and be well-mannered?</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> But let us not fool ourselves: </br>This civilization is mostly varnish very thinly laid on... </br>Take any newspaper any morning: scan through it... </br>Rape, murder, villany, and picking and stealing: </br>The mob that tore a negro to pieces, the men that ravished a young girl: </br>The safe-blowing gang and the fat cowardly promoter who stole people’s savings... </br>Just scan it through: this news of civilization...</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Away then, with soft ideals: </br>Brace yourself with bitterness: </br>A drink of that biting liquor, the Truth...</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Let us not be afraid of ourselves, but face ourselves and confess what we are: </br>Let us go backward a while that we may go forward: </br>This is an excellent age for insurrection, revolt, and the reddest of revolutions...t, and the reddest of revolutions...  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Oppenheim, James </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> Songs for the New Age </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> The Century Co. </br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1914 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 90-91</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> city urban </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Where may she of the hall bedroom hold the love-hour? </br>In what sweet privacy find her soul before the face of the belovéd? </br>And the kiss that lifts her from the noise of the shop, </br>And the bitter carelessness of the streets? </br>Neither is there garden nor secret parlor for her: </br>And cruel winter has spoiled the shores of the sea; </br>The benches in the park are laden with melting snow, </br>And the bedroom forbidden...</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> But ah, the love of a woman! She will not be cheated! </br>Up the stoop she went to the vestibule of the house, </br>And beckoned to me to come to that darkness of doors: </br>Here in a crevice of the public city the love-hour was spent...</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Outside rumbled the cars between drifts of the gas-lit snow, </br>And the footsteps fell of the wanderers in the night... </br>Within, the dark house slept... </br>But we, in our little cave, stood, and saw in the gleaming dark </br>Shine of each other’s eyes, and the flutter of wisps of hair, </br>And our words were breathlessly sweet, and our kisses silent...</br> </br> </br> </br> car sound night snow </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Where is there rose-garden, </br>Where is there balcony among the cedars and pines, </br>Where is there moonlit clearing in the dumb wilderness, </br>Enchanted as this doorway, dark in the glare of the city?ark in the glare of the city?  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Parker, Dorothy </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> Enough Rope </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> Horace Liveright </br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1926 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 82</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Now it’s over, and now it’s done; </br>Why does everything look the same? </br>Just as bright, the unheeding sun,— </br> Can’t it see that the parting came? </br>People hurry and work and swear, </br> Laugh and grumble and die and wed, </br>Ponder what they will eat and wear,— </br> Don’t they know that our love is dead? </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Just as busy, the crowded street; </br> Cars and wagons go rolling on, </br>Children chuckle, and lovers meet,— </br> Don’t they know that our love is gone? </br>No one pauses to pay a tear; </br> None walks slow, for the love that’s through,— </br>I might mention, my recent dear, </br> I’ve reverted to normal, too. </br> </br> </br> </br> car street urban traffic  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Reynolds, Elsbery Washington </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> AutoLine o’Type </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> The Book Supply Company </br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1924 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 20</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We wrote to a friend back east one day, </br>And told him all we thought to say. </br>We filled a dozen pages or more, </br>Of the glories of this far western shore.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> He said, when he answered in reply, </br>"I thought that heaven was up on high. </br>From what you say of your state so fair, </br>I think that heaven must be out there."</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> "If your highways all are paved so grand, </br>And stars so bright o'er all the land, </br>The mountain streams beyond compare, </br>Then surely heaven must be out there."</br> </br> </br> </br> infrastructure highway mountain river road surface sublime metaphysics </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> "I thought that heaven was free from toil, </br>But your letter says you till the soil. </br>Yet, if you have such wonderful air, </br>Where is heaven if not out there?"</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> "The rising sun you say is fine, </br>And the early morning like red wine. </br>To be sure," he said, "I must declare, </br>From what you write me heaven is there."</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> "Have you received your starry crown?" </br>He said, "Your cross, have you laid down, </br>Do all the angels have blonde hair, </br>In this heaven you write me of out there?"</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> "You say it's filled with those who play, </br>And more are coming every day, </br>Yet, there is always room to spare. </br>Please tell me more of heaven out there."</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We wrote him, "We can tell no more, </br>But when you reach this western shore, </br>Studebakers you'll see them everywhere." </br>Then, he said, "Heaven is there."</br> </br> </br> </br> affect car car model west metaphysics </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> —The Car with Character. —The Car with Character.  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Reynolds, Elsbery Washington </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> AutoLine o'Type </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> The Book Supply Company </br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1924 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 150</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> He went to war and gained renown, </br>In every fight he stood his ground, </br>Bullets passed him thick and fast, </br>Not a scratch from first to last.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We now relate this sorry fact, </br>He’s been a month upon his back, </br>On both his cheeks he’ll have a scar, </br>He stepped in front of a motor car.</br> </br> </br> </br> car riskor car. car risk  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Reynolds, Elsbery Washington </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> AutoLine o'Type </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> The Book Supply Company </br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1924 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 17</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> When we view the mountains all around, </br>From their vast stillness not a sound, </br>They seem just like some silent friend </br>On whom we safely can depend.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> They rise to proud and lofty height, </br>Forbidding and dark are they at night. </br>Their summits kiss the heavens high, </br>They ever remind us God is nigh.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> If the mountains were never stationed there, </br>We would not have the purified air, </br>Nor would flowing rivers be sustained, </br>If in the mountains it never rained.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> On mountain height both east and west, </br>For every living mortal there is rest. </br>We view the peaks in contemplation </br>Of God's great plan for all creation.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The clouds in glory round them spread, </br>The sun in grandeur settles on their head. </br>Winter stays to chill the month of May, </br>The lightning fondly choose them for their play.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The mountains grim forever stand, </br>While men will roam about the land. </br>Men are fond of other men to greet, </br>Mountains never have been known to meet.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Of the peaks around both high and low, </br>The one we favor most is San Antonio. </br>We like to go up there whene'er we can, </br>It's easy in a Studebaker Six Sedan.</br> </br> </br> </br> mountain car model </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> —The Car with Character. —The Car with Character.  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Reynolds, Elsbery Washington </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> AutoLine o'Type </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> The Book Supply Company </br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1924 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 18</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> 'Twas out on Garey north of town, </br>They had their auto curtains down, </br>Spooning there without a light, </br>At ten o'clock the other night.</br> </br> </br> </br> urban car night </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We saw them by our headlight's glare, </br>Through their windshield sitting there, </br>Oblivious to the world around, </br>They kissed and made but little sound.</br> </br> </br> </br> car part visibility pleasure </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> 'Twas loves young dream possessed the two, </br>The thing that once got hold of you, </br>We smiled, we did not have the heart </br>To cause the two to pull apart.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> In the shadows of the trees above, </br>Their kisses told us of their love, </br>No bliss to either one was missing, </br>They put it all into their kissing.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The fragrancy of flowers of spring, </br>While she to him did tightly cling, </br>Came to us from the little Miss, </br>Each time her lips he gave a kiss.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Their kisses did not sound so loud, </br>As thunder from the stormy cloud, </br>But the echoes will much longer last, </br>From those he planted hard and fast.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> "I rest content, I kiss your eyes," </br>He said, "How fast the evening flies! </br>I kiss your hair in my delight, </br>I'd like to kiss you all the night."</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> You wonder how it was our fate, </br>To hear so much that night so late. </br>You can easy do such little tricks, </br>With the Silent Studebaker Six.</br> </br> </br> </br> sound night technology car model </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> —The Car wih Character. —The Car wih Character.  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Reynolds, Elsbery Washington </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> AutoLine o'Type </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> The Book Supply Company </br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1924 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 181-182</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Married life is a funny thing, </br>We take the fling with a wedding ring. </br>With some its one continuous fight, </br>They kick and scratch and sometimes bite.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> God made all things to live by pair, </br>The beasts of field and birds of air </br>He made to make no bad mistakes, </br>But man he left to make some breaks.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The creatures dumb of all the earth, </br>By Nature’s laws are giving birth. </br>But laws of God for good of man, </br>By men are broken out of ban.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> When man does choose his mate for life, </br>He would avoid so much of strife, </br>If he would use his common sense, </br>And not so often be so dense.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> For men who fail to keep in sight, </br>The laws of God for doing right, </br>The laws of man are also made, </br>With price to pay if you evade.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> But married life will have its flaws, </br>Till states alike have divorce laws. </br>They’ve got to come to save the home, </br>Or things will be just like Old Rome.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Words so sweet and words of leaven, </br>Are those of Mother, Home and Heaven. </br>When these we learn and get them clear, </br>No more divorce we then will fear.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> To man his married life’s a boon, </br>If it is sweet and right in tune. </br>But fights and scraps and family jars, </br>Are worse than some old motor cars.</br> </br> </br> </br> car metaphor </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> When trouble brews twixt man and wife, </br>As troubles do in married life, </br>Take our advice and seek a breaker, </br>The best for you is a Studebaker. </br> — The Car with Character. </br> </br> </br> </br> car model safety car model safety  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Reynolds, Elsbery Washington </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> AutoLine o'Type </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> The Book Supply Company </br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1924 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 196</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> There came to us a vision of life’s perpetual dream, </br>We made our decision to follow up the gleam. </br>We could build a fortune big and doubly sure, </br>Raising market rabbits if the breed was pure.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We bought up all the lumber in Curran’s lumber yard, </br>Built a thousand hutches, for cost had no regard. </br>Faithfully with many tools we labored every day, </br>Fully settled in our mind we’d make the rabbits pay.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We were told by rabbit men, buy only blooded stock, </br>Every breeder of a kind would all the others knock. </br>To get the weight it seemed to us the safe and easy way, </br>Only raise the blooded stock of purest Belgian gray.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> So we bought at fancy price a hundred for a start, </br>We’d show the rabbit men that we were very smart. </br>We saw them grow and multiply, built castles in the air, </br>Figured what we’d also buy from raising Belgian hare.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> A fleet of latest motor cars, the best ones ever built, </br>Masterpieces, too, of art in frames of finest gilt. </br>Profits from our rabbits would buy us many things, </br>Wipe away the loss our orchard always brings.</br> </br> </br> </br> car sublime </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> But rabbits often figure out in real the other way, </br>We weren’t slow in finding out, buying Hinman hay. </br>For every dollar rabbits brought two was spent for grain, </br>We sold a million, more or less, but not a cent of gain.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Had we the balance of our life raised only Belgian hare, </br>In years a few, at best, our cupboard would be bare. </br>A bankrupt we would turn to be and die a debtor slave, </br>Rabbits beat the world to eat a man into his grave.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Man is dreaming when he says, money he has made, </br>Raising Belgian rabbits as his only line of trade. </br>We had our fun, quit the game, for a better profit-maker, </br>The rest of life we’ll be content in selling Studebaker.</br> </br> </br> </br> car model safety  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Reynolds, Elsbery Washington </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> AutoLine o'Type </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> The Book Supply Company </br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1924 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 52</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> At a certain round-table a good-natured bunch </br>Of finest of fellows met daily for lunch. </br>An hour’s interchange of thoughts and ideas, </br>All would depart each feeling at ease.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> They talked of the weather careless and free, </br>A topic on which they did all agree. </br>When one would mention the income tax, </br>It was an occasion to give it some whacks.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Golf came in for a share of discussion, </br>There’s nothing in golf to cause any fussin’, </br>If business was good or if it was bad, </br>They tackled the matter and never got mad.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> When they discussed our time parking limit, </br>All were agreed on keeping within it. </br>But when they brought up our boulevard stop, </br>Not one but said it was all tommy-rot.</br> </br> </br> </br> parking slowness </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Around this table without any jars </br>They freely debated on all motor cars. </br>They praised or condemned without any heat, </br>Each claiming his car did all others beat.</br> </br> </br> </br> car model </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Things they discussed to no one was vital, </br>Subjects were chosen for safety of title </br>Till they took up a question a million years old </br>Of vital concern to every one’s soul.</br> </br> </br> </br> time </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Of God each took a different stand, </br>Divided on Nature, Spirit and Man, </br>While one did declare God didn’t exist, </br>The good-natured bunch has since been missed.</br> </br> </br> </br> religion </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> On most every subject when men don’t agree, </br>They smile, shake hands and part cheerfully. </br>There’s danger in topics of soul and heart, </br>Talk Six Studebaker and friends you will part.</br> </br> </br> </br> car model </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> —The Car with Character.  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Reynolds, Elsbery Washington </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> AutoLine o'Type </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> The Book Supply Company </br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1924 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 62</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> law </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> A friend, to us did come who’s sore, </br>You should have heard his awful roar. </br>A copper on the great high-way </br>Caught him in a trap one day.</br> </br> </br> </br> highway infrastructure sound zoomorphism </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The trap was some few hundred feet, </br>The cop was on his motor, fleet. </br>With watch in hand he felt so nifty </br>And made our friend out doing fifty.</br> </br> </br> </br> driving motorcycle speed car metaphor </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> One second more and he’d done ninety, </br>The cops they worked it almost nightly. </br>No show our friend would ever get </br>When face to face the judge he met.</br> </br> </br> </br> risk speed </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> No one has yet a copper known </br>Whose word’s not better than your own. </br>No judge has ever yet been found </br>With whom your word would fair go down.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> But now our friend’s in greatest glee, </br>The palmy days are o’er you see. </br>The law has stopped the use of traps </br>To curb abuse of motor chaps.