Property:Has text
From Off the Road Database
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C
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<p>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.
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<p>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.
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<p>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.
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<p>At Lakin, Kansas, he stopped with cousins for a few days, meanwhile selling two cars to be delivered later.
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<p>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."
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<p>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.
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<p>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.
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<p>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.
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<p>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.
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<p>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.
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<p>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.
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<p>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.
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<p>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.
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<p>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.
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<p>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.
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<p>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.
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<p>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.
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<p>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.
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<p>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.
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<p>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."
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