Property:Has text
From Off the Road Database
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C
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<p>HOSPITALITY SHORTENS A LONG WAIT
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<p>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.
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<p>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.
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<p>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.
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<p>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.
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<p>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.
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<p>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.
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<p>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.
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<p>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.
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<p>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.
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<p>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.
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<p>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.
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<p>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.
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<p>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.
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<p>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.
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<p>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.
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<p>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.
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<p>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.
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<p>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."
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<p>So Fred accepted Briscoe's proposition and persuaded me to go along as observer, wiring Briscoe to that effect. The answer was,
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