Property:Has text
From Off the Road Database
This is a property of type Text.
C
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<p>Among his discoveries, he found that there was one piano in the town, and the owner and his daughter invited us to their home for the evening for some music. We went, but the piano was so out of tune it could not be used. A tuner from Ogden, across Salt Lake, would cost forty dollars, and since the girl did not play anyway, they had done nothing about it. The middle C was down a tone, and others nearly as bad. The owner loved music, and we sat there rather dejected when Fred, a resourceful chap, suggested we tune the piano with his monkey wrench. I was used to tuning a violin. I objected at first to what seemed like a ridiculous idea, but the man was delighted and urged so insistently that I finally relented. The front of the piano was off in no time, and I warned Fred to turn the pegs that held the wires very carefully as I plucked the strings. I was fearful of a wire breaking, but after the third tuning the pegs held and the instrument sounded fine. The man was delighted, and brought in a box of candy from his store, and we played and sang what could be remembered, there being no sheet music.
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<p>Among his discoveries, he found that there was one piano in the town, and the owner and his daughter invited us to their home for the evening for some music. We went, but the piano was so out of tune it could not be used. A tuner from Ogden, across Salt Lake, would cost forty dollars, and since the girl did not play anyway, they had done nothing about it. The middle C was down a tone, and others nearly as bad. The owner loved music, and we sat there rather dejected when Fred, a resourceful chap, suggested we tune the piano with his monkey wrench. I was used to tuning a violin. I objected at first to what seemed like a ridiculous idea, but the man was delighted and urged so insistently that I finally relented. The front of the piano was off in no time, and I warned Fred to turn the pegs that held the wires very carefully as I plucked the strings. I was fearful of a wire breaking, but after the third tuning the pegs held and the instrument sounded fine. The man was delighted, and brought in a box of candy from his store, and we played and sang what could be remembered, there being no sheet music.
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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>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>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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<div class="poem">
<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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<p>However, in a few days Briscoe wrote to Fred, asking if he would outfit the car in Denver, drive it to the Pacific Coast, then meet it in Detroit and drive it to New York City in time for the winter motor show. He said he would send a man from the factory to go as observer if he had no one in Denver to go with him. It appalled us at first to think of driving such a little car over the long, uninhabited distances we knew existed throughout some of the western states. We never would have entertained the idea if Fred hadn't been such a good automobile mechanic. We had been to California by train several times over different roads and knew something of what to expect, traveling over the mountain ranges and passes so late in the season.
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<div class="poem">
<p>However, in a few days Briscoe wrote to Fred, asking if he would outfit the car in Denver, drive it to the Pacific Coast, then meet it in Detroit and drive it to New York City in time for the winter motor show. He said he would send a man from the factory to go as observer if he had no one in Denver to go with him. It appalled us at first to think of driving such a little car over the long, uninhabited distances we knew existed throughout some of the western states. We never would have entertained the idea if Fred hadn't been such a good automobile mechanic. We had been to California by train several times over different roads and knew something of what to expect, traveling over the mountain ranges and passes so late in the season.
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<p>To send his nightly telegram to the factory, Fred carried an identification card ordering all Western Union offices to accept messages, to be sent collect. I took shorthand notes each day and sent letters to the factory when I could find time to use a writing pad and pencil. Maps were hung in a window at the factory and at all dealers' stores and little cardboard cars were moved along our route each time they heard from us. People passing the showroom windows would stop each day to see how far we had gone.
</p>
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<div class="poem">
<p>To send his nightly telegram to the factory, Fred carried an identification card ordering all Western Union offices to accept messages, to be sent collect. I took shorthand notes each day and sent letters to the factory when I could find time to use a writing pad and pencil. Maps were hung in a window at the factory and at all dealers' stores and little cardboard cars were moved along our route each time they heard from us. People passing the showroom windows would stop each day to see how far we had gone.
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<p>After leaving this place we had to use the shovel three times in the first mile, and put in a strenuous time over lonely country roads, reaching Rock Springs for the night. There we found a new hotel with steam heat, but we shocked the proprietor by asking him for a room with bath, and found there was no such thing in the building.
</p>
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<div class="poem">
<p>After leaving this place we had to use the shovel three times in the first mile, and put in a strenuous time over lonely country roads, reaching Rock Springs for the night. There we found a new hotel with steam heat, but we shocked the proprietor by asking him for a room with bath, and found there was no such thing in the building.
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<p>HOSPITALITY SHORTENS A LONG WAIT
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<p>HOSPITALITY SHORTENS A LONG WAIT
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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.
</p>
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<div class="poem">
<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>I had no idea what he meant, so I just smiled. In the evening people began arriving and putting children to bed until I began wondering if each mother ever would find her own child. No one introduced me as I sat and watched the crowd until a white-haired old man with a violin under his arm appeared in the doorway, peered about the crowd, and asked if the lady who had played the piano in the afternoon was there. I asked if he meant me, and his face lit up as he asked if I would try and accompany him on the piano. Here was another piano no one knew how to play!
</p>
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<div class="poem">
<p>I had no idea what he meant, so I just smiled. In the evening people began arriving and putting children to bed until I began wondering if each mother ever would find her own child. No one introduced me as I sat and watched the crowd until a white-haired old man with a violin under his arm appeared in the doorway, peered about the crowd, and asked if the lady who had played the piano in the afternoon was there. I asked if he meant me, and his face lit up as he asked if I would try and accompany him on the piano. Here was another piano no one knew how to play!
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