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Our friend, to us he did confide </br>That motor cops would have to ride. </br>No more hiding by the road, </br>No more chance our friend to goad.</br> </br> </br> </br> driving </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> No more loafing on the job, </br>No more innocents to rob. </br>They must ride both night and day </br>If they can hope to earn their pay.</br> </br> </br> </br> driving time </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> No more poker in the shade, </br>No more chance to make a raid. </br>No more chance for them to hide, </br>They must ride and ride and ride.</br> </br> </br> </br> driving </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> It long has been our own opinion, </br>That here within our small dominion, </br>Many men have paid a fine </br>Just from persecution blind.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> If all our officers were true </br>And treated as the same as you, </br>Our friend would then feel he were safer </br>Where'er he'd go in a Studebaker.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> —The Car wih Character.acter.  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Sandburg, Carl </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> Chicago Poems </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> Henry Holt and Company </br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1916 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 12</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Dust of the feet </br>And dust of the wheels, </br>Wagons and people going, </br>All day feet and wheels.</br> </br> </br> </br> dust car part pedestrianism traffic urban </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Now.   .   . </br>.   .   Only stars and mist </br>A lonely policeman, </br>Two cabaret dancers, </br>Stars and mist again, </br>No more feet or wheels, </br>No more dust and wagons.</br> </br> </br> </br> car part dust </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Voices of dollars </br> And drops of blood </br> .   .   .   .   . </br> Voices of broken hearts, </br> .   .   Voices singing, singing, </br> .   .   Silver voices, singing, </br> Softer than the stars, </br> Softer than the mist.  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Sandburg, Carl </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> Chicago Poems </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> Henry Holt and Company </br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1916 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 153</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Let us be honest; the lady was not a harlot until she </br> married a corporation lawyer who picked her from </br> a Ziegfeld chorus. </br>Before then she never took anybody's money and paid </br> for her silk stockings out of what she earned singing </br> and dancing. </br>She loved one man and he loved six women and the </br> game was changing her looks, calling for more and </br> more massage money and high coin for the beauty </br> doctors. </br>Now she drives a long, underslung motor car all by her- </br> self, reads in the day's papers what her husband is </br> doing to the inter-state commerce commission, re- </br> quires a larger corsage from year to year, and won- </br> ders sometimes how one man is coming along with </br> six women. </br> </br> </br> </br> car driver metaphorwomen. car driver metaphor  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Sandburg, Carl </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> Chicago Poems </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> Henry Holt and Company </br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1916 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 54</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> To the Williamson Brothers </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> High noon. White sun flashes on the Michigan Avenue asphalt. Drum of hoofs and whirr of motors. Women trapsing along in flimsy clothes catching play of sun-fire to their skin and eyes.</br> </br> </br> </br> car sound road road surface traffic urban </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Inside the playhouse are movies from under the sea. From the heat of pavements and the dust of sidewalks, passers-by go in a breath to be witnesses of large cool sponges, large cool fishes, large cool valleys and ridges of coral spread silent in the soak of the ocean floor thousands of years.</br> </br> </br> </br> road road surface dust temperature pedestrian </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> A naked swimmer dives. A knife in his right hand shoots a streak at the throat of a shark. The tail of the shark lashes. One swing would kill the swimmer... Soon the knife goes into the soft underneck of the veering fish... Its mouthful of teeth, each tooth a dagger itself, set row on row, glistens when the shuddering, yawning cadaver is hauled up by the brothers of the swimmer.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Outside in the street is the murmur and singing of life in the sun—horses, motors, women trapsing along in flimsy clothes, play of sun-fire in their blood.</br> </br> </br> </br> road sound car sunshine urban road sound car sunshine urban  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Sandburg, Carl </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> Chicago Poems </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> Henry Holt and Company </br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1916 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 96</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> In the old wars drum of hoofs and the beat of shod feet. </br>In the new wars hum of motors and the tread of rubber tires. </br>In the wars to come silent wheels and whirr of rods not yet dreamed out in the heads of men.</br> </br> </br> </br> car car part engine risk sound technology </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> In the old wars clutches of short swords and jabs into faces with spears. </br>In the new wars long range guns and smashed walls, guns running a spit of metal and men falling in tens and twenties. </br>In the wars to come new silent deaths, new silent hurlers not yet dreamed out in the heads of men.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> In the old wars kings quarreling and thousands of men following. </br>In the new wars kings quarreling and millions of men following. </br>In the wars to come kings kicked under the dust and millions of men following great causes not yet dreamed out in the heads of men.s not yet dreamed out in the heads of men.  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Sandburg, Carl </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> Cornhuskers </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> Henry Holt and Company </br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1918 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 55</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> It's a lean car… a long-legged dog of a car… a gray-ghost eagle car. </br>The feet of it eat the dirt of a road… the wings of it eat the hills. </br>Danny the driver dreams of it when he sees women in red skirts and red sox in his sleep. </br>It is in Danny's life and runs in the blood of him… a lean gray-ghost car.</br> </br> </br> </br> animal zoomorphism car driver personificationersonification  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Shackelford, Otis M. </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> Seeking the Best </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> Franklin Hudson Publishing </br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1909 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 98</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> They would steal old master's horses, </br>Fat and sleek and full of spirit; </br>Steal them while that he was sleeping, </br>Soundly sleeping in his mansion; </br>From the stable would they steal them, </br>Ride them upward through the valley </br>To the place of fun and frolic, </br>Till they reached the very doorway </br>Of the place of fun and frolic. </br>There a score or more of Negroes </br>Would assemble in the night-time, </br>Would assemble for their pleasure, </br>After toiling hard the day long, </br>After toiling hard the week long. </br>Thus they whiled away their sorrow, </br>Thus they made their burdens lighter, </br>Thus they had their recreation, </br>Through a life that was a struggle.</br> </br> </br> </br> road race animal struggle. road race animal  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Shanks, Charles B. </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Non-Fiction </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> Scientific American </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1901 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 81-90</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> infrastructure road condition risk driving skill </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> COVERING THE NORTH AMERICAN CONTINENT FROM THE Pacific coast to the Atlantic Ocean in an automobile has been attempted by Alexander Winton, president of The Winton Motor Carriage Company, of Cleveland. That the expedition failed is no fault of the machine Mr. Winton used, nor was it due to absence of grit or determination on the part of the operator. Neither was the failure due to roads. The utter absence of roads was the direct and only cause.</br> </br> </br> </br> car ocean driver road infrastructure </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Having been with Mr. Winton on this trip, I saw and experienced things the like of which automobile drivers in every civilized portion of the North American continent know not of, nor can an active imagination be brought to picture the terrible abuse the machine had to take, or the hardships its riders endured in forcing and fighting the way from San Francisco to that point in Nevada where the project was abandoned—where Mr. Winton had forced upon him the positive conviction that to put an automobile across the sand hills of the Nevada desert was an utter impossibility under existing conditions.</br> </br> </br> </br> car infrastructure risk road condition </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Rock roads and deep snow in the high Sierras were encountered and mastered, streams were forded and washouts passed, adobe mud into which the machine sank deep and became tightly imbedded failed to change the plucky operator's mind about crowding the motor eastward toward the hoped-for goal. It was the soft, shifting, bottomless, rolling sand—not so bad to look upon from car windows, but terrible when actually encountered— that caused the abandonment of the enterprise and resulted in the announcement by wire to eastern newspaper connections that the trip was "off."</br> </br> </br> </br> adobe car car part driving mud road road condition </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> To those who are interested in knowing what was met and mastered during the days we were out from San Francisco; to those who wish to learn some facts about automobiling in a section of this country where all kinds of climate and every condition of road may be encountered in a single day, the experiences of the short trip will satisfy.</br> </br> </br> </br> road condition </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Our expedition left the government building in San Francisco and started across the bay for Oakland at 7:15 A.M., Monday, May 20. Left ferry foot of Broadway and got on road at 8 A.M. Turned off Broadway at San Pablo Avenue heading for Port Costa, distance thirty-two miles, hoping to reach there in time to catch the Sacramento River ferry to cross with Southern Pacific Express No. 4, which left Oakland at 8:01 with schedule to reach Port Costa at 9:15 A.M.</br> </br> </br> </br> driving river West </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Instead of running the thirty-two miles, we clipped off forty-four between Oakland and Port Costa as a consequence of mistaking the road to San Pablo and going around by way of Martinez. Reached Port Costa too late for the No. 4 trip and had to wait until 11:17 A.M., when the transcontinental express (The Overland Limited) was ferried over.</br> </br> </br> </br> river train West </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> All morning the sky, which during the three weeks preceding had been clear and bright, was heavy with clouds. Before the opposite bank of the Sacramento was touched, the clouds opened. And what an opening it was. Adobe roads when dry and hard hold out opportunities for good going, but when the sponge-like soil is soaked with moisture, when your wheels cut in, spin around, slip and slide from the course and suddenly your machine is off the road and into the swamp ditch—buried to the axles in the soft "doby"—then the fun begins.</br> </br> </br> </br> adobe weather car part driving risk river road road condition </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Pull out block and tackle, wade around in the mud, get soaked to the skin and chilled from the effects of the deluge, make fastenings to the fence or telephone post and pull. Pull hard, dig your heels into the mud, and exert every effort at command. The machine moves, your feet slip and down in the mud you go full length. Repeat the dose and continue the operation until the machine is free from the ditch and again upon the road.</br> </br> </br> </br> mud road driving slowness </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Tie ropes around the tires to prevent slipping. It may help some, but the measure is not entirely effective, for down in the bog you find yourself soon again and once more the block and tackle are brought into play. Slow work—not discouraging in the least, but a bit disagreeable, considering that it is the first day out and you are anxious to make a clever initial run.</br> </br> </br> </br> car part risk affect </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> After twelve hours' severe experience and the rain still pouring down, halt is made abreast of a lane leading to a ranchman's home. This ranchman is A. W. Butler. He came down to the road and replying to interrogations tells you that to Rio Vista, nine miles ahead, the road is particularly bad because of plowing and grading. Arrangements are made for our staying all night with him. The machine is run in his barn, we eat supper with intense relish, go to bed and get up early to find more rain, but a breaking up of the clouds with prospect of sunshine later.</br> </br> </br> </br> road road condition night road surface </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Got upon the road 7:40 A.M. Reached Rio Vista and two miles further on to "Old River" at 8:40. Go east on the levee road, which is of adobe formation with steep descending banks on both sides. On the left side is the river; the opposite bank runs down to a thicket, beyond which are orchards. Slide off the treacherous road on either side and nothing short of a derrick and wrecking crew could serve to a practical and satisfactory end.</br> </br> </br> </br> adobe risk river road road side road surface rural scenery </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> A few miles from the ferry, a tree had fallen across the road. Mr. Winton used the ax to splendid advantage and, after some delay, the road was clear, and we were going ahead once more. Reached Sacramento at 1:15 P.m., but delayed in California's capital city just long enough to take on five gallons of gasoline. One we went toward the Sierras, passing through Roseville, Rocklin, Loomis, Penry, New Castle, Auburn, Colfax, Cape Horn Mills, and when darkness was fast approaching halt was made in the little gold mining town of Gold Run.</br> </br> </br> </br> accident driving gasoline risk road tree West </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> From Auburn the climb commenced, and when Colfax was reached and passed, Mr. Winton was busy with his skillful knowledge in crowding the machine up steep mountain grades, along dangerous shelf roads from which one might look deep into canons and listen to the distant roaring of rushing waters below.</br> </br> </br> </br> driving mountain risk driving skill road condition </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Ordinarily there would be great danger in speed under such conditions—and there may have been risk to life and limb at the time, but I knew Mr. Winton, I knew him for his skill and that there was no call for nervousness with him at the wheel, so I sat back and enjoyed the scenery.</br> </br> </br> </br> driver driving skill speed passenger risk scenery </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Reached Gold Run at 7:40 P.M., just in time to escape darkness and avoid going into camp on the mountain side. On such roads, or, rather, surrounded as we were by canons, operation in the dark could not be regarded as safe. Our run that day was 123 miles.</br> </br> </br> </br> risk road mountain road condition </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Next morning, May 22, at 6:45 o'clock, the ascent was recommenced. Up and up we went, winding around and turning in many directions--but always up. From Gold Run we passed along through Dutch Flat, Towle, Blue Canon, Emigrant Gap, Cisco, and on to Cascade. Roads became particularly rugged after leaving Gold Run, and when we reached Emigrant Gap the few inhabitants who make that their home told us fully what rock roads and snow deposits would have to be encountered between their station and across the summit down to Donner Lake.</br> </br> </br> </br> driving mountain snow road condition </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> It was the universal opinion that if the machine could stand the punishment sure to be inflicted between the Gap and Donner Lake, it would not be troubled at any point east of the Sierras, between Truckee, Cal., and New York City. Leaving Emigrant Gap, the game commenced in earnest. Unbridged streams were encountered and the machine took to the water like a duck in high spirits. Splash she would go in, and drenched she would come out. The water would many times come up as high as the motor and up would go our feet to prevent them getting wet.</br> </br> </br> </br> driving infrastructure river personification car part road condition </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> When the New Hampshire Rocks were met, trouble seemed to be ahead. I asked Mr. Winton if he would put the machine to what appeared to me the supreme and awful test. "Of course I will," was the short and meaning answer, and on went the machine. One big bump and I shot into the air like a rocket. I was not thrown from the machine, however, and thereafter busied myself hanging on with hands and bracing with feet. At every turn and twist in the road, the rocks grew larger, and I wondered if anything mechanical could stand the terrible punishment.</br> </br> </br> </br> passenger car part road condition </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The motor never flinched, its power never lagged, it pulled us through those rocks and up the stiff grades. Emigrants westward bound in the early days would never trust horses or mules to convey their wagons safely to the bottom of one particularly stiff and rugged grade which Mr. Winton caused the motor to ascend. Those early day pathfinders would tie a rope to the rear axle of the wagon, take a turn around a tree and lower it gently.</br> </br> </br> </br> car car part engine driving personification tree </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We at last got through the New Hampshire Rocks and began calculating what would be our fate in the snow immediately to be encountered. The Cascade Creek, swollen by the melting mountain snows to river proportions, caused a halt about one-half mile west from the commencement of what was expected to be bothersome snow.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The water in the stream was clear and sparkling, the current swift, and the bottom filled with huge sharp rocks. Mr. Winton pulled in the lever, the machine forged ahead. Splash and bump, bump and splash. Front wheels struck something big and hard, they went up in the air and when coming down, almost at the east bank, the right front wheel with a wet tire struck a wet slanting rock. The wheel was hard put, something must give way—and it did. The front axle on the right side sustained an injury, and after a lurch ahead the machine came to a sudden standstill.