Property:Has text
From Off the Road Database
This is a property of type Text.
C
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<p>Fred carried the tramp with him to the next town and took him to a restaurant for a meal, but as soon as they had finished eating the tramp made a bee-line for a freight train—and oblivion, as far as Fred was concerned.
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<p>Fred cut a small tree the right length and size with his hatchet, notched it to fit where the truss rod should go, drove it into place to hold the axle firmly, and we were on our way again. He had to repeat this procedure several times, finally carrying several pieces with him as they kept splitting. We reached the Barnes ranch long after dark.
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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>Fred got out in water above his knees and cranked the car over and over but it would not start, so he called to me that he would walk back a half mile to a construction camp we had passed, and get a man and team to pull the car out of the river.
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<p>Fred put in the batteries he had taken off the running boards to keep them dry, and at the first turn of the crank the motor was chugging, ready to go. We neared Granger, Wyoming, at noon, but could not go into the village because there was no bridge across the river. We were told we would find one eight miles up the river if we followed the Oregon Short Line Railroad. This we did, stopping on the rustic bridge for lunch from our hamper, as no one was at home at a ranch where we had hoped to get a meal. There was hardly a sign of a road on the other side so we decided not to go back to Granger for our main road, but to go across the prairie toward train smoke we could see at times in the distance, keeping on the high ridges where it was smoother for the car. There was more or less uncertainty in this, but it was necessary at times that we should decide many problems by ourselves, so we took the risk. After an hour or so we came to a road; we followed it and it turned out to be the right one.
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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>From Albany they went down the side of the Hudson River, but on a steep hill the car coasted to a stop. They found the timing gear had lost some teeth again. It was similar to the accident we had had in Nevada. Fred, fearing much trouble, had the foresight to add an extra timing gear to his parts at Detroit before starting. They simply pushed the car to the sunny side of a barn and made the change in zero weather. After an hour and a half the new gear was in place, the engine timed, and they were on their way.
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A
<div class="poem">
<p>From Auburn the climb commenced, and when Colfax was reached and passed, Mr. Winton was busy with his skillful knowledge in crowding the machine up steep mountain grades, along dangerous shelf roads from which one might look deep into canons and listen to the distant roaring of rushing waters below.
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C
<div class="poem">
<p>From Colorado Springs, at an altitude of about 7,000 feet, Fred and his photographer drove to Manitou where they bought a hand ax, a shovel, and about 100 feet of rope. Then they drove to Cascade, where they had an early lunch. Here they were directed to follow the canyon road a mile and a half, where they could see a dim road turning to the left, and a small wooden bridge across a creek; there they turned immediately and started a stiff climb on a shelf road dug on the side of the mountain and ending directly over Cascade.
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F
<div class="poem">
<p>From Taos we pushed through sand for many miles. The only living thing we saw was a gray coyote. But the desert is clean and sunny, which is something. At last we reached harder soil and green things growing. Indians greeted us on the way, and finally we came to the cliff dwellings of Pajorito Park, one of the many ruins of the great centuries-ago cities of the Southwest. One of the localities showed that 250,000 people lived there in houses, some of them five stories, or about seventy-five feet high. Irrigation, agriculture, industries and arts were all parts of their daily life.
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C
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<p>From here we found many dry ditches, one so deep that we considered building it up from the bottom but that would mean we would have to go through soft earth, so we decided to try it as it was. I walked ahead, afraid to watch the car go down into the ditch, but as I heard the continuous chugging of the motor, I looked around in time to see it slowly crawling up and over the edge after an attempt no big car ever could have made successfully. Can you wonder we came near to loving that loyal car?
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Q
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<p>From out the mesh of fate our heads we thrust.<br />
We can't do what we would, but what we must.<br />
Heredity has got us in a cinch—<br />
(Consoling thought when you've been on a "bust.")
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T
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<p>From the snow-clad peaks of the Siskiyous<br />
To the warmth of the southern sun,<br />
Over roads that wind through the marts of trade,<br />
Does the traffic of pleasure run.
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F
<div class="poem">
<p>From the very first coming down <br />
Into a new valley with a frown <br />
Because of the sun and a lost way, <br />
You certainly remain: to-day <br />
I, crouching behind a sheep-pen, heard <br />
Travel across a sudden bird, <br />
Cry out against the storm, and found <br />
The year’s arc a completed round <br />
And love’s worn circuit re-begun, <br />
Endless with no dissenting turn. <br />
Shall see, shall pass, as we have seen <br />
The swallow on the tile, spring’s green <br />
Preliminary shiver, passed <br />
A solitary truck, the last <br />
Of shunting in the Autumn. But now <br />
To interrupt the homely brow, <br />
Thought warmed to evening through and through <br />
Your letter comes, speaking as you, <br />
Speaking of much but not to come.
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T
<div class="poem">
<p>Further comment need not be made upon the various factors entering into the situation here discussed. It will be sufficient to point out that on a summer motor trip of 632 miles over Iowa roads, 29 species of our native and introduced vertebrate animals, representing a total of 225 individuals, were found dead as a result of being crushed by passing automobiles, and that this agency demands recognition as one of the important checks upon the natural increase of many forms of life. Assuming that these conditions prevail over the thousands of miles of improved high ways in this state and throughout the United States the death toll of the motor car becomes still more appalling.
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K
<div class="poem">
<p>Ge'men wid dem smart spy-glass,<br />
Well equip' fe spot dem harse,<br />
Dress' in Yankee-fashion clo'es,<br />
Watch de flag as do'n it goes:<br />
Oh! de eager, eager faces<br />
At de Knutsford Park big races!
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X
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<p>Get there if you can and see the land you once were proud to own <br />
Though the roads have almost vanished and the expresses never run:
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G
<div class="poem">
<p>Get there if you can and see the land you once were proud to own <br />
Though the roads have almost vanished and the expresses never run:
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C
<div class="poem">
<p>Getting past the brusque-appearing policeman was easy compared to getting past some of the mud we had along the way. He smiled indulgently at our earnestness, and said to go and come by the South Drive, and it would be all right. Having overcome the last obstacle, we drove through the lovely park, past the site of historic Cliff House and Seal Rocks, and down to the ocean, where a wave gently came up, wet the wheels of the travel-stained car, and slowly receded.
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T
<div class="poem">
<p>Give us the still California night,<br />
When the moon is full and shining bright.<br />
Then life to us is never so real,<br />
If turning a Six Studebaker wheel.
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