Property:Has text
From Off the Road Database
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T
<div class="poem">
<p>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!
</p>
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<div class="poem">
<p>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, <i>Panis Angelicus!</i><br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 19em;"> Yes, Walt,</span><br />
Afoot again, and onward without halt,—<br />
Not soon, nor suddenly,—No, never to let go<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 2em;"> My hand</span><br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 6em;"> in yours,</span><br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 10em;"> Walt Whitman—</span><br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 18em;"> so—</span>
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O
<div class="poem">
<p>And so it chanced that a year or two later we found ourselves on the streets of Los Angeles with our trusty friend of the winged wheels, intent on exploring the nooks and corners of Sunset Land. We wondered why we had been so long in coming—why we had taken our car three times to Europe before we brought it to California; and the marvel grew on us as we passed out of the streets of the city on to the perfect boulevard that led through green fields to the western Venice by the sea. It is of the experience of the several succeeding weeks and of a like tour during the two following years that this unpretentious chronicle has to deal. And my excuse for inditing it must be that it is first of all a chronicle of a motor car; for while books galore have been written on California by railroad and horseback travelers as well as by those who pursued the leisurely and good old method of the Franciscan fathers, no one, so far as I know, has written of an extended experience at the steering wheel of our modern annihilator of distance.
</p>
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F
<div class="poem">
<p>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.
</p>
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B
<div class="poem">
<p>And stamped and said things to himself,<br />
And sometimes something seemed to yield,<br />
He gained no foothold, but pursued<br />
His journey down from field to field.
</p>
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T
<div class="poem">
<p>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.”
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>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.
</p>
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R
<div class="poem">
<p>And the song and the country become as one,<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> I see it as music, I hear it as light;</span><br />
Prismatic and shimmering, trembling to tone,<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> The land of desire, my soul's delight.</span><br />
And always it beats in my listening ears<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> With the gentle thud of a horse's stride,</span><br />
With the swift-falling steps of many dogs,<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> Following, following at my side.</span><br />
O Roads that journey to fairyland!<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> Radiant highways whose vistas gleam,</span><br />
Leading me on, under crimson leaves,<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> To the opaline gates of the Castles of Dream.</span>
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B
<div class="poem">
<p>And then went round it on his feet,<br />
After the manner of our stock;<br />
Not much concerned for those to whom,<br />
At that particular time o’clock,
</p>
</div> +
T
<div class="poem">
<p>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.
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>And why do I often meet your visage here,<br />
Your eyes like agate lanterns—on and on<br />
Below the toothpaste and the dandruff ads?<br />
—And did their riding eyes right through your side,<br />
And did their eyes like unwashed platters ride?<br />
And Death, aloft,—gigantically down<br />
Probing through you—toward me, O evermore!<br />
And when they dragged your retching flesh,<br />
Your trembling hands that night through Baltimore—<br />
That last night on the ballot rounds, did you<br />
Shaking, did you deny the ticket, Poe?
</p>
</div> +
O
<div class="poem">
<p>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
</p>
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C
<div class="poem">
<p>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.
</p>
</div> +
F
<div class="poem">
<p>And yet, suppose some evening I forgot<br />
The fare and transfer, yet got by that way<br />
Without recall,— lost yet poised in traffic.<br />
Then I might find your eyes across an aisle,<br />
Still flickering with those prefigurations—<br />
Prodigal, yet uncontested now,<br />
Half-riant before the jerky window frame.
</p>
</div> +
O
<div class="poem">
<p>And, tired of aimless circling in one place,<br />
Steer straight off after something into space.
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>Another important service rendered by the club is the insurance of its members against all the hazards connected with operation of an automobile. Fire, theft, liability, collision, etc., are written practically at cost. The club also maintains patrol and trouble cars which respond free of cost to members in difficulty.
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>Another plan is to drive your own car from your Eastern home to California and sell it when ready to go back. This was done very satisfactorily during the period of the car shortage and high prices for used cars following the war, but under normal conditions would likely involve considerable sacrifice. The ideal method for the motorist who has the time and patience is to make the round trip to California in his own car, coming, say, over the Lincoln Highway and returning over the Santa Fe Trail or vice versa, according to the time of the year. The latter averages by far the best of the transcontinental roads and is passable for a greater period of the year than any other. In fact, it is an all-year-round route except for the Raton Pass in New Mexico, and this may be avoided by a detour into Texas. This route has been surveyed and signed by the Automobile Club of Southern California and is being steadily improved, especially in the Western states.
</p>
</div> +
A
<div class="poem">
<p>Another tack we took and tried<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 2em;"> To argue once again.</span><br />
Ver-sa-tile we did advance,<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 2em;"> Was like the sun and rain.</span><br />
But all we said with accent true,<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 2em;"> Rebounded in our face,</span><br />
We were left both deaf and dumb,<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 2em;"> We fell out of the race.</span>
</p>
</div> +
S
<div class="poem">
<p>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.
</p>
</div> +
A
<div class="poem">
<p>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.
</p>
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