</br> </br> </br> </br> accident car part driving personification river </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Mr. Winton sent me to hunt a telegraph station. Walked east for about a mile until I could look up the mountain side and see the railroad snow sheds with some sort of a station in an opening. I climbed up through the snow, over fallen trees, broke passage through tangled bushes, and finally came upon a surprised operator, who asked what the trouble was. It was a little telegraph station for railroad service only, but the dispatcher took my messages and repeated them to the Gap, from which point they were sent, one to the Winton factory at Cleveland, asking for duplicate of part damaged, and another to L. S. Keeley, of Emigrant Gap, to come for us and our effects and take us back to the Gap, where we would wait for the repair parts. The machine was left alone in the mountain wilderness.</br> </br> </br> </br> car car part maintenance risk road side </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Arrived at the Gap and Mr. Winton soon developed uneasiness because of the enforced delay in the trip. Next morning he announced his intention of making a temporary repair and working ahead slowly through the snow.</br> </br> </br> </br> maintenance snow road condition </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> On the following morning (May 24) at 7 o'clock, the repair had been completed. When darkness enveloped us that evening, the machine had covered seventeen miles. And such a day of battle. When it was over, we had reached and passed the summit of the high Sierras, the machine was hard and fast in a snow bank at the bottom of "Tunnel No. 6 hill," a treacherous descent, along which there was great peril every moment.</br> </br> </br> </br> driving mountain risk </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We walked back to Summit Station and stayed at the hotel that night. Next morning, aided by some kindly disposed railroad men who could handle shovels most effectively, the machine was dislodged.</br> </br> </br> </br> equipment </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Since the day in the snow banks, I have called it to Mr. Winton's mind. He says that the frightful experiences of that day, the abuse and hardship to which the machine was subjected, stay in his mind like the remembrance of an ugly nightmare. During the entire day, working up there among the clouds, we were cold and drenched. When it did not rain, it snowed or hailed.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> On the 25th, after getting free from the snow bank and passing through a number of small deposits, we got to Truckee, where we took on fuel and went on to Hobart Mills, a delightful lumber town, where Mr. Winton decided we would stay during the following day, Sunday, and dry our clothes. Reached Hobart Mills in a terrific downpour.</br> </br> </br> </br> gasoline city </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The officials of the Sierra Nevada Wood and Lumber Company (the "company" owns the town and all there is in it) were particularly generous in bestowing upon us many courtesies and making the time we spent with them in Hobart Mills that of delightful remembrance.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Monday, May 27, started 6 A.M. from Hobart Mills, and that afternoon, toward evening, reached Wadsworth, Nev., the western gate to one of the worst patches of desert sand in that section. That day was another of rain. The early morning hours were bright, but when Reno, Nev., was left behind the skies changed from blue to white, then to a dark color and the clouds that had so quickly formed opened and spilled their contents about and upon us.</br> </br> </br> </br> desert rain road condition </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Reached Wadsworth splashed and covered with mud, wet through and hungry. Spent night at Wadsworth. Residents warned Mr. Winton about sand, more especially the sand hill just east of the town. Next morning we took on stock of rations and drinking water. That "sand hill," or rather the remembrance of it and the balance of our trip to Desert Station that day, are like the remembrance of another beastly nightmare.</br> </br> </br> </br> desert mud road condition </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> All during the afternoon, it rained and the wind blew a gale, but the temperature was high and we did not mind. Had it not been for the rain and its cooling effect there on the sand and sage brush desert, I doubt whether we could have stood it.</br> </br> </br> </br> desert wind temperature </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The storm that day caused us to speculate largely as to whether some of the many bolts of lightning hitting close around us would not strike the machine, demolish it completely, and incidentally put the operator and passenger out of business.</br> </br> </br> </br> driver lightning passenger car risk personification </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> But a kind providence was with us during the storm, and the lightning kept off. Getting up the Wadsworth sand hill, we cut sage brush and kept piling it up in front of all four wheels to give them something to hold to and prevent slipping and burrowing in the soft sand until the machine was buried to the axles and it became necessary to use block, tackle, and shovels to pull up to the surface. Got to the top at last, but found no improvement in sand conditions. It was the hardest kind of work to make the slightest progress, but at 5:45 in the evening halted at Desert Station, a place inhabited by D. H. Gates, section boss, his wife, Train Dispatcher Howard (his office, cook house, etc., were all combined in a box car which had been set out on a short siding), and a dozen Japanese section hands.</br> </br> </br> </br> storm car part desert equipment road condition </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Passed the night comfortably, and when the road was taken next morning (May 29) at 6 o'clock, the sun was shining and Mr. Gates predicted no rain for the day.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We found the roads somewhat improved and on and on we went through that vast country of magnificent distances. We were in the country where rattlesnakes were thickest, near Pyramid Rock, of which one writer says: "This rock pyramid is alleged to be the home of rattlesnakes so numerous as to defy extermination."</br> </br> </br> </br> road road condition </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> When out of the machine and walking around bunches of sage brush care was exercised in keeping out of striking range of these venomous reptiles. Mr. Winton has some tail end rattles as trophies, but I was not so anxious to get close enough to kill the snakes and cut off their tails.</br> </br> </br> </br> parking road side animal </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> That day we plunged through four unbridged streams, and in one place where a bad washout had occurred, it became necessary for us to build a bridge before the machine would “take the ditch.” We lugged railroad ties—many ties from a pile close to the railroad tracks some distance away. And they were heavier than five-pound boxes of chocolate, but we finally got enough and bumped the machine through and on its way.</br> </br> </br> </br> river infrastructure </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Mill City was reached shortly before 5 o'clock. The Southern Pacific agent there said we could never get to Winnemucca (thirty miles to the east) that night because of the sand hills; the quicksand would bury us, he said. Another man who came up discussed the sand proposition with Mr. Winton and told him that there would be only one way in which "that there thing" could get through this thirty miles' stretch of quicksand. "How?" asked Mr. Winton. "Load her on a flat car and be pulled to Winnemucca."</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> "Not on your life," retorted the plucky automobilist; into the carriage I jumped, he pulled the lever and off we went. The course led up a hill, but there was enough bottom to the sand to give the wheels a purchase and from the hill summit we forged down into the valley where the country was comparatively level. Nothing in sight but sage brush and sand, sand and sage brush.</br> </br> </br> </br> car part driving desert driver passenger plant </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Two miles of it were covered. Progress was slow, the sand became deeper and deeper as we progressed. At last the carriage stopped, the driving wheels sped on and cut deep into the bottomless sand. We used block and tackle, got the machine from its hole, and tried again. Same result. Tied more ropes around wheels with the hope that the corrugation would give them sufficient purchase in the sand. Result: wheels cut deeper in less time than before.</br> </br> </br> </br> car part equipment road condition slowness </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> It was a condition never encountered by an automobilist in the history of the industry. We were in soft, shifting quicksand where power counted as nothing. We were face to face with a condition the like of which cannot be imagined—one must be in it, fight with it, be conquered by it, before a full and complete realization of what it actually is will dawn upon the mind.</br> </br> </br> </br> risk road condition </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Mr. Winton said to me: "Do you know what we are up against here? I told the Plain Dealer I would put this enterprise through If it were possible. Right here we are met by the impossible. Under present conditions no automobile can go through this quicksand." I suggested loading the machine and sending it by freight to Winnemucca. "No, sir," he flashed back emphatically. "If we can't do it on our own power this expedition ends right here, and I go back with a knowledge of conditions and an experience such as no automobilist in this or any other country has gained."</br> </br> </br> </br> road condition car </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> When, after serious deliberation, he decided to abandon the trip he said: "If I attempt this game again, I will construct a machine on peculiar lines. No man who expects to operate in the civilized portions of this continent would take the machine for his individual service about cities and throughout ordinary country, but I tell you it will go through sand—and this quicksand at that."</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> There is nothing more to tell. We left Mill City that night and rode into Winnemucca on a freight train. The machine, aided by its own power, had been hauled from its bed by horses and returned to Mill City, where arrangements were made to load it for Cleveland. We left Winnemucca May 30, at 2:40 P.M. on a Southern Pacific passenger train, and arrived in Cleveland June 2, at 7:35 P.M.</br> </br> </br> </br> train  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Stoner, Dayton </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Non-Fiction </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> Science </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1925 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 56-57</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> Here you can find Sam Kean's 2022 article on Dayton Stoner's work.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> animal death risk </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We hear and read a good deal of the enormous annual toll of human life due to the mania for speed so generally prevalent among automobile drivers. On this account our city streets and country high­ways are dangerous places for pedestrians as well as for other and more discreet motorists. Even the widely heralded "dirt roads" of Iowa are tainted with human blood. "As a killer of men, the automo­bile is more deadly than typhoid fever and runs a close second to influenza. ... Up to August of this year (1924) 9,500 lives were sacrificed, chiefly in preventable accidents." Thus reads a recent account in one of our popular magazines.</br> </br> </br> </br> accident car death driving highway infrastructure risk road speed </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Not only is the mortality among human beings high, but the death-dealing qualities of the motor car are making serious inroads on our native mam­mals, birds and other forms of animal life.</br> </br> </br> </br> animal death risk </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> This matter was most forcefully brought to my attention during June and July, 1924, when my wife and I made the journey overland from Iowa City, Iowa, to the Iowa Lakeside Laboratory, on West Lake Okoboji, Iowa, a distance of 316 miles. Parts of two days were occupied in the going journey on June 13 and 14, while approximately the same time was required for the return trip on July 15 and 16.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Within a few minutes after we had started from Iowa City and a considerable number of dead animals, apparently casualties from passing motor cars, had been encountered in the road, it occurred to us that an enumeration and actual count of those that we might yet come upon during the remainder of the tour would be of interest. Accordingly, we under­took to do this on both the going and return trip which, although not over the same routes in their entirety, were of exactly the same length.</br> </br> </br> </br> animal car death risk road </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> In this count only freshly killed carcasses of vertebrate animals lying in or immediately at the side of the highway were taken into consideration, and only those forms of whose identity we were certain as we passed along were included. Since we seldom ex­ceeded 25 miles per hour we had ample time to iden­tify the more familiar things. Stops were made for a few of the less common and unusual finds.</br> </br> </br> </br> animal car death driving highway infrastructure risk road road side rural slowness </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Our route took us through typical Iowa farming communities, for the most part moderately thickly populated and supplied with the usual farm build­ings. Prairie, marsh and woodland were also repre­sented as were various types of soil and vegetation supported by them. All these conditions make for a diversity of animal life, and we found it well represented on the highways.</br> </br> </br> </br> animal car infrastructure topography rural </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> About 200 miles of the road were graveled; the remainder was just "plain dirt," most of which had been brought to grade. Of course the surfaced roads permit of greater speed, together with more comfort to the speeder and correspondingly greater danger to human and other lives.</br> </br> </br> </br> gravel risk road speed road surface </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> In general, the greatest number of casualties were encountered on the good stretches of road. By way of illustrating this point it may be noted that on the return journey between the Laboratory and Marshall­ town, Iowa, a distance of 211 miles, all well graveled, 105 dead animals representing 15 species were counted; of these, 39 were red-headed woodpeckers ( Melanerpes erythrocephalus ). Several other forms that could not be identified in passing were met with.</br> </br> </br> </br> animal death gravel infrastructure Midwest risk rural </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> As will be seen from the appended table the mortality among red-headed woodpeckers is higher than that of any other form observed, and I believe that a combination of circumstances will account for this situation. In the first place, these birds have a pro­pensity for feeding upon insects and waste grain in and along the roads; second, they remain as long as possible before the approaching car, in all probability not being keen discriminators of its speed; and third, they have a slow "get-away," that is, they can not quickly acquire a sufficient velocity to escape the on­coming car and so meet their death. However, I feel certain that a speed of from 35 to 40 miles an hour is necessary in order to catch these birds. Of course this is not true for some other forms such as turtles and snakes which depend upon terrestrial progres­sion and are comparatively slow movers. In most cases all animals, if given a reasonable time to escape, will cause the hurried motorist little if any delay.</br> </br> </br> </br> animal car death infrastructure road speed risk weapon </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Further comment need not be made upon the various factors entering into the situation here discussed. It will be sufficient to point out that on a summer motor trip of 632 miles over Iowa roads, 29 species of our native and introduced vertebrate animals, repre­senting a total of 225 individuals, were found dead as a result of being crushed by passing automobiles, and that this agency demands recognition as one of the important checks upon the natural increase of many forms of life. Assuming that these conditions prevail over the thousands of miles of improved high­ ways in this state and throughout the United States the death toll of the motor car becomes still more appalling.</br> </br> </br> </br> animal car death highway infrastructure Midwest road speed risk  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Teasdale, Sara </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> Rivers to the Sea </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> MacMillan </br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1915 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 23</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The shining line of motors, </br>The swaying motor-bus, </br>The prancing dancing horses </br>Are passing by for us.</br> </br> </br> </br> car traffic </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The sunlight on the steeple, </br>The toys we stop to see, </br>The smiling passing people </br>Are all for you and me.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> "I love you and I love you"— </br>"And oh, I love you, too!"— </br>"All of the flower girl's lilies </br>Were only grown for you!"</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Fifth Avenue and April </br>And love and lack of care — </br>The world is mad with music </br>Too beautiful to bear.</br> </br> </br> </br> music road spring urbansic road spring urban  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Trinkle, Florence M. </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Non-Fiction </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> Motoring West: Automobile Pioneers </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1952 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 298-339</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> driving navigation affect </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> PIKES PEAK OR BUST . . . IN A BRUSH</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> I don't suppose my husband and I could possibly make clear to modern motorists the intense affection we developed for a piece of machinery—our little Brush Runabout. But at the end of our ordeal (it was 1908) we parted with the car as if it had been a favorite child.</br> </br> </br> </br> car personification </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> It would be difficult for the drivers of today's luxurious cars on our modern highways to visualize the adverse conditions that faced the horseless carriage when it was first coming into use after the turn of the century. Naturally, these early automobiles were primitive affairs and few drivers knew much about their mechanical parts. Repair and service stations were few and far between—especially where we went—and mechanics still were groping in the darkness, for the most part. There were no highway signs anywhere; in many states, particularly in the West, roads were almost impassable for a low-built vehicle, and it was taken for granted that on a trip of any length there would be many streams to ford.