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From Off the Road Database
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C
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<p>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.
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<p>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.
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<p>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.
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<p>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.
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<p>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.
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<p>PIKE'S PEAK CLIMB POSSIBLE FOR WE ARE AT THE SUMMIT.
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<p>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.
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<p>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.
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<p>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.
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<p>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.
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<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.
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<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.
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<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.
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<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.
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<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.
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<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.
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<p>PIKES PEAK OR BUST . . . IN A BRUSH
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<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.
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<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.
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<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.
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