Property:Has text
From Off the Road Database
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C
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<p>We did not try to make fast time, because safety was our first thought. Fred went over the car carefully each morning before starting.
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<p>As night approached and we had ridden many miles without seeing any sign of habitation, black clouds were gathering. We decided to try another section house on the railroad for food and lodging for the night, as we had no idea how far it was to the next town, Medicine Bow, but we knew there was a river which we did not care to ford after dark in such a small car. We found a Japanese man who looked at us in such a surly way, only grunting at our questions, that Fred said, "Let's get out of here," and we hurried out over the railroad track, feeling safer in the dark and storm. To cross the railroad we had to open and shut a wire gate on each side of the tracks. We couldn't see far beyond our dim headlights in the darkness and rain, and the feeling of loneliness was great. Finally we saw a tiny light to our right in the distance and Fred told me not to lose sight of it.
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<p>The camp cook took us into his box-car kitchen and served us a most appetizing meal, including parker house rolls. The signal maintainer, a Scotchman, took us to his house, made a fire to dry Fred's clothes, and gave us his bed for the night. He was the only person on our whole trip who would not take any money. All he wanted was a postcard from us when we reached San Francisco, probably thinking we would never reach such a place. We always carried plenty of fruit to supplement our scanty meals, and we gave him some. He said it was a great treat. Later, when we reached San Francisco, we sent him a picture of the St. Francis Hotel, where we stayed.
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<p>Not enjoying our cold room and remembering the comfortable family hotel in Tacoma, we decided to go back there and keep warm while we were waiting for the gear. The express agent promised to send us word as soon as the gear arrived, so we packed our suitcases, took the noon train, and arrived at Tacoma the third time. There we had regular meals, a room with a stove, and plenty of fuel.
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<p>We entered San Francisco by the peninsula, going to a post office where we found word for us to meet a Mr. Harris, the Brush sales manager, at the St. Francis Hotel. He had not arrived, so we registered and spent the afternoon buying new clothes. The first thing I bought was a fragrant bunch of violets, such as grow in California only.
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<p>Because of the extremely low level, which affects me seriously, Fred began to make inquiries in Tonopah, seeking another route into the southern part of California, and was told there was a horse-and-cart trail used by a power line rider, going west. He consulted the power line officials about taking this road and they said a rider with a horse and cart went over this road three times a week, weather permitting. They telephoned and found there was no snow on the passes and fair weather was predicted, so we decided to go that way, avoiding the deep sand below sea level and saving the towing bill.
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<p>After returning home, Fred received a communication from the Bureau of Tours of the American Automobile Association, with a map marking his route, and informing him they had a record in his name as the Seventeenth Transcontinental Automobile Trip.
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<p>We were constantly worried that we would be stranded if our flywheel broke; we had no other with us. This was a desolate country and somehow very depressing, with clouds presaging a storm. This feeling was intensified as we passed the deserted town of Carbon, where open doors swung in the wind and paneless windows stared at us. In one window we saw the head of a horse, and in another we caught the partially hidden face of a man. We were glad to leave the desolate ruins and climb to higher hills, although we still sensed trouble around us.
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<p>We heard there were three feet of snow in Weber Canyon, which we had just come through, and were most thankful we had wasted no time on the way.
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<p>Starting the car, they went down grade before resuming the climb. Rocks, boulders, fallen trees, and other debris blocked the road and had to be cleared away, while washouts were numerous. At the Halfway House, there was a mountain stream with very steep sides. It had once been bridged just below timberline. The two men carried poles from a nearby corral, lashed them together in pairs with their rope, buried the ends in the earth to make them firm, and drove over them as if they were a bridge.
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<p>Near Dos Palos, where we were delayed one evening by a stoppage in our gas line, we saw a beautiful sight. The honking of wild geese attracted our attention, and we saw flock after flock coming through the air like black clouds, alighting to feed in the marshes nearby, then rising and going on while others came to take their place.
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<p>We never hurried the next morning after we had driven late the night before, so after breakfast we chatted about our trip and I enthused over the distant views, pure air, and delicious odor of the sagebrush after the rain. Then our hostess said, "I'll tell you now why we didn't want to keep you overnight. We have had so many easterners coming here late at night who were rude and disagreeable, cussing the roads, the climate, the people and everything in the state that we said we would never take in another traveler, but you are different and like it here." I had, unknowingly, won them over by my appreciation of some of the beauties of their locality. The couple ended by wanting us to stay a few days and go antelope hunting with them. It was with real regret that we could not accept their invitation, for they were fine people and we never have forgotten their hospitality during the storm in the first stages of our trip.
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<p>Although he was alone, everything was spic and span. His wife was coming from Kansas City the following week, and he had everything shining. He served us a meal, even making hot biscuits, which we enjoyed greatly after our cold day. He built an extra fire in the front room of the good-sized house so we could dry our clothes, but he had no bed for us. We had to sleep on the floor in our clothes, but our host brought out some new wool blankets to soften the floor. In the morning, Fred remarked that there were a lot of wrinkles in the Trinkles.
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<p>So I had good news for Fred when he awoke. After breakfast he put the car into commission and made the only tire change on the trip. We were just ready to start when a covered wagon appeared carrying three young men going prospecting. They stopped to find out what we were doing there and after hearing our story, one of them said that evidently the man at Lucin didn't believe our car could climb the hill and we would have to come back, when he would have the laugh on us and then put us on the right road in the valley. The young man said there was nothing, not even water, for more than a hundred miles the way we were going, and that probably we would have lost our lives.
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<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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<p>The factory wired us $500 to outfit and start, with more to be sent when and where we ordered. We were told to spare no expense and to send tires, gasoline, and spare parts ahead for use wherever we thought best. Briscoe never had been West, but he knew that few cars ever had crossed the continent and that we would not have a pleasure trip, to say the least. Since I had previously lived in Nevada and California, it seemed like a homecoming for me, or I might have taken the trip more seriously.
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<p>Luck had favored us here, for a train had left the three cars the night before, and the cars would be moved the next day. These people refused to take any money for entertaining us, as others had done, but Fred always left some money on the table. They were wonderful to us and to find food and shelter, far from any habitation, on a cold night was a blessing, and we were only too glad to pay for it.
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<p>At a banquet the evening before the start, each of the drivers was called on for a speech. When Fred's turn came, he told the crowd he could not make speeches, but he could drive a Brush Runabout and that, when he reached Kansas City, he would ask permission to drive on to Denver, climbing Pike's Peak on the way. After the applause had subsided, all forgot about the boast except Fred and Briscoe.
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<p>We met the family in the morning. They were curious about us and the car, and four bright-eyed little boys and their timid mother had their first automobile ride before we started. We thought it would be a good advertisement for the car, but the four pairs of brown eyes were sad when we left; it was just the plaything they wanted.
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<p>As soon as the Runabout was in commission that night, they started for Denver, two very tired men anxious to get home. I was wakened by a noise to see a man standing in the bedroom door about four o'clock in the morning. I thought it was a burglar with a brown mask over his face, with eyes looking like two burned holes in it, but Fred's grin relieved me of my fears and a bath brought out the original man.
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