</br> </br> </br> </br> car road condition technology West </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> In 1908 there was no transcontinental automobile highway. The Lincoln Highway was not started until 1913 and wasn't finished for more than a decade. It filled a great want, linking the East with the West and making it possible for travelers to locate towns and cities by calculating exact distances. This was especially valuable in sparsely populated areas. Previously, only the hardiest motorists ventured any distance from home base, and a cross-country pleasure trip was out of the question. A few factories sent cars on long trips for advertising purposes, but the danger and trouble they encountered made the ventures questionable.</br> </br> </br> </br> highway infrastructure navigation risk </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> In rural districts the populace usually was antagonistic to the automobile because it frightened horses and accidents resulted. Often, upon the approach of a horse, the motorist would stop his car and stand in front of it until the animal could be maneuvered past the evil-smelling contraption.</br> </br> </br> </br> rural animal driver smell </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Once a motorist approached a Michigan farmer driving a spirited team, and seeing the fright of the horses and the women passengers in the buggy, he stopped his car, alighted and gallantly offered to lead the prancing horses past the machine. The farmer said: "Never mind the horses, young man, I can take care of them. You just hold the women."</br> </br> </br> </br> affect animal road side car </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> If the unwary motorist stopped at a farmhouse to ask directions, the farmer invariably would direct him through some mud hole or over some steep hill to be sure the car got stuck. Then in the evening at the corner store the farmer would brag to his cronies how he had sent that "buzz wagon" down the wrong road, and all would be merriment.</br> </br> </br> </br> car mud navigation risk road </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> After the first world war this nation became road-conscious, spending immense sums on new highways until improved roads with numerous signs and signals extended in every direction. Eventually the motorist was catered to in every state with such innovations as service stations, hot dog stands and motor clubs.</br> </br> </br> </br> road infrastructure gas station </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> My husband, Fred A. Trinkle, began driving and repairing automobiles in Denver, Colorado, as early as 1900, and in 1907 he became agent for the Brush automobile for the state of Colorado. The car was designed by Alonzo P. Brush and built in Detroit by the Briscoe Manufacturing Co. The Brush Runabout was a two-seated, one-cylinder, double side chain-driven car with a coil-type spring under each corner, acetylene headlights and Prest-O-Lite tank, with no top, windshield, or doors. It was a very sturdy car and could go anywhere there was a road. The chain-drive on each side gave it great climbing power although it was not fast. But that was not a serious deficiency because there weren't many good roads on which to speed in those days, and drivers were not speed-crazy.</br> </br> </br> </br> driver car maintenance road road condition </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> To advertise the Brush in 1908, Frank Briscoe decided to send five factory models to different destinations, and asked Fred to come to Detroit and drive one to Kansas City, as he was the only Brush salesman familiar with the West.</br> </br> </br> </br> car driving </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> At a banquet the evening before the start, each of the drivers was called on for a speech. When Fred's turn came, he told the crowd he could not make speeches, but he could drive a Brush Runabout and that, when he reached Kansas City, he would ask permission to drive on to Denver, climbing Pike's Peak on the way. After the applause had subsided, all forgot about the boast except Fred and Briscoe.</br> </br> </br> </br> car driving mountain </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The five cars started the next morning, each driver accompanied by an observer who kept track of the credentials on the trip. Arrangements already had been made by the factory in cities along the routes for pictures to be taken when the cars arrived, and newspaper stories along the way were to provide more advertisement for the cars. Fred's itinerary took him through Michigan and Ohio to Cincinnati, west through Indiana and Illinois to St. Louis. Towns in these states were close enough together so he and his companion always could find accommodations, but finally the observer objected to not getting a bath every night and returned to Detroit. The factory sent another observer for the trip from St. Louis to Kansas City.</br> </br> </br> </br> driver driving navigation East Midwest passenger </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Throughout Missouri, Fred could get little information about roads or directions. For instance, people living ten miles from Bowling Green had no idea where it was. The roads were so bad he drove much of the time in low gear with the wheels in a solid mass of mud. It was a hard grind across the state, but luckily time and speed had no bearing on the final summing-up of the trip.</br> </br> </br> </br> driving Midwest mud car part road condition slowness </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The factory required a telegram every night giving the car's location, also a daily written account signed both by driver and observer, to be mailed each night to the factory. Fred won first place among the five cars at the end of the run, later receiving a silver cup and ebony pedestal. The points which won him the decision were prompt and full reports, high gasoline and oil mileage and fewest repairs. His only replacement was a 10-cent commutator spring which he installed himself.</br> </br> </br> </br> car part gasoline oil </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> In Kansas City he received instructions from Briscoe to continue to Denver with the Brush, look over the possibilities of a Pike's Peak climb and report if it would be feasible. Fred soon found bad roads all through Kansas, and driving was strenuous work. Beyond Dodge City, he stopped to speed up his engine in the heavy mud and in starting, the chain jumped off the sprocket teeth. This had happened before, as the chains and corresponding teeth had become worn in the steady drag through the mud. He tried to flip the chain on while the engine was running, his usual custom, but in a moment of carelessness he caught his hand between the chain and the teeth of the sprocket, stalling the engine and trapping him as completely as though he were in a bear trap. He couldn't move to reach the gear-shift lever.</br> </br> </br> </br> driving accident car part mud engine maintenance risk road road condition </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> There was little travel on the road and he was forced to remain in a crouched position for some time. Finally he hailed a tramp walking on the railroad and, after much persuasion, got him to leave the tracks and come to the car. He directed him how to turn off the ignition, put the car in reverse gear, then crank the engine, thus turning the sprocket and chain backward and releasing his hand. He reflected later that he might have been caught for hours; as it was, the flesh on his hand was cut through to the bone. Fortunately he had a box of salve in the car, and the tramp helped dress and wrap his injured hand.</br> </br> </br> </br> road car car part equipment engine risk </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Fred carried the tramp with him to the next town and took him to a restaurant for a meal, but as soon as they had finished eating the tramp made a bee-line for a freight train—and oblivion, as far as Fred was concerned.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> At Lakin, Kansas, he stopped with cousins for a few days, meanwhile selling two cars to be delivered later.</br> </br> </br> </br> car </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> When he reached Colorado Springs, he found good weather and no snow on Pike's Peak, so he telephoned a photographer friend in Denver and told him to meet him at the Springs next morning with his large camera, and ride up with him. Then he removed the running boards and fenders and had a sprag made to drag behind the car so as to hold it on steep grades if necessary when he stopped to speed up the engine.</br> </br> </br> </br> car car part engine maintenance mountain </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The old road had been abandoned for years, a cog road and burro trail having taken its place, and the present boulevard was not built until eight or nine years later.</br> </br> </br> </br> road road condition </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> From Colorado Springs, at an altitude of about 7,000 feet, Fred and his photographer drove to Manitou where they bought a hand ax, a shovel, and about 100 feet of rope. Then they drove to Cascade, where they had an early lunch. Here they were directed to follow the canyon road a mile and a half, where they could see a dim road turning to the left, and a small wooden bridge across a creek; there they turned immediately and started a stiff climb on a shelf road dug on the side of the mountain and ending directly over Cascade.</br> </br> </br> </br> driving equipment infrastructure mountain navigation road </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> When this route was pointed out to them, they looked up a thousand feet or more to a line on the mountain side which was their road. This seemed to be the crucial part of the climb as it was so steep most cars could not get gasoline to their carburetors and so became stalled. Up to this time no one had heard of vacuum tanks or fuel pumps, and automobiles obtained their gasoline supply by gravity only. This did not bother the Brush Runabout because it was equipped with the only known diaphragm fuel pump which brought the fuel from the tank under the floor boards to a fuel cup on top of the engine. With that arrangement, the motor could be kept running even if the car were standing on end, which accounted for the Brush's ability to get over steep places.</br> </br> </br> </br> road car car part gasoline equipment risk technology </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> At the top, before getting out of sight of Cascade, Fred backed the car into the bank and the two got out to stretch their muscles. Looking below, they saw a large crowd gathered in the street, each person seemingly only an inch tall, watching them climb the steep shelf on the mountain side. They took off their hats and waved and the crowd answered by waving hats, handkerchiefs, aprons, or anything that was handy.</br> </br> </br> </br> affect car mountain parking </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Starting the car, they went down grade before resuming the climb. Rocks, boulders, fallen trees, and other debris blocked the road and had to be cleared away, while washouts were numerous. At the Halfway House, there was a mountain stream with very steep sides. It had once been bridged just below timberline. The two men carried poles from a nearby corral, lashed them together in pairs with their rope, buried the ends in the earth to make them firm, and drove over them as if they were a bridge.</br> </br> </br> </br> driving road mountain river tree </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Nearing the top, they came to the famous "W" where the road travels left for half a mile, then doubles back on a hairpin curve to the point where it started but about 200 feet higher, then back on another hairpin curve, completing the "W." The camera man, tall and heavy, climbed from road to road taking pictures of the car on the "W." They climbed completely around the mountain, coming to the top from the opposite side of the "W." It was a 23-mile climb and had taken all day. Often during the trip both men sat with one foot outside the car so as to be ready to jump to safety if they saw the little car tottering on the edge of the narrow, crumbling road.</br> </br> </br> </br> road driving car mountain road condition risk safety </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> That night I received a wire from the Pike's Peak telegraph station, highest in the world, that Fred was safe at the top and would come down next day. To Briscoe in Detroit he wired,</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> PIKE'S PEAK CLIMB POSSIBLE FOR WE ARE AT THE SUMMIT.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The two men stayed all night on the top at the Summit House, 14,147 feet above sea level. Next day they found the descent much more difficult and dangerous than the climb, for it meant holding back around boulders and other obstructions on narrow, rough, curving trails. On the way down, the bottom of the gasoline tank hit a rock and broke off the drain plug, but they grabbed a gallon can they had in the car for carrying water and saved enough of the gasoline so that by using a squirt gun, they were able to feed enough fuel into the gas line to keep the engine running until they reached Cascade, where they bought a gallon more and this took them to Colorado Springs.</br> </br> </br> </br> road accident equipment car part gasoline risk engine </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The gas tank had to be soldered, besides replacing the fenders and running boards, before they could start for Denver that night. While working in the garage, another car backed up in front of Fred and began shooting the exhaust in his face. He quit work, went over to the owner, and asked him to move the car, as the fumes were very annoying. The man answered that if he didn't like it, he could move his own car. There was no room to move back, so after a few words—tired from his climb and anxious to get home that night—Fred lost his temper and hit the man on the chin with his fist. The other shook his head and said, "Did you mean that?" Fred replied, "Yes, I did," and soon the two were a rolling heap on the floor. The cameraman had to separate them. The man then moved his car and before Fred left, he came back and apologized to him.</br> </br> </br> </br> car part maintenance parking </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> As soon as the Runabout was in commission that night, they started for Denver, two very tired men anxious to get home. I was wakened by a noise to see a man standing in the bedroom door about four o'clock in the morning. I thought it was a burglar with a brown mask over his face, with eyes looking like two burned holes in it, but Fred's grin relieved me of my fears and a bath brought out the original man.</br> </br> </br> </br> car </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Sometime later a nicely dressed man came into Fred's sales room, introduced himself and said, "You remember me, don't you?" It was the man he had clipped on the chin in the Colorado Springs garage. After a chat, he gave Fred a ticket to the Denver Athletic Club for a certain night, making him promise to go to the fights there. When Fred did, he found that the man was a prize-fighter in the principal bout of the evening. I thought this was a very clever way to let Fred discover his occupation; then and there, Fred decided to be more careful about starting a fight with any other athletic stranger who might not be the gentleman this man was.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Many cars had tried to climb Pike's Peak, but a Locomobile Steamer was the first. The second was a 70-horsepower Stearns. The Brush Runabout was the third and went every foot of the way under its own power.</br> </br> </br> </br> car </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> WESTWARD PIONEERS-A BRUSH AND THE TRINKLES</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Everyone at the Detroit factory was jubilant over the climb, and we thought the trip was completed when Fred settled down to his garage work and selling cars.</br> </br> </br> </br> car </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> However, in a few days Briscoe wrote to Fred, asking if he would outfit the car in Denver, drive it to the Pacific Coast, then meet it in Detroit and drive it to New York City in time for the winter motor show. He said he would send a man from the factory to go as observer if he had no one in Denver to go with him. It appalled us at first to think of driving such a little car over the long, uninhabited distances we knew existed throughout some of the western states. We never would have entertained the idea if Fred hadn't been such a good automobile mechanic. We had been to California by train several times over different roads and knew something of what to expect, traveling over the mountain ranges and passes so late in the season.</br> </br> </br> </br> car driving road condition mountain West </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> My parents came from New York State to Michigan as early settlers before I was born, and Fred and his mother came West in a covered wagon to Colorado when he was a small boy, so I guess there must be pioneer blood in our veins; the "call of the road" won.</br> </br> </br> </br> pioneer road West metaphor </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> So Fred accepted Briscoe's proposition and persuaded me to go along as observer, wiring Briscoe to that effect. The answer was,</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> PERFECTLY ACCEPTABLE. COMPLIMENTS TO PLUCKY MRS. TRINKLE.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The factory wired us $500 to outfit and start, with more to be sent when and where we ordered. We were told to spare no expense and to send tires, gasoline, and spare parts ahead for use wherever we thought best. Briscoe never had been West, but he knew that few cars ever had crossed the continent and that we would not have a pleasure trip, to say the least. Since I had previously lived in Nevada and California, it seemed like a homecoming for me, or I might have taken the trip more seriously.</br> </br> </br> </br> car car part gasoline equipment West </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Our first thought was about equipping our car, because as long as we could keep it moving, we would be safe. The next thing was to make sure we would keep warm and comfortable ourselves so we could endure the hardships we were bound to encounter for several weeks along the way. We had to use our own judgment in selecting what to take, as no one we knew ever had made this sort of trip.</br> </br> </br> </br> car equipment safety temperature </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The little car already had done strenuous work, so Fred went over it carefully to see that every part was sound, meanwhile selecting the necessary extra parts. The Brush's most serious fault was that it didn't hold enough gasoline for long distances in places where gas stations were few and far between. Fred had an extra gas tank built under the seat and in all we could carry 16 gallons. As the trip progressed, we took on extra gas every time we had the chance, so as to never run short of the precious fuel.</br> </br> </br> </br> car sound car part gasoline </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> He built a box on the back of the car which would carry oil, ax, tools, tires, rope, block and tackle, suitcases, spare parts, and the like. Then he put endless interliners in each tire so we could wear the tire through to them, then take them out and put them into new tires. Once we cut one tire badly on a rock, exposing the interliner and making a tire change necessary, but the other three went all the way to San Francisco with Denver air in them.</br> </br> </br> </br> car car part equipment </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> There was no room for a camping outfit, and we were forced to run the risk of finding accommodations along the way as best we could, though we carried an emergency hamper containing bacon, skillet, canned meat, crackers, coffee, chocolate, raisins, matches, medicines, and other items.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We had been told by an Alaskan miner that chocolate and raisins make a substantial diet and will sustain life for days. We added chewing gum, which quenches thirst if water is unfit or absent, and we thought we could keep from starving for quite a time if the car broke down far from help or we got lost. We knew there were no road signs of any kind along the way, so we carried a compass and railroad maps.