Property:Has text
From Off the Road Database
This is a property of type Text.
C
<div class="poem">
<p>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.
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>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.
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>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.
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>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.
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>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.
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>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.
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>PIKES PEAK OR BUST . . . IN A BRUSH
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>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.
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>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.
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>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.
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>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.
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>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.
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>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.
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>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.
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>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.
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>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.
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>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.
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>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.
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>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.
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>PERFECTLY ACCEPTABLE. COMPLIMENTS TO PLUCKY MRS. TRINKLE.
</p>
</div> +
