Property:Has text
From Off the Road Database
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C
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<p>There was utter silence between us as we started down the steep road in Currant Creek, and when we dared look at each other, we saw that each was white as a sheet. We passed one house on our way down into a level valley which had a hazy mountain range on the farther side. That day we saw only one man, and he was raking rocks out of the road. He seemed quite out of place, but we decided he had come from a mine in the hills. We stopped to ask him directions and, as we were eating fruit for lunch, we gave him an apple. He asked more questions than we did, but he told us to keep straight down the valley until we came to a road that turned directly toward the mountain, fifty miles across the valley, and that by going across this valley we could come to Twin Springs ranch, where we could stay for the night.
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<p>I sat on the further bank, cold, discouraged and hungry, looking at the river and hearing it gurgling around our few belongings in the car. It was nearly dark when a team appeared with a man riding one of the horses, and Fred waded into the water again, fastened the team to the car and it was soon on dry ground. Fortunately the water had not reached our luggage. It was a frosty night, so Fred had to open his suitcase and get into dry clothes before we could proceed.
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<p>If the unwary motorist stopped at a farmhouse to ask directions, the farmer invariably would direct him through some mud hole or over some steep hill to be sure the car got stuck. Then in the evening at the corner store the farmer would brag to his cronies how he had sent that "buzz wagon" down the wrong road, and all would be merriment.
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<p>We left the road and drove over the magic bridge, eventually coming to the little town of Carter, where we got a room at what seemed like a hotel. It was so late we didn't dare ask for a meal, so we lunched from our hamper and dropped into bed worn out.
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<p>There was no room for a camping outfit, and we were forced to run the risk of finding accommodations along the way as best we could, though we carried an emergency hamper containing bacon, skillet, canned meat, crackers, coffee, chocolate, raisins, matches, medicines, and other items.
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<p>In Kansas City he received instructions from Briscoe to continue to Denver with the Brush, look over the possibilities of a Pike's Peak climb and report if it would be feasible. Fred soon found bad roads all through Kansas, and driving was strenuous work. Beyond Dodge City, he stopped to speed up his engine in the heavy mud and in starting, the chain jumped off the sprocket teeth. This had happened before, as the chains and corresponding teeth had become worn in the steady drag through the mud. He tried to flip the chain on while the engine was running, his usual custom, but in a moment of carelessness he caught his hand between the chain and the teeth of the sprocket, stalling the engine and trapping him as completely as though he were in a bear trap. He couldn't move to reach the gear-shift lever.
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<p>We spent Thanksgiving in Los Angeles, and Fred sold the new car to Fred Ingersoll, a mail carrier in Pasadena who had written the factory. He was one of the first mail carriers to use an automobile in his deliveries, and eventually drove the car enough miles to have circled the earth several times.
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<p>That night I received a wire from the Pike's Peak telegraph station, highest in the world, that Fred was safe at the top and would come down next day. To Briscoe in Detroit he wired,
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<p>He built a box on the back of the car which would carry oil, ax, tools, tires, rope, block and tackle, suitcases, spare parts, and the like. Then he put endless interliners in each tire so we could wear the tire through to them, then take them out and put them into new tires. Once we cut one tire badly on a rock, exposing the interliner and making a tire change necessary, but the other three went all the way to San Francisco with Denver air in them.
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<p>Fred brought in our two canvases and put them on the bed for sheets—the woman had given up her bed to us, sleeping in the bunkhouse with the workmen. In the morning we left her well paid, but as soon as possible we threw away the thick coffee and hunk of bread she was determined we were to take for lunch.
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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>Throughout Missouri, Fred could get little information about roads or directions. For instance, people living ten miles from Bowling Green had no idea where it was. The roads were so bad he drove much of the time in low gear with the wheels in a solid mass of mud. It was a hard grind across the state, but luckily time and speed had no bearing on the final summing-up of the trip.
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<p>The night after the sale and delivery of the car, we were in a Pullman returning to Denver. We spent a day in Salt Lake City and reached home December 1, having been gone a little over two months.
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<p>A golden spike was driven in the railroad at Promontory May 10, 1869, to celebrate the connecting of the Union Pacific and the Central Pacific railroads, thus completing the first transcontinental railroad in the United States. The spike had been removed, but a large signpost gave the date of the event and we were shown where the spike had been.
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<p>Montello was a small place, the end of a division on the Union Pacific. Its hotel had recently burned down and the crude rooming house which took its place was so open and cold the water froze in the water pitcher every night. The Japanese restaurant proved so unsatisfactory we could not eat there. Fred spent the forenoon sending to the factory for a new gear and trying to get the car under shelter, but there was no place for it and we had to leave it outside, trusting to the honor of the inhabitants.
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<p>We went straight west over uneven country, crossing a dry borax lake where the 98 percent—pure substance was shoveled up and shipped for commercial use. There was no one living on the way, and the trail was hardly visible at times. In one place we could find no track over a bank and hunted for a suitable place to make the plunge over the edge. Then Fred made me walk ahead to avoid the worry of having another person in the car while he steered it down. He hoped the sand at the bottom would assist him in slowing and stopping, which it did, so we were able to continue on our way intact. Such risks had be taken, for there was no help near for miles—and no turning back—consequently we went through some anxious moments at times, and our nerves got a little frazzled.
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<p>Next morning they started in the snow but found the roads drifted badly and had to return there. After a day's delay they were directed over a high road through timber where the snow drifts were not so bad. At night they came back to the regular route and managed to get through after much shoveling.
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<p>Back of our feet in the car were a shovel and an umbrella, ready for quick use. We dressed in serviceable, warm clothing, gauntlet gloves, and high, waterproof boots. At the very last, I added a silk face mask and goggles to my wardrobe. We each had a rubber coat that slipped over the head to protect us from rain, snow, and cold. We each carried a suitcase with one full change of clothes, knowing we could buy more on the way. We divided our money in case of emergency, and both of us had a revolver.
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<p>There was a fair road with a telegraph line to follow, and a full moon overhead. Many times we thought we saw a light but it faded away before our eyes, leaving us bewildered and uncertain. About eleven o'clock, Fred stopped the car and asked me if I saw anything or if there was an optical illusion. It looked like an iron bridge a little to one side of the road, but it appeared so fairy-like in the moonlight that we doubted our eyes, so we stopped the car and walked over to see if it was a real bridge or a mirage. It was real.
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<p>SUNNY CALIFORNIA-THE END IN THE WEST
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