</br> </br> </br> </br> infrastructure car navigation map risk road </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Back of our feet in the car were a shovel and an umbrella, ready for quick use. We dressed in serviceable, warm clothing, gauntlet gloves, and high, waterproof boots. At the very last, I added a silk face mask and goggles to my wardrobe. We each had a rubber coat that slipped over the head to protect us from rain, snow, and cold. We each carried a suitcase with one full change of clothes, knowing we could buy more on the way. We divided our money in case of emergency, and both of us had a revolver.</br> </br> </br> </br> car equipment safety </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> What directions we could get were very vague but we expected to get information on the way from old stage drivers, teamsters, and livery stable men. We knew that at this time of year we must avoid the Sierra Nevada mountains through Reno and Truckee, Nevada, and Donner Lake, California, where the whole Donner party had perished in the early days in snow so deep that the tops of trees showed in the spring where the party had peeled off bark to eat in a desperate endeavor to keep alive.</br> </br> </br> </br> navigation risk mountain tree </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Friends told us later that they never expected to see us alive again, but they were wise enough not to fill us with forebodings. Fortunately, both of us had optimistic dispositions and did not anticipate trouble before we came to it.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> To send his nightly telegram to the factory, Fred carried an identification card ordering all Western Union offices to accept messages, to be sent collect. I took shorthand notes each day and sent letters to the factory when I could find time to use a writing pad and pencil. Maps were hung in a window at the factory and at all dealers' stores and little cardboard cars were moved along our route each time they heard from us. People passing the showroom windows would stop each day to see how far we had gone.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We did not try to make fast time, because safety was our first thought. Fred went over the car carefully each morning before starting.</br> </br> </br> </br> safety maintenance </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We left Denver September 28, 1908, stopping at the office of the Denver Post for a picture, then passed through Fort Collins on the way to Tie Siding, Wyoming; where we came to the Union Pacific Railroad. We followed it for days, near or far, according to the way the wagon road ran. At Tie Siding we got a late dinner and after much shifting about of sleeping children, we were given a bed.</br> </br> </br> </br> navigation road road side </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We passed through Laramie before noon the next day and about 2 P.M. we stopped at a section house on the railroad and asked the only visible occupant, a woman, if she would serve us lunch. She prepared a meal and seemed glad to talk to us, being especially eloquent about her children, saying among other things that they had not been tardy or absent at school in the past year. I had seen no other building for miles so I asked where the schoolhouse was located and she naively replied, "Upstairs. We hire the teacher and the three children are the whole school." I gasped in astonishment at the wonderful record she thought they had made.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> As night approached and we had ridden many miles without seeing any sign of habitation, black clouds were gathering. We decided to try another section house on the railroad for food and lodging for the night, as we had no idea how far it was to the next town, Medicine Bow, but we knew there was a river which we did not care to ford after dark in such a small car. We found a Japanese man who looked at us in such a surly way, only grunting at our questions, that Fred said, "Let's get out of here," and we hurried out over the railroad track, feeling safer in the dark and storm. To cross the railroad we had to open and shut a wire gate on each side of the tracks. We couldn't see far beyond our dim headlights in the darkness and rain, and the feeling of loneliness was great. Finally we saw a tiny light to our right in the distance and Fred told me not to lose sight of it.</br> </br> </br> </br> car car part infrastructure train vision </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We ran into a high road center and embedded the flywheel in the earth, but we managed to back out and soon were headed toward the light which shown from a rancher's window. It was about nine at night. A barbed wire fence halted us before we could reach the house. As I sat under the dripping umbrella, Fred walked along the fence until he came to an entrance near the house. A man opened the door, and very definitely refused to let us spend the night there, but after some urgent pleading on Fred's part he relented and told him how to drive the car into the yard.</br> </br> </br> </br> accident car car part road condition </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> I went into the house and sat down behind a warm stove, very meek, cold, and hungry while the men were putting the car under shelter. The rancher's wife was there, and when Fred came inside, he asked me, "Did you tell this lady we haven't had any supper?" I smiled and said, "No, I didn't." She got busy at once and soon we were enjoying an excellent meal.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We never hurried the next morning after we had driven late the night before, so after breakfast we chatted about our trip and I enthused over the distant views, pure air, and delicious odor of the sagebrush after the rain. Then our hostess said, "I'll tell you now why we didn't want to keep you overnight. We have had so many easterners coming here late at night who were rude and disagreeable, cussing the roads, the climate, the people and everything in the state that we said we would never take in another traveler, but you are different and like it here." I had, unknowingly, won them over by my appreciation of some of the beauties of their locality. The couple ended by wanting us to stay a few days and go antelope hunting with them. It was with real regret that we could not accept their invitation, for they were fine people and we never have forgotten their hospitality during the storm in the first stages of our trip.</br> </br> </br> </br> affect rain East animal road condition </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Within a mile after starting again, we forded the river where we might have had trouble after dark, and came to Medicine Bow. We had trouble through this section with the high road centers. The roads were sixty inches wide while our car was fifty-six inches, the regulation width, and the ruts were worn deep by wagon wheels so our flywheel did not always clear the ground beneath.</br> </br> </br> </br> car part river road condition </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We were constantly worried that we would be stranded if our flywheel broke; we had no other with us. This was a desolate country and somehow very depressing, with clouds presaging a storm. This feeling was intensified as we passed the deserted town of Carbon, where open doors swung in the wind and paneless windows stared at us. In one window we saw the head of a horse, and in another we caught the partially hidden face of a man. We were glad to leave the desolate ruins and climb to higher hills, although we still sensed trouble around us.</br> </br> </br> </br> desert risk road side rural </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The eeriness of the day was climaxed at Hanna, where we ate lunch, by the pervading gloom of the villagers. Upon inquiring what was wrong, we were told that a second mine disaster had occurred within the last few days and bodies still were being brought up out of the shaft. We were glad to move on, even if it might be to trouble of our own ahead.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> In mid-afternoon, the snow came down so thick and fast that I was kept busy clearing it from the top of the umbrella, which was being bogged down by the snow's weight. The roads, such as they were, were beginning to disappear under the blanket of snow and we had to crawl along, fearful of damaging the car on some hidden rock. Then we saw a section house, about dusk.</br> </br> </br> </br> road road condition weather </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We stopped, determined to go no farther in the storm. We covered the car, took our suitcases and robes, and walked a half mile through the snow, ditches and sagebrush to Edison, as it was marked on the railroad map. A light flashed in a window—a beacon in the stormy night, reassuring evidence of habitation. At our knock, a smiling Japanese section boss opened the door and ushered us in.</br> </br> </br> </br> map car navigation </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Although he was alone, everything was spic and span. His wife was coming from Kansas City the following week, and he had everything shining. He served us a meal, even making hot biscuits, which we enjoyed greatly after our cold day. He built an extra fire in the front room of the good-sized house so we could dry our clothes, but he had no bed for us. We had to sleep on the floor in our clothes, but our host brought out some new wool blankets to soften the floor. In the morning, Fred remarked that there were a lot of wrinkles in the Trinkles.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> But the storm was over, the sun was shining, and we were happy although a little sore from the effects of our hard bed. We ate breakfast, took pictures, bid the friendly Japanese goodbye after settling our bill, and waded back with our belongings to the car. It was shrouded in snow and canvas, just as we had left it. We uncovered it and started off.</br> </br> </br> </br> car sun weather </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The sun had melted the snow, making the road so slippery we slid off several times, stalling often in the six miles to Walcott. We had to dig out the flywheel each time, shoveling earth and packing it under the wheels to raise the car and free the flywheel. We finally reached the town for lunch, wondering how far we could go that day over such roads. We were often in mud so thick that it clung to our boots so we could hardly walk.</br> </br> </br> </br> car part equipment mud road road condition </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We had plenty of money, but what good did it do under these circumstances? If our car had been larger and heavier we never would have got through without a tow car, something which was unknown in those days anyway. But we never quite despaired as our sturdy little car kept chugging along.</br> </br> </br> </br> personification affect </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> That afternoon's journey was slow and monotonous. After dark we crossed the North Platte River on a bridge that careened so much I was afraid we might slide off into the stream; then we progressed along a muddy road on the sloping bank of the river to Fort Steele, a big, barren building. It was a relic of the old Indian fighting days, but we found that food and shelter were the most important things after a hard day's work.</br> </br> </br> </br> mud river road road condition road side </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We reached Rawlins at noon the next day and had lunch in a quite pretentious hotel. Sandy roads slowed us up in the afternoon and we had to stop at Daley's, a big sheep ranch, for the night. We were made welcome by six young men who showed every possible courtesy. One young man was very anxious about a bad ditch we would have to cross the next morning. He offered to take a team of horses and pull us through, but Fred said the car was going every foot of the way under its own power. I believe they felt sorry for us because our car was so small, not realizing the Brush could get through places impossible for a larger automobile.</br> </br> </br> </br> car slowness risk rural road condition </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We got stuck, just as the young man feared, and our shovel work could not extricate us, so out came the block and tackle. Hitched to the root of a big sagebrush, it slowly inched us up and over the bank of a deep, slippery ditch. This delay cost us an hour or more.</br> </br> </br> </br> equipment </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> After four or five miles Fred turned to me and asked if I had put the shovel back in the car and my heart sank when we found we had laid it down behind a sage brush and forgotten it in the confusion of starting. Every mile was gained with so much effort that we couldn't possibly think of going back for the shovel, because we could buy one at the next town if we were lucky enough not to need one before we got there; but here, again, we were to find that money did not avail us.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> It was always my duty, while Fred attended to the car, to scout around and gather up all our tools after we had stopped to work on the side of the road in Wyoming—and that was very often—so I felt the loss of the shovel was all my fault.</br> </br> </br> </br> car </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We reached Wamsutter that night without needing a shovel, and we were confident we could buy a new one there. But we couldn't, for love or money. The Union Pacific Railroad owned everything in sight, and no one dared sell any of the road's equipment. We were pretty blue, because a shovel was an absolute necessity to us every day along the road. Nothing which had happened to us so far balked us so much as the loss of the shovel. Now we had nothing with which to dig ourselves out of high road centers and fill in bad places.</br> </br> </br> </br> equipment safety road condition </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Just before we started the next morning, a man among the crowd around the car quietly told Fred that about a mile down the road he would see a railroad switch with a broom and shovel standing by it. Then he winked. We drove slowly with our eyes glued on that track, found the switch with its broom and shovel, quickly added the shovel to our outfit and were ready for any emergency once more. Now it was my concern that the handle, stamped U. P. R. R., was kept hidden back of my feet when we came to a town on this railroad, where keen eyes might see it and know it did not belong to us. This shovel saved us later in many places.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We fought bad roads all day through the Bitter Creek country where we were warned not to drink the water or put it in the radiator because it contained so much alkali. The good water was brought in on tank cars, from which we filled our radiator. At night we found the road impassable because of mud and water, and I thought we were stuck there for the night. Fred and "Road Louse 2," as a facetious friend had dubbed our car, left the road and went bouncing on its coil springs over sagebrush and around rocks, while I held my breath and gripped the side of the seat in my endeavor to stay with them. We went over a hill and down, landing at a section house occupied by Austrians who spoke or understood very little English. We surprised them as much as if we had come down in an airplane.</br> </br> </br> </br> car car part mud risk road road condition </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The woman asked how we got through the mud and where were our children, but my explanations seemed unsatisfactory to her. They gave us the best food they had, but we could scarcely eat it and I sat with my head in my hand, very tired and nauseated by the smell of the food.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Fred brought in our two canvases and put them on the bed for sheets—the woman had given up her bed to us, sleeping in the bunkhouse with the workmen. In the morning we left her well paid, but as soon as possible we threw away the thick coffee and hunk of bread she was determined we were to take for lunch.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> After leaving this place we had to use the shovel three times in the first mile, and put in a strenuous time over lonely country roads, reaching Rock Springs for the night. There we found a new hotel with steam heat, but we shocked the proprietor by asking him for a room with bath, and found there was no such thing in the building.</br> </br> </br> </br> road condition slowness </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> After leaving this place we had to use the shovel three times in the first mile, and put in a strenuous time over lonely country roads, reaching Rock Springs for the night. There we found a new hotel with steam heat, but we shocked the proprietor by asking him for a room with bath, and found there was no such thing in the building.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> After good food and a restful night at Rock Springs, we were quite ourselves again as we started another day's work. We ate lunch at Green River and continued, slowly covering ground in this barren land. About sundown we came to a river which high-wheeled wagons and long-legged horses could ford, and Fred was sure he could drive the car through it, but it was pretty wide with rapids and I walked over the railroad bridge, while he and the little car plunged into the water. The motor stopped in midstream.</br> </br> </br> </br> accident car infrastructure drive river rural bridge engine </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Fred got out in water above his knees and cranked the car over and over but it would not start, so he called to me that he would walk back a half mile to a construction camp we had passed, and get a man and team to pull the car out of the river.</br> </br> </br> </br> car engine river </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> I sat on the further bank, cold, discouraged and hungry, looking at the river and hearing it gurgling around our few belongings in the car. It was nearly dark when a team appeared with a man riding one of the horses, and Fred waded into the water again, fastened the team to the car and it was soon on dry ground. Fortunately the water had not reached our luggage. It was a frosty night, so Fred had to open his suitcase and get into dry clothes before we could proceed.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The engine started at the first turn of the crank and we wound our way in the dark over a road hemmed in by sagebrush, and after three miles came to a camp at Marston. The chug-chug of our motor brought out the whole section gang to see what was coming, and they gave us a noisy welcome. A double track was being laid and the block signal system was being installed on this division of the railroad, which accounted for the construction camps which were such a help to us.</br> </br> </br> </br> engine night pleasure road sound </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The camp cook took us into his box-car kitchen and served us a most appetizing meal, including parker house rolls. The signal maintainer, a Scotchman, took us to his house, made a fire to dry Fred's clothes, and gave us his bed for the night. He was the only person on our whole trip who would not take any money. All he wanted was a postcard from us when we reached San Francisco, probably thinking we would never reach such a place. We always carried plenty of fruit to supplement our scanty meals, and we gave him some. He said it was a great treat. Later, when we reached San Francisco, we sent him a picture of the St. Francis Hotel, where we stayed.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Next morning, after a few miles we ran into that same river to ford again, but good fortune was still with us; there was another construction camp and gang. Fred went over to where they were working and bargained for a man and team which towed the car through the water, the man sitting in the car as proud as a king while he drove the horses. I walked over the railroad bridge again.</br> </br> </br> </br> car infrastructure river bridge </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> After the man was paid and given a cigar, he beamed all over and said, "I'll go back and tell the boys I've had an automobile ride." It was an eventful day for him, making extra money, getting a good cigar and having his first automobile ride even if the car didn't run under its own power. Being on the right side of the stream to suit us, we enjoyed a good laugh as he and his team waded back through the water.</br> </br> </br> </br> affect car pleasure </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Fred put in the batteries he had taken off the running boards to keep them dry, and at the first turn of the crank the motor was chugging, ready to go. We neared Granger, Wyoming, at noon, but could not go into the village because there was no bridge across the river. We were told we would find one eight miles up the river if we followed the Oregon Short Line Railroad. This we did, stopping on the rustic bridge for lunch from our hamper, as no one was at home at a ranch where we had hoped to get a meal. There was hardly a sign of a road on the other side so we decided not to go back to Granger for our main road, but to go across the prairie toward train smoke we could see at times in the distance, keeping on the high ridges where it was smoother for the car. There was more or less uncertainty in this, but it was necessary at times that we should decide many problems by ourselves, so we took the risk. After an hour or so we came to a road; we followed it and it turned out to be the right one.</br> </br> </br> </br> car car part engine rural infrastructure navigation river road train scenery </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We saw no building or person all afternoon. Late in the day, when everything was going nicely, we came to a small, innocent-looking brook but the track had been cut down so deep by high-wheeled wagons that we dared not try to ford it. We walked up and down the stream, searching for a place we could cross safely. Finally we selected a spot with a sandy landing on the opposite side, though the steep bank must be cut down before we could drive into the road.</br> </br> </br> </br> river road road condition </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Feeling quite confident, we forded the stream and stopped the car on the sand while Fred leveled the high bank in front of us with the shovel, as I sat near and watched. When we went back to the car we found that the rear wheels and axle had sunk in quicksand and the car was resting on the body, perfectly helpless, and no help near for miles.</br> </br> </br> </br> accident car equipment river </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We were utterly dismayed at the sight. When we fully comprehended the plight in which we found ourselves, we got busy. Fred unpacked the jack while I brought a flat stone from the stream on which to place the jack after he had dug out sand to make a place for it. I brought more stones and he packed them and dry earth he had dug from the bank under the wheels, rocking the car back and forth to pack the base solidly. We worked frantically more than two hours. Finally we started the engine and both of us pushed the car to solid ground and into the road.</br> </br> </br> </br> car maintenance engine road </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We were wet with perspiration, so we put on warm wraps, never stopping for a morsel of food, and started on our way without knowing how far it was to a place we could stay overnight. What it would have meant to us to see just one road sign pointing some place!</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> There was a fair road with a telegraph line to follow, and a full moon overhead. Many times we thought we saw a light but it faded away before our eyes, leaving us bewildered and uncertain. About eleven o'clock, Fred stopped the car and asked me if I saw anything or if there was an optical illusion. It looked like an iron bridge a little to one side of the road, but it appeared so fairy-like in the moonlight that we doubted our eyes, so we stopped the car and walked over to see if it was a real bridge or a mirage. It was real.</br> </br> </br> </br> infrastructure car night bridge road road condition </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We left the road and drove over the magic bridge, eventually coming to the little town of Carter, where we got a room at what seemed like a hotel. It was so late we didn't dare ask for a meal, so we lunched from our hamper and dropped into bed worn out.</br> </br> </br> </br> driving metaphor infrastructure </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> DIFFICULTY GOING IN THE MOUNTAINS OF UTAH</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Next day, on our way to Evanston, we stopped to choose between two roads. Fred thought we should take the one that went down into a gulch or river bottom, while I urged that we keep to higher ground, because if we made the descent, sometime we would have to come back to a higher level. We sat there pondering for a while, for we could not afford to take the wrong road, when, looking behind us, we saw a man on horseback coming up the gulch. We ran back and hailed him before he could get out of sight. He saw us, stopped, waited for us to reach him, and told us to keep to the higher road. All day long it seemed that a miracle had happened just when we were in our worst straits.</br> </br> </br> </br> navigation road river vision </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We had an easy trip to Evanston that day, near the edge of Wyoming. We had been ten days crossing this state that motorists now cross in a day. We found good accommodations at Evanston, but when we asked for a room with bath, we were told the bathroom was packed full of stored goods and could not be used. We got a good laugh out of that.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Next morning, as we climbed a long grade to the top of the Wasatch Mountains, a dozen or more cowboys on their ponies surrounded us, lighting cigarettes, laughing, fixing saddles, in front and then behind us until we began to get nervous, wondering what they were trying to do. Just before we reached the top of the hill, one of them reined in his pony, faced us and said, "I guess you won't need us to pull you up this hill."</br> </br> </br> </br> driving mountain affect </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> "We never would have gotten this far if we did," Fred answered.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We decided they thought our car would get stuck in the deep sand on the steep grade and they would have some fun pulling us out, but the car had crawled along slowly and steadily, spoiling their fun.</br> </br> </br> </br> car driving mountain road surface slowness </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> As we started down Weber Canyon, Utah, we saw a tiny stream of water which, by the time we left the canyon that night, had become a roaring stream of water, rushing out to the valley between towering cliffs. Weber Canyon was beautiful in its immensity and autumn coloring, but a sucking, sighing wind made us fearful, and we hurried down the narrow roads past Mormon towns in the valleys, and out by the side of the noisy river, reaching Ogden late that night.</br> </br> </br> </br> fall river road rural scenery wind </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We carried signs on the Brush—"This car climbed Pike's Peak"—"From Detroit to San Francisco," and the like. Before we could remove our wraps at the hotel, reporters besieged us for information concerning our trip. We also received a call from a couple in the city who owned a Brush Runabout, and they used all kinds of persuasion to get us to stay a few days and visit a beautiful canyon with them, but Weber Canyon had quenched our desire for more canyons at that time and we were bent on moving as fast as possible. However, we did appreciate this courtesy in a strange city.</br> </br> </br> </br> affect car personification </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We found a bathroom in this hotel at Ogden, but could use it only by paying extra. We stayed in Ogden half a day, sending and receiving mail. Then we were on our way to Promontory in the afternoon through a fitful wind and under threatening skies. A single Mormon family lived there, but they kept travelers. We stayed with them two days during a rain, meanwhile hearing much about the bad roads ahead of us around the edge of Salt Lake. We were told we would have to drive on the railroad tracks to get through, but we thought this was a bit exaggerated. We were glad for the chance of a rest at Promontory, which gave us a chance to catch up on our correspondence.</br> </br> </br> </br> navigation road condition wind weather </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We heard there were three feet of snow in Weber Canyon, which we had just come through, and were most thankful we had wasted no time on the way.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> A golden spike was driven in the railroad at Promontory May 10, 1869, to celebrate the connecting of the Union Pacific and the Central Pacific railroads, thus completing the first transcontinental railroad in the United States. The spike had been removed, but a large signpost gave the date of the event and we were shown where the spike had been.</br> </br> </br> </br> traffic sign train </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Soon after leaving Promontory, we got into such bad gumbo mud we were glad to back out, after much trouble, and drive on the railroad track as we had been told we would have to do. There were three trains a week on this road to hold the right of way (the main line had been built across Salt Lake). Since this was not a train day, we drove over the road bed and ties, stopping often, as the bumping from tie to tie set our car bouncing on the coil springs, endangering the flywheel. Once two wheels slipped off the tie-ends into the mud and the car hung on the inside of the rail by the other two wheels, at an angle of thirty degrees. We worked with old ties and sticks to raise the wheels from the mud, finally getting them on the ties again. We drove all day in a fog, never stopping for lunch, and made all of 17 miles.</br> </br> </br> </br> accident risk driving train mud road condition </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Toward evening a section boss met us and ordered us off the track, under penalty of arrest. We were tired, wet, and discouraged. I looked down at him from my side of the car and said, "I guess being arrested wouldn't stop us any longer than that mud would." He smiled and said he guessed it wouldn't, but for us to get off as soon as possible, for the dirt road was better now. Fred told him we would be only too glad to get off, because the bouncing over the ties was getting the best of us. In a short time we found a crossing and drove onto a road which was none too good. When we came to a box car, a woman greeted us and, realizing this was a last desperate chance for a night's lodging, I asked her if she would keep us overnight and she agreed.</br> </br> </br> </br> road road condition car </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We never thought of those three cars on the siding as the home of the section boss, so when he came home from work there, we were, warming and drying ourselves at the stove. They were a charming couple and we all had an enjoyable evening. We were a little crowded for sleeping quarters but the next morning they urged us to stay over and go duck hunting on Salt Lake, which was in full view of their box-car home. However, we could not tarry for amusement.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Luck had favored us here, for a train had left the three cars the night before, and the cars would be moved the next day. These people refused to take any money for entertaining us, as others had done, but Fred always left some money on the table. They were wonderful to us and to find food and shelter, far from any habitation, on a cold night was a blessing, and we were only too glad to pay for it.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> My face mask came into good use around Salt Lake, for the air was filled with gnats in the mornings, but Fred thought it was ugly, so I removed it whenever we passed through towns.</br> </br> </br> </br> air lake scenery </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Our next stop was Kelton, 17 miles away, but we found low ground with mud and water all the way. Travel was slow, with the car very erratic in starting and stopping. Fred couldn't find the reason although he fussed over the car, hunting for the trouble in every conceivable part until he was worn out tramping around the car in the mud.</br> </br> </br> </br> car mud road condition slowness </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We never had had any mechanical trouble with the Brush, and its actions were a puzzle. Late in the afternoon the car took another rest. Fred dutifully alighted and began another search. Suddenly he announced he had found the trouble. My spirits rose at once; all I had been able to do all day was sit and worry when the car stopped and enthuse when it mysteriously started again. The trouble was a simple thing, but it had made the day tragic for us. The insulation was worn through on a wire under the machine, short circuiting the engine when the bare wire happened to touch the metal frame. Locating it was the difficult part, but a little tape remedied it and the car was itself again, fairly spurning the worst mud of the day with its wheels and bringing us to Kelton and a railroad for a Sunday night cold lunch, though we persuaded the waitress to augment it with some hot soup. There was a smug crowd of clerks, teachers, and the like at one table, with not a thought beyond food. They sat there in their Sunday best as we entered dressed in our soiled traveling clothes. They looked at us as though we were something the cat had dragged in. That didn't bother us in the least because we had completed another lap on our journey, with food and shelter for the night, and our trusty car waiting to go at the turn of the crank.</br> </br> </br> </br> car car part maintenance mud </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We had hoped to make Lucin the next day, but heavy sand held us back through a barren land—the only human being we saw that day was a man driving a flock of sheep. We camped by the roadside for lunch from our hamper, frying bacon and making coffee. That night we stopped at a sheep ranch, the owner coming in late at night with the flock of sheep we had seen on the road. We spent a good night there, little thinking what was to be ahead of us before we slept again.</br> </br> </br> </br> agriculture road condition rural slowness </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> From here we found many dry ditches, one so deep that we considered building it up from the bottom but that would mean we would have to go through soft earth, so we decided to try it as it was. I walked ahead, afraid to watch the car go down into the ditch, but as I heard the continuous chugging of the motor, I looked around in time to see it slowly crawling up and over the edge after an attempt no big car ever could have made successfully. Can you wonder we came near to loving that loyal car?</br> </br> </br> </br> car engine sound </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We reached Lucin, at the west end of the railroad across Salt Lake, for a late lunch. In a small restaurant with uninviting food, the waitress warned me several times, in a very low voice, about a high, pointed rock in the middle of the road and hidden by weeds, that had proved most disastrous to a local automobile party the week before. I thanked her silently many times afterward for her warning, though I paid little attention to it at the moment.</br> </br> </br> </br> road risk road condition </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> After lunch a well-dressed man gave us directions, pointing up a hill. It was long and steep and we climbed it slowly. I noticed a crowd watched us from below near the restaurant, but I thought nothing of it at the time because so many people were surprised to see the car climb steep grades.</br> </br> </br> </br> navigation slowness </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> After driving for a couple of hours, Fred stopped the car, got out his compass and map, consulted them and said, "We should leave Salt Lake at Lucin, but here it is on our left, with a mountain range on our right. We must turn around and go back to Lucin."</br> </br> </br> </br> car driving mountain map navigation </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We couldn't understand where we had gone wrong, although we had commented on an increasing steepness and roughness of the track. We had come down hills so steep that when we went back I walked behind the car carrying a rock to block a rear wheel when Fred stopped to speed up the engine on these hills, so that if the brake didn't hold, the car wouldn't start rolling backward. When the car started, I would pick up the rock and follow to be ready when he stopped again, and so on, to the top of the hill, when I would drop the rock and get into the car.</br> </br> </br> </br> car part road condition engine navigation driving skill safety </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> When we got back to a sheep herder's wagon that we had seen in the foothills earlier in the afternoon, Fred walked through the flock of sheep to the wagon where the herder had just lit a candle. He said we should have stayed in the valley and must go back to Lucin to get on the right road. We were pretty discouraged, and to add to our troubles, the car came to a stop a few miles further on. Upon investigation, we found that a pin was lost out of the propeller shaft and, since we had no other and could not find this one in the dark, we were obliged to camp there for the night, though it was cold and snowing. There was dry wood all around us, so we built a fire for light as well as warmth, pushed the car up into a tall juniper tree after cutting off some branches, spaded up the sand and put some canvas on it for a bed, using the car cushions for pillows, and hung up some more canvas on the side of the car and tree to keep off the wind. We ate a little lunch from our hamper and our chewing gum came into good use, as we had no water except that which we drained from the radiator for fear of freezing. That was not fit to drink, so we carefully conserved it for the next day.</br> </br> </br> </br> road accident car part navigation rural scenery equipment temperature weather </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We were carrying a five-gallon milk can to use in Nevada, but had no need to fill it yet, as water was not scarce along the railroad. Fred put me to bed first, clothed in all my warm things including cap, gloves, and boots. He covered me with robes and shoveled sand on the canvas over my feet to keep out the cold wind, and put the umbrella over my head to keep off the snow. I fell asleep almost at once and when I awoke, Fred was sitting by the fire. It was four o'clock and he said he dared not go to sleep because the wind blew the sparks everywhere, and he had been busy all night extinguishing sparks around me and the car, some sparks even catching in the resinous twigs above us.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> I made him take my place for a few hours and I sat down to watch the fire. When it got light enough to see, I went back to search for our lost propeller shaft key, a piece of steel a quarter inch square and four inches long. I found it some way back where the car had come to a stop, and it was imbedded in the sand where we had stepped on it while searching in the dark.</br> </br> </br> </br> car car part </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> So I had good news for Fred when he awoke. After breakfast he put the car into commission and made the only tire change on the trip. We were just ready to start when a covered wagon appeared carrying three young men going prospecting. They stopped to find out what we were doing there and after hearing our story, one of them said that evidently the man at Lucin didn't believe our car could climb the hill and we would have to come back, when he would have the laugh on us and then put us on the right road in the valley. The young man said there was nothing, not even water, for more than a hundred miles the way we were going, and that probably we would have lost our lives.</br> </br> </br> </br> car car part maintenance navigation risk </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> One of the men knew of an old road around the foot of the mountain and took Fred to show him where he could get on to it. Our car pushed its way between shrubs and overhanging trees until we came in view of the valley and down to the road. We were thankful for help in time of need.</br> </br> </br> </br> car mountain rural navigation tree safety </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Then I remembered the warning the waitress had given me the day before about the rock in the middle of the road, so we saw it in time although it was nearly hidden in the weeds, and gave it a wide leeway, saving ourselves a bad crack-up that probably would have ended our trip right there.</br> </br> </br> </br> risk road condition </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We were sorry we didn't again meet the man who had given us the wrong directions. I often have wondered what he and his friends thought as they saw us climb the hill and go out of sight down that barren, uninhabited, waterless valley in a little car with no camping outfit, no sign of any food, and probably not any quantity of gasoline. He had put our lives in jeopardy just to be funny, had missed his laugh, and might have let us ride to our deaths. It was only Fred's careful study of maps and the lay of the land, with his keen sense of direction, that saved us in time.</br> </br> </br> </br> rural risk gasoline map </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Reaching Tacoma, Nevada, for lunch, we found a family hotel and had a chance to wash away the traces of our night's camping and enjoy a real meal. We left the town, never thinking we were to return there two more times, the last visit taking several days.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> A man pointed down a road but it took us through a marshy field and we could find no way through, so we came back to Tacoma late in the afternoon for further directions, and the man said we should have turned but he had not told us, and there were no signs of any kind. It was late, but Montello was only seven miles away and we decided to continue that evening because we had lost so much time the day before, so we left Tacoma the second time.</br> </br> </br> </br> road navigation road condition traffic sign </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> About halfway to Montello the car came to a stop. One look under the hood was all that was needed. Three teeth were broken out of the timing gear. That meant three things: First, to get a team to tow the car into Montello, for we were determined to keep advancing; second, to get a new gear from the factory; and third, a long wait, perhaps making us get to the Coast too late, although we still were on the main railroad and that was in our favor in getting the gear from the factory. So much had happened in the last twenty-four hours, and now to have our cheerful little car silent and still was tough luck.</br> </br> </br> </br> accident car part risk </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> I had to stay alone with the car while Fred walked to Montello for a team, if such a thing existed there. It was almost dusk, but I preferred no light on the car to call attention to me as I curled up on the seat with my revolver tucked under the robes. He started down the road for help. Evidently the little car was not going every foot of the way on its own power, even if we had good roads now. Indian campfires gleamed in the distance, coyotes yelped and answered each other from all sides, and the railroad might produce a tramp.</br> </br> </br> </br> animal car part Native American road road condition </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> These were not happy surroundings after dark. The hours passed slowly and the night was dark, and it seemed the car and I were deserted out there on the prairie among the sagebrush, when about ten o'clock I heard a harness chain rattle in the distance and knew help was on the way. A great relief came over me, although I don't think I had been in any danger. There was only one team in the town. When Fred located the driver, he was eating dinner and refused to stir until the horses were fed too. Fred could only sit and wait patiently until the man was in the mood to start, then he walked the horses all the way to the car.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> HOSPITALITY SHORTENS A LONG WAIT</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Montello was a small place, the end of a division on the Union Pacific. Its hotel had recently burned down and the crude rooming house which took its place was so open and cold the water froze in the water pitcher every night. The Japanese restaurant proved so unsatisfactory we could not eat there. Fred spent the forenoon sending to the factory for a new gear and trying to get the car under shelter, but there was no place for it and we had to leave it outside, trusting to the honor of the inhabitants.</br> </br> </br> </br> car part road side </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> While scouting around, Fred found that the railroad company had a dining car there to serve meals to the train crews as they came in from their division runs, so he made arrangements for us to have our meals there.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Among his discoveries, he found that there was one piano in the town, and the owner and his daughter invited us to their home for the evening for some music. We went, but the piano was so out of tune it could not be used. A tuner from Ogden, across Salt Lake, would cost forty dollars, and since the girl did not play anyway, they had done nothing about it. The middle C was down a tone, and others nearly as bad. The owner loved music, and we sat there rather dejected when Fred, a resourceful chap, suggested we tune the piano with his monkey wrench. I was used to tuning a violin. I objected at first to what seemed like a ridiculous idea, but the man was delighted and urged so insistently that I finally relented. The front of the piano was off in no time, and I warned Fred to turn the pegs that held the wires very carefully as I plucked the strings. I was fearful of a wire breaking, but after the third tuning the pegs held and the instrument sounded fine. The man was delighted, and brought in a box of candy from his store, and we played and sang what could be remembered, there being no sheet music.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Not enjoying our cold room and remembering the comfortable family hotel in Tacoma, we decided to go back there and keep warm while we were waiting for the gear. The express agent promised to send us word as soon as the gear arrived, so we packed our suitcases, took the noon train, and arrived at Tacoma the third time. There we had regular meals, a room with a stove, and plenty of fuel.</br> </br> </br> </br> car part temperature train </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> There was a copper mine in the mountains back of the hotel which gave this place considerable patronage and kept it in existence. We enjoyed the quiet and rest we had there, and were better fitted when we left to continue our trip. One day an Indian woman who was cleaning windows got up the courage to ask, "Where you come? Where you go?" I could not make her understand, and after a long look from her beady eyes she merely snorted, "humph!" The Chinese cook was very happy this same day, laughing when he saw me, saying, "We have chicken on the fence tonight."</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> I had no idea what he meant, so I just smiled. In the evening people began arriving and putting children to bed until I began wondering if each mother ever would find her own child. No one introduced me as I sat and watched the crowd until a white-haired old man with a violin under his arm appeared in the doorway, peered about the crowd, and asked if the lady who had played the piano in the afternoon was there. I asked if he meant me, and his face lit up as he asked if I would try and accompany him on the piano. Here was another piano no one knew how to play!</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> My father had played the violin and for years I had accompanied him on the piano, so it was a real pleasure for me. The old man's face was serenely happy as I followed him in some of the same pieces I had played with my father, but this man put in his own improvisations and kept perfect time. Presently some men rolled the piano into the empty dining room, and I discovered a crowd had gathered there for a dance, and from then on the old violinist and I were busy while feet kept time to our music, the piano having taken the place of the usual mouth harp. Between dances the old man told me had been a prospector for years, and that someday he would find a gold mine and become rich. His daughter and grand-daughter were dancing on the floor, but the miner's hope of gold still lived in his heart and anticipation showed in his eyes.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> I found out what the Chinese cook meant in his remarks about chicken; it was served, not on the fence, but on the table, and was accompanied by other good things to eat. Everyone made us feel at home. After the grown-ups had eaten, the table was reset and every child was awakened and brought out to eat, then put back to bed. After the meal, the tables were removed and the dancing began again. Later a stranger offered to take my place. I gladly relinquished it and went to bed. I do not know how long the party lasted, but some of the people were there for breakfast when we came down in the morning.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> On the ninth day of our wait, word came from the express man that the gear had arrived, so we went back to Montello after lunch. In two hours Fred had the gear in, the engine timed, baggage packed, and we waved good-bye to our friends. We stayed that night in Cobre, Nevada.</br> </br> </br> </br> car part maintenance engine equipment </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We left the main railroad there to avoid possible snow at the California border, spending an uneventful day through a sparsely settled section of Nevada. On our way we saw steam coming from the earth in a circle, perhaps a mile in circumference, which caused much speculation on our part. We reached Cherry Creek that night and Ely about two o'clock the next day. There we went directly to the post office where we expected mail, and while Fred was inside a well-dressed man wearing a wide rimmed, black hat examined the car and its signs, then came up to me and asked if we were going on that day and if we knew the route. I told him we were going to the restaurant first, then get our directions and go some distance, if possible. He introduced himself as the guide for the famous Thomas Flyer car which had gone through that section a few months previously, while competing in the New York-to-Paris road race. He said he would be glad to go with us to the restaurant and give us full directions while we were having our meal. I thanked him and said we would be pleased if he would do so.</br> </br> </br> </br> navigation weather car </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> When he joined us at our table, we felt acquainted at once, since he knew drivers and automotive friends of ours. He gave us much valuable information besides drawing a crude sketch of our roads and the ones we must avoid on the way to Tonopah, a distance of 250 miles with no place to get gasoline on the way.</br> </br> </br> </br> driver gasoline road map navigation </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> There were two ranch houses where we could stay overnight, and he advised us to carry all the gasoline possible when we left Ely. We greatly appreciated his help and in consequence we took extra precautions, laying in food and fruit, looking over the car to see that everything was in good condition, filling the tanks with gas and carrying on each running board a five-gallon tin can of gasoline for use when needed. In all, we carried 26 gallons.</br> </br> </br> </br> car gasoline navigation safety equipment </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We left Ely about three in the afternoon, expecting to reach Barnes's ranch that night or have to camp out, as there was no habitation along the way. We could reach out and touch snow in many places along the eight miles to the top of Murry's Canyon. The truss rod on one side broke as we were climbing, allowing the rear axle to move forward, thus loosening the chain, which came off the sprocket teeth.</br> </br> </br> </br> accident car part weather </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Fred cut a small tree the right length and size with his hatchet, notched it to fit where the truss rod should go, drove it into place to hold the axle firmly, and we were on our way again. He had to repeat this procedure several times, finally carrying several pieces with him as they kept splitting. We reached the Barnes ranch long after dark.</br> </br> </br> </br> car part maintenance rural </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> A man cooked us a meal there. Many Indians were around the place. Our principal thought was to get an early start the next day, but Fred took time to go to the woodpile, where he found a piece of broken doubletree of hard, tough wood from which he shaped a substitute for the broken truss rod. It lasted more than 200 miles across a desolate section of Nevada. Perhaps Mr. Briscoe had been right to call him resourceful.</br> </br> </br> </br> car part maintenance Native American </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We came as near to catastrophe this day as any time on our trip. It was uneven country with some steep hills, and on one I walked behind the car carrying a rock to block a rear wheel when necessary. The roads often followed creek or river bottoms on the climb to the summit, where the mountains usually broadened out before the descent on the other side. But on this one, the descent began as soon as we reached the top, and on a curve we had to avoid a bad rock that towered in the center of the road.</br> </br> </br> </br> road car part mountain river road condition risk scenery slowness </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The brakes were slow in taking hold and we were headed for the rock when Fred, with a supreme effort, brought the brakes into concerted action with the steering gear, missing the rock by only a few inches.</br> </br> </br> </br> car part driving driving skill risk </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> There was utter silence between us as we started down the steep road in Currant Creek, and when we dared look at each other, we saw that each was white as a sheet. We passed one house on our way down into a level valley which had a hazy mountain range on the farther side. That day we saw only one man, and he was raking rocks out of the road. He seemed quite out of place, but we decided he had come from a mine in the hills. We stopped to ask him directions and, as we were eating fruit for lunch, we gave him an apple. He asked more questions than we did, but he told us to keep straight down the valley until we came to a road that turned directly toward the mountain, fifty miles across the valley, and that by going across this valley we could come to Twin Springs ranch, where we could stay for the night.</br> </br> </br> </br> navigation mountain rural scenery risk road </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> There was no sign of civilization for miles, and the area wasn't a nice place in which to break down or run out of gas. I doubt if we would have found the proper road if this man hadn't been working on the road on this particular day, and so was fortunately in a position to direct us.</br> </br> </br> </br> risk gasoline road scenery navigation </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> It was sunny weather and we had good natural roads. We kept putting the miles behind us and kept nearing the hazy mountain until we were around the foot of it and in another valley. It was ten o'clock at night when we came to some haystacks and buildings which we could hardly tell apart in the dark. Fred's knock was answered by a voice saying they didn't keep people overnight. After some argument, Fred threatened to sleep in the haystack if they didn't let us in. When the man discovered there was a woman outside, he came to the door partly dressed, with a candle in his hand, and agreed to get us a meal and let us stay overnight, but he said there was no bed for us. We found he was only the cook—a surly old Englishman. The others at the ranch were away, driving cattle to Tonopah. He must have seen how tired we were, for after a substantial meal he said he didn't think anyone would be back that night and that we could have the extra bed. There wasn't a white sheet on it, but everything was clean and of good material, for which we were thankful. Soon we were fast asleep.</br> </br> </br> </br> sun weather road agriculture driving mountain road condition affect road side scenery sun </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> When we appeared in the morning, the cook was getting breakfast, and asked Fred to go outside with him and bring in the meat. Fred returned with a grin on his face and a hind-quarter of beef on his shoulder. He carefully laid the meat on a table and the cook cut off immense steaks for our breakfast, which we ate ravenously in preparation for a long day's ride to Tonopah. When he found I had lived in Smoky Valley, Nevada, and visited the A. B. Millett family, who were old friends of his, he changed from a cross cook to a genial host, telling us about the hot springs we would pass on the road that day, showing us the twin springs from which the ranch got its name, and giving us directions so that we had no trouble all day. We brought some of the outside world into his life for a short time, and I don't believe he ever forgot us, besides being paid well for his extra work.</br> </br> </br> </br> navigation </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> After fifteen miles we came to the hot springs steaming out of the ground and rocks. There is always an uncanny feeling about an earthquake or steam coming out of the ground. We stopped, and Fred took off his shoes and stockings and waded around in the water as I took pictures. Indians came here from miles around for hot bath treatments, running the water from pool to pool as they wanted different temperatures.</br> </br> </br> </br> scenery </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We passed through a rolling section of the state, coming down into a level valley that led us straight across to staked mining claims, probably located during the mining boom, but looking like monuments now. Soon we were in the town of Tonopah, mostly a one-street village. We found a room with a promised bath, but at ten o'clock at night we were informed that the water could not be heated. We had become accustomed to excuses like this when we asked for a bath, so we were not surprised or disappointed.</br> </br> </br> </br> driving road side valley </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Fred found a garage in Tonopah and the proprietor allowed him to use the machinery to repair the broken truss rod. We stayed here half a day, picking up mail and meanwhile changing our plans. From here we had expected to go south through Goldfield, Stovepipe, and Skidoo, but we were warned we would find sand on the edge of Death Valley, below sea level, where we would have to be towed ten miles by a team at the cost of $40.</br> </br> </br> </br> car part maintenance valley risk </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Because of the extremely low level, which affects me seriously, Fred began to make inquiries in Tonopah, seeking another route into the southern part of California, and was told there was a horse-and-cart trail used by a power line rider, going west. He consulted the power line officials about taking this road and they said a rider with a horse and cart went over this road three times a week, weather permitting. They telephoned and found there was no snow on the passes and fair weather was predicted, so we decided to go that way, avoiding the deep sand below sea level and saving the towing bill.</br> </br> </br> </br> navigation road road condition weather animal </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We went straight west over uneven country, crossing a dry borax lake where the 98 percent—pure substance was shoveled up and shipped for commercial use. There was no one living on the way, and the trail was hardly visible at times. In one place we could find no track over a bank and hunted for a suitable place to make the plunge over the edge. Then Fred made me walk ahead to avoid the worry of having another person in the car while he steered it down. He hoped the sand at the bottom would assist him in slowing and stopping, which it did, so we were able to continue on our way intact. Such risks had be taken, for there was no help near for miles—and no turning back—consequently we went through some anxious moments at times, and our nerves got a little frazzled.</br> </br> </br> </br> West driving car resource extraction risk road condition </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> That night we came to Silver Peak, a famous mining camp of early days, with hot springs and bath houses, but it was dark when we arrived and we did not discover them until morning when we were ready to leave. Around here, the ground was strewn with black rock, very much like soft coal or slag, which looked to us as if it had come from a volcano, but we had no idea we were near the truth. When I went outside in the morning, the first thing I saw was an extinct, gray-sided volcano looming high above the green mountains not far from the town. It looked like a big cup and was so old and menacing in a beautiful world it had not been able to destroy, that it fascinated me, and as we left in the morning I couldn't take my eyes from it until it was behind us, and then I was sorry to leave it.</br> </br> </br> </br> road side scenery </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Before leaving, our host took me out and showed me a rocky knoll that he said in early mining days would be covered with rattlesnakes that came out to sun themselves, and the glitter of their bodies could be seen a long distance as the sun shone on them. One miner began shooting them and saving their rattles, until he was able to send a peck of them to Tiffany's in New York.</br> </br> </br> </br> animal </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> This morning, word came that William Howard Taft had been elected President, this being the day after the 1908 election. We went through an uninteresting, sagebrush-covered land, reaching California at Oasis, a ranch house and store with nothing near it for miles. Two young men were eating lunch but curtly refused to serve us a meal, not even a cup of tea for me. Upon inquiring the price of gasoline, one man said shortly, "Gasoline is a dollar a gallon. How much do you want?" Fred quietly replied, "None. We have plenty."</br> </br> </br> </br> agriculture gasoline scenery West </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> When they came out of the store and saw our automobile with its signs, they woke up and began asking questions, but we got in the car as they declared that no auto had ever been over the road, and that no auto could get through. We paid no attention to them and drove away as they stared in astonishment. They watched us out of sight, probably expecting us back before evening. We went through sandy valleys and over summits until at dusk we found ourselves climbing between towering bluffs with stars peeping at us through the opening at the top. On the broad summit other roads converged on ours, and soon after we started the descent, we were flagged to a stop by a man with a red lantern. He demanded seventy-five cents toll, which we gladly paid.</br> </br> </br> </br> affect car mountain road scenery </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> He said the road down the mountain was good but narrow and steep, and that we would find good accommodations in the valley. We took it slowly, because it seemed the rocks reared their bulk to oppose us in the dark, but as we came to them, there always was a good road around them, though I found myself bracing my feet for a bump that never came. We realized that this passage was never meant for an automobile and that more than once the Brush Runabout had rushed in where a long-wheelbase car would have feared to tread. We reached a railroad at Big Pine in Independence Valley, where much later all the traffic went that way, the road having been built through and the man who had made his living towing autos through the sand at the edge of Death Valley had moved away, there being no business. Years later we learned that the Brush was the first car to go from Tonopah, Nevada, to Big Pine, California, on that road.</br> </br> </br> </br> infrastructure mountain road pioneer road condition scenery </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> SUNNY CALIFORNIA-THE END IN THE WEST</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We were now east of Mount Whitney, the highest point in the country, and we must go a hundred miles south to find a lower mountain to cross. We had level roads and warm weather and enjoyed our ride through Independence Valley where workers on the mountainsides were constructing a $49,000,000 aqueduct to carry water to Los Angeles. We had a little experience with deep sand in this valley at the edge of the Mojave Desert, getting into a spot where our wheels went round and round without moving the car. We could have deflated our tires and pumped them up by hand, but we thought it easier to get out our two canvases, spread them on the sand, and run the car on them, then carry one ahead, spreading it in front of the car and driving onto it, and so on.</br> </br> </br> </br> mountain affect driving car part road road condition temperature weather </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Some Indians hooted and jeered at us, getting a great kick out of seeing us work, but we laughed with them because we were making slow but sure progress and would soon be gone. We were two days in this valley, turning west at Coyote Park to go over a low range of mountains.</br> </br> </br> </br> affect pleasure Native American mountain </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The odor of fried bacon led us to three loads of hay, with the wagon drivers camped by the roadside. They were on their way to the aqueduct workers with their teams, as trucks were rarely thought of then. The men aroused from their beds in the hay and waved us a greeting, evidently surprised to see the little car scampering across the hills in the dusk. This was a weird evening, passing tall cactus plants, yucca plants, and Joshua trees in the moonlight, coming down into a mountain-enclosed valley where cattle were so frightened at us we slowed to a snail's pace so they would not injure themselves, running away in panic. We found an exit where a river flowed out into another valley, and came to Onyx, which consisted of a store and post office with a southern California ranch house.</br> </br> </br> </br> affect animal car mountain plant road side scenery night river slowness tree West </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The family was not at home but a Chinaman cooked us a late meal, breaking out every few minutes with a chuckling laugh. He was quite confused when he couldn't find the key to our room, so we just pushed the dresser across the door and forgot about it.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We met the family in the morning. They were curious about us and the car, and four bright-eyed little boys and their timid mother had their first automobile ride before we started. We thought it would be a good advertisement for the car, but the four pairs of brown eyes were sad when we left; it was just the plaything they wanted.</br> </br> </br> </br> affect car pleasure </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We were told to follow the river road and we would have no trouble. We assumed we had a delightful day ahead of us along the river, but we found ourselves going over mountain tops on narrow shelf roads with hairpin curves and so far above the river that a horse on the river bank looked no larger than a dog. In one place, we turned a bend in the road and came face to face with an old white horse, a cart and driver. The horse hunched down and rolled his eyes in terror, but never moved, leaving that to us, as he was wise to the ways of narrow roads and knew safety lay on the inner side, no matter how scared he might be. We backed up some distance until an inner curve widened enough to let the horse past. His eyes were filled with fear as he passed, keeping strictly in the center of the road and taking no chances with the outer side. I had sympathy for the horse, as I was nervous also after riding all day on the outside, looking down on treetops.</br> </br> </br> </br> affect animal navigation mountain safety river road condition </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> When we stopped to rest, I lay down on the ground to relax and recover my poise. We did not even stop for lunch, as the skies were dark with clouds and we didn't want to be caught in rain on narrow, slippery roads where we might go over the edge and get hung up in a tree. At last we realized we had been going downgrade all day. About dusk we came into open country and long after dark we reached Kern, a town of oil wells and derricks near Bakersfield, California. Here we found a hotel and a much-sought-after bath after our strenuous riverside ride.</br> </br> </br> </br> sky night oil resource extraction road side West river </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We turned north next day, heading for San Francisco, and felt, after fighting bad roads so long, that we had nothing to do all day. There still were no road signs, but the region was so well settled we had no trouble in finding our way or getting food and lodging.</br> </br> </br> </br> navigation road condition traffic sign navigation </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Our shovel was forgotten and the umbrella was worn out from the wear it received back of our heels. Flowers were in bloom—especially oleanders—and when we came to the grape and wine districts, we stopped at a winery and climbed a long ladder to look into one of the immense vats of claret, which looked like a lake of ink. The owner gave us a sample, running it out of a hose to rinse the glass before filling it, as one would water. It was a common sight to see a wagon and hay rack full of grapes.</br> </br> </br> </br> agriculture equipment road side scenery </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Near Dos Palos, where we were delayed one evening by a stoppage in our gas line, we saw a beautiful sight. The honking of wild geese attracted our attention, and we saw flock after flock coming through the air like black clouds, alighting to feed in the marshes nearby, then rising and going on while others came to take their place.</br> </br> </br> </br> animal car part scenery sky sublime </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We went through Fresno, San Jose, past Stanford University, and soon the breeze from the Pacific Ocean brought the salt odor of the water as we rode along "El Camino Real," the old Spanish road used by the padres, Spaniards and Indians long before California was part of the United States. It is bordered by tall eucalyptus trees, with small mission bells at intervals.</br> </br> </br> </br> driving ocean road scenery smell tree wind </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We entered San Francisco by the peninsula, going to a post office where we found word for us to meet a Mr. Harris, the Brush sales manager, at the St. Francis Hotel. He had not arrived, so we registered and spent the afternoon buying new clothes. The first thing I bought was a fragrant bunch of violets, such as grow in California only.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Next day we drove the dirty, dingy car to Golden Gate Park on our way to the ocean, but a policeman stopped us at the entrance and said no autos with signs were allowed in the park. Fred told him how far we had come, how long it had taken, and all we wanted now was to get to the edge of the water and wet the wheels of the car in the Pacific ocean, then it was to be shipped to Detroit, where he would met it and finish the trip by driving it to New York City in time for the midwinter automobile show.</br> </br> </br> </br> car ocean car part driving maintenance </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Getting past the brusque-appearing policeman was easy compared to getting past some of the mud we had along the way. He smiled indulgently at our earnestness, and said to go and come by the South Drive, and it would be all right. Having overcome the last obstacle, we drove through the lovely park, past the site of historic Cliff House and Seal Rocks, and down to the ocean, where a wave gently came up, wet the wheels of the travel-stained car, and slowly receded.</br> </br> </br> </br> affect car car part ocean road condition scenery </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> This was the end in the west, and there was no way to show how dear the little grey car had become to us after carrying us across so many miles and through so many dangers. The chug of its one-cylinder engine had been the sweetest music in our ears during our month-long trip. I could only put my hand on the hood and choke back the tears.</br> </br> </br> </br> affect car car part engine engine sound </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The car was shipped back to Detroit by express so as to be ready to finish its journey to New York City, and Fred was to follow it to Detroit.</br> </br> </br> </br> car train city </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We looked up old friends and scenes. Meanwhile, Mr. Harris and a new car arrived by train. After a few days he decided to go to Los Angeles to look over the automobile situation. He went by train while we and the new car went by ship—a delightful and unexpected pleasure. We disembarked at San Pedro, the car being swung down from the upper deck. Then we bought gasoline and drove to Los Angeles, twenty miles away. Business took us to Pasadena several times, and we enjoyed driving beneath the palms and through orange groves, where the trees were heavily laden with fruit, not quite ripe but of a beautiful color, always with a few bunches of waxy blossoms.</br> </br> </br> </br> affect pleasure car train driving gasoline other mobilities tree scenery </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> We spent Thanksgiving in Los Angeles, and Fred sold the new car to Fred Ingersoll, a mail carrier in Pasadena who had written the factory. He was one of the first mail carriers to use an automobile in his deliveries, and eventually drove the car enough miles to have circled the earth several times.</br> </br> </br> </br> car </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The night after the sale and delivery of the car, we were in a Pullman returning to Denver. We spent a day in Salt Lake City and reached home December 1, having been gone a little over two months.</br> </br> </br> </br> car </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> On December 20 Fred left Detroit with the old car to complete the trip across the continent, with Harvey Lincoln, a factory man, as observer. They went through Toledo, Cleveland, Buffalo, and to Little Falls, New York, where they were stopped by a blizzard.</br> </br> </br> </br> car East weather </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Next morning they started in the snow but found the roads drifted badly and had to return there. After a day's delay they were directed over a high road through timber where the snow drifts were not so bad. At night they came back to the regular route and managed to get through after much shoveling.</br> </br> </br> </br> road equipment forest road condition weather </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> From Albany they went down the side of the Hudson River, but on a steep hill the car coasted to a stop. They found the timing gear had lost some teeth again. It was similar to the accident we had had in Nevada. Fred, fearing much trouble, had the foresight to add an extra timing gear to his parts at Detroit before starting. They simply pushed the car to the sunny side of a barn and made the change in zero weather. After an hour and a half the new gear was in place, the engine timed, and they were on their way.</br> </br> </br> </br> accident car car part engine maintenance weather </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> The car reached New York City December 30. Fred drove over Brooklyn Bridge, through Brooklyn to Coney Island, dipped the wheels of the Brush in the Atlantic Ocean, and was in time for the automobile show which opened January 1, 1909. The insignificant, shabby automobile had reached its goal. It stood in the huge hall with its signs, much-used shovel, and all the dirt and mud it had accumulated on its long trip, among its more aristocratic companions in Grand Central Palace. With its driver, it attracted a great deal of attention.</br> </br> </br> </br> affect car car part driver East mud ocean urban </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> After returning home, Fred received a communication from the Bureau of Tours of the American Automobile Association, with a map marking his route, and informing him they had a record in his name as the Seventeenth Transcontinental Automobile Trip.</br> </br> </br> </br> map </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> This was a happy climax and far beyond our expectations, because we had thought of the trip only as an advertising stunt for the Brush factory and the Brush Runabout.  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Unknown </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> Motor Land </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1922 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 23</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> I am the Spirit of Things that Are, </br>Born of an urgent need, </br>Of the Force that lies </br>In a Man's surmise </br>In a day ere the Age of Speed.</br> </br> </br> </br> metaphor speed </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> I was at hand when the primal herd </br>Toiled o'er the heavy sledge, </br>As they dragged their load </br>To their cave abode </br>By the rippling river's edge.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Mine was the thought in that early day, </br>Stirred for the human weal, </br>That inspired the sage </br>In that darkened age </br>With that vision of Life—the Wheel.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Then came the horse as the slave of man, </br>Carriage and coach and four, </br>And the years flashed by </br>And the time was nigh, </br>To reveal what the future bore.</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> Then came the quickening urge of Trade, </br>Commerce must travel far, </br>And my wings I gave </br>To this earth-born slave </br>With the joys of the motor car.</br> </br> </br> </br> car metaphor pleasure sublime </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> I am the Spirit of Things that Are, </br>Born of an urgent need, </br>Of the Force that lies </br>In a Man's surmise </br>In a day ere the Age of Speed.</br> </br> </br> </br> metaphor speed Speed. metaphor speed  +
  • Bibliographic Information Author Bibliographic Information</br> </br> </br> Author </br> </br> Untermeyer, Louis </br> </br> </br> Genre </br> </br> Poetry </br> </br> </br> Journal or Book </br> </br> American Poetry </br> </br> </br> Publisher </br> </br> Hartcourt , Brace and Company </br> </br> </br> Year of Publication </br> </br> 1922 </br> </br> </br> Pages </br> </br> 114</br> </br> </br> Additional information </br> </br> -</br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> What nudity is beautiful as this </br>Obedient monster purring at its toil; </br>These naked iron muscles dripping oil </br>And the sure-fingered rods that never miss. </br>This long and shining flank of metal is </br>Magic that greasy labor cannot spoil; </br>While this vast engine that could rend the soil </br>Conceals its fury with a gentle hiss.</br> </br> </br> </br> zoomorphism engine personification metaphor sound oil </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> </br> It does not vent its loathing, does not turn </br>Upon its makers with destroying hate. </br>It bears a deeper malice; lives to earn </br>Its master's bread and laughs to see this great </br>Lord of the earth, who rules but cannot learn, </br>Become the slave of what his slaves create.</br> </br> </br> </br> metaphysics personification metaphysics